The eastern wall remained silent.
It was not the silence of peace.
It was the silence of something about to break.
At the top, the White Viper watched the field with a serenity far too wrong for what was approaching.
The newly formed standard, far beyond the wall, gleamed like a wound on the horizon — an owl raised against the darkness.
The Viper narrowed her eyes.
And then she smiled.
A slow smile.
Calculated.
"Then that's it," she whispered, almost in a tone of confession. "There's no turning back now… Brianna."
She raised her hand, and the movement alone was enough to make the shadow at the foot of the wall tremble.
"Procedite (advance)."
The word cut through the air like a blade.
In response, the Drakkoul moved like a sea unleashed by an ancient floodgate, surging forward in fury.
Running.
Tearing the earth.
Sliding like starving shadows.
The sound came first.
A muffled roar — the sound of hundreds of footsteps that did not belong to anything alive.
The ground trembled under the Drakkoul's approach.
Brianna, in the clearing, opened her eyes slowly.
She lifted her hand, and her army stepped back.
She, instead, moved one step forward — just enough to stand exposed, just enough to make clear that she had made her choice.
"Phasmatos."
The word left her like a frozen breath.
Her eyes lit immediately.
Thin luminous lines snaked across her irises, crossing like freshly woven threads.
At the center, a small circle formed — narrow, precise, like the tip of a needle.
The symbol of the weaving.
Brianna lifted her chin.
The air around her seemed to fold, rippling as if awaiting the next command.
Then she whispered the second incantation:
"Frangere terram. Hastae exsurgant."
The ground ahead cracked with a dry, brutal snap.
From the freshly opened fissures, stone spikes burst upward in perfect sequence, like a row of spears rising out of hell.
Several Drakkoul were instantly impaled — bodies lifted from the ground, suspended mid-air on sharpened tips.
A collective cry echoed — deep, guttural, monstrous.
But those behind did not stop.
They climbed over their own dead.
They stepped on the exposed ribs of the creatures impaled.
They kept advancing, heavy, relentless — a rotten tide that refused to retreat, rushing straight toward Brianna and her army.
The creatures advanced without hesitation, scaling twisted bodies, tearing their own legs off the stakes to keep walking — a torrent of violent flesh.
Brianna narrowed her eyes.
Before she could take the next step, someone appeared at her side — silent, swift, like a shadow cast by the chaos ahead.
Karna.
His voice came low.
"They won't stop."
His fingers tightened around the bow.
A movement almost imperceptible — and three arrows sliced the air.
Three sharp impacts.
Three Drakkoul to the ground.
Karna said nothing more.
Brianna drew a long breath.
"Neither will we," she answered, steady.
She closed her hands.
The stone spikes still embedded in the ground vibrated, as if recognizing the command.
Brianna murmured the incantation — precise, cold, sharp as glass:
"Frangere in pulverem. (Shatter.)"
The spikes exploded.
Fragments of stone blasted in every direction, hissing like gunshots, ripping through flesh and thick bone.
Several creatures were struck — some dropped instantly, others lost entire pieces of face or shoulder, collapsing under the impact.
But even wounded, they continued.
Crawling.
Trading legs for arms.
Dragging themselves upright, crooked, but still advancing.
The stones were still ricocheting when a sharp, rapid footstep sliced through the air behind Brianna.
Rynne.
Small.
Light.
Lethal as a blade hidden in the dark.
She passed by Brianna without asking permission — rapier already drawn, gleaming like a strand of ice.
The mask covering her face left only her brown eyes exposed — cold, calculated, narrowed by decision.
And in the next instant, she stopped breathing.
Her muscles aligned like a drawn arrow.
And then she vanished.
She didn't teleport.
She didn't disappear.
She simply moved too fast.
The earth folded behind her.
The air opened a corridor.
The front-line Drakkoul raised their heads too late.
She was charging straight — a human arrow — ready to drive her blade into the first weak point when…
A blue circle opened in the air right in front of her.
A fissure appeared so fast it made no sound — only a fold of light.
Before Rynne could cross, another fissure opened above the Drakkoul line.
Kaelir lifted his fingers with almost lazy precision, but his gaze burned with absolute control.
"Don't waste your breath, Rynne," he murmured.
She passed through the first fissure without slowing.
And fell from the second, from above, like a living spear.
Her rapier pierced the first skull before the creature understood what was happening.
She used the body as leverage, jumped, spun — another thin cut at the exact point of the neck.
From the ground, Kaelir opened two more fissures:
one under a Drakkoul about to grab her, and another beside one trying to flank her.
The creatures disappeared into one fissure and emerged from the other colliding with each other, breaking bones, crashing in confusion.
Rynne landed on her knees, wiping black blood from her blade with a quick motion, wasting no breath.
Then she exhaled — short, calculated.
And murmured, cold:
"More."
Brianna's gaze sharpened like a blade being honed.
"Skýra," she called, without raising her voice. "She'll go too far if she goes alone."
The warrior was already moving before answering.
"Understood."
The word came firm, solid as ice cracking under pressure.
Kaelir made a short gesture.
A fissure opened on the ground a few meters ahead of Skýra — light bending like liquid metal in a pulsing aura.
She didn't hesitate.
She leapt.
Landed inside the fissure with the weight of someone unafraid of whatever waited on the other side.
The second fissure opened in the air, above the line where Rynne fought — perfect, calculated… and high enough for Skýra to fall exactly where she needed to.
She crossed.
And fell like a wall.
Impact.
The ground shook around her.
Skýra landed planting her shield into the earth — a sharp strike that opened a circle of cold air.
The winter aura spread in silent waves: the ground froze, vapor rose like the breath of a slumbering monster.
A Drakkoul charged.
Skýra took a step.
The Blizzard March began — heavy rhythm, impossible to push back.
The shield rose in an angled block.
Lock.
The Frostbite Spear pierced the creature's throat with a minimal thrust.
Short.
Exact.
The cold shock ran through the monster's body — ice cracking inside its joints — and it fell like rotten wood.
Another Drakkoul tried to flank her.
Skýra shifted half a centimeter.
Nothing more.
The shield struck — Cold Force — and the creature flew back as if hit by an avalanche.
She advanced one more step.
And another.
Steady rhythm.
Controlled breath.
Crushing presence.
Rynne appeared at her side, light, silent — the two forming an impossible pair:
a swift shadow and a glacial wall.
A larger Drakkoul raised its claws.
Skýra raised the shield — Cold Bastion — holding the attack without moving a single inch.
The spear struck from above.
Absolute precision.
The monster fell, freezing from the inside out.
The temperature around them dropped sharply.
The Drakkoul front line hesitated — only for a second, but hesitated.
It was enough.
Skýra did not smile.
She does not smile in battle.
She only said, voice low and firm:
"Rynne. Left. I'll open the path."
And advanced — as if the entire winter had decided to march beside her.
Karna watched Skýra advancing like a living wall, dragging cold across the field like a divine warning.
He let out a short breath — not laughter, not surprise. Something almost like… recognition.
"Looks like she went through resurrection," he murmured, low, steady, without taking his eyes off her.
Brianna answered without hesitation.
"Yes. Skýra fights now like the goddess Skadi herself."
The cold wind spreading from the warrior made the air around them vibrate as if it were splitting apart.
Brianna continued, still watching every impact, every perfect advance, every fatal thrust.
"Even Límia would struggle to face her now. Before… she only manipulated the mist. Like her father. But now…"
Brianna's fingers tightened slightly, as if feeling a heavy truth slip from her mouth.
"…now she's stronger than ever."
Karna agreed with only a subtle nod.
Neither looked away.
The destruction before them grew — cold, precise, inevitable.
Skýra advanced, and the field advanced with her.
Karna stepped forward, his voice slicing through the creatures' roar like steel.
"Zeph. Lys. Iaso. Neriah. Do not fall behind."
The four were already ready when he spoke.
They answered together, in unison — sharp, disciplined, without hesitation:
"Understood."
At that very moment, Kaelir opened a fissure before them — blue light twisting like a fresh wound in the air.
The four crossed without slowing, disappearing into the glow as another fissure opened ahead, throwing them into the middle of the Drakkoul horde.
Karna then turned his head just enough to call:
"Ryden."
His voice was not a request. It was a battlefield command.
"Don't stray too far from me."
Ryden already had his bow in hand — the same bow that seemed to pulse with him, as if the weapon sensed everything around them.
He nodded silently, moving closer to Karna until he was within cover range.
The roar of the horde rose again.
Heavier.
Closer.
Brianna narrowed her eyes.
Skýra advanced like winter itself.
Rynne cut like the thin blade of death.
Kaelir folded space as if it were paper.
Zeph, Lys, Iaso and Neriah carved a path with lethal precision.
Karna and Ryden moved as one — bow and leader, one rhythm.
The whole wall trembled.
And then Brianna spoke — she did not shout.
She simply let the order fall into the world like a sentence:
"Form the line. The war begins now."
Author's Note: Hey, everyone!
First of all: THANK YOU SO MUCH for the 41k… 42k… 43k… and now 44k views!
You're breaking my expectations faster than Brianna takes down a Drakkoul — and that is not a small feat.
I wanted to apologize for not posting the extra chapters I promised.
I started a new work routine and, honestly, I'm still trying to figure out how to be a functional adult during the day and a chaotic writer at night at the same time. Apparently, there's no manual for that (unfortunately).
But I'm adjusting, I swear.
And in the meantime… keep supporting, reading, commenting, and — very importantly — favoriting the story so you don't miss the next chapters.
The algorithm is basically a hungry Drakkoul: if you don't feed it, it ignores you.
Thank you truly for every view, every read, and for being here with me on this journey.
You're all incredible.
See you in the next chapter!