The village square burned with torchlight. Every shadow felt like a monster waiting to pounce, every flick of firelight made nerves fray tighter. The villagers and guards stood shoulder to shoulder behind the wooden barricades, clutching spears, pitchforks, and axes.
Roderick strode down the line, his armor dented and blood-streaked from the last battle. His voice carried raw authority, the kind only born of blood and command.
"Hold the line!" he barked. "Spears steady, shields firm. You don't move until they hit the wall!"
One young guard, barely twenty, licked his lips and whispered to the man beside him, "How many do you think there'll be?"
The older guard spat into the dirt. "Enough to make you piss yourself. Keep your mouth shut and your spear straight."
Selvara stood silently near the center, silver eyes fixed on the treeline. She carried a long spear like the rest of them, but her sword still hung at her hip, gleaming faintly in the firelight. She said nothing, but her stillness carried a sharpness that made those around her breathe easier.
Loid lingered behind, heart thudding against his ribs. He felt utterly useless, watching these people, farmers, smiths, and hardened soldiers alike, prepare to fight for their lives. His eyes kept darting to Selvara. She did not fidget, did not shake, did not even blink much. She was calm. Ready.
The forest whispered.
Branches cracked.
Then came the screeches, high, shrill, and endless.
"Positions!" Roderick roared.
Every spear braced. Shields locked. The villagers tightened their grip until their knuckles turned white.
And then they came.
The first wave of goblins burst from the treeline like a flood of nightmares. Their eyes glowed yellow in the dark, their jagged teeth gleaming as they shrieked. Crude axes, chipped blades, and splintered clubs swung wildly as they charged.
One hundred. One hundred fifty.
The ground trembled as the horde slammed into the wall. The barricades shook violently, the wood groaning under the pressure.
"Push! Hold it!" Roderick bellowed.
Spears shot forward through the gaps. Goblins screamed as they were impaled, their bodies writhing before being kicked back into the swarm. Blood splattered the wooden stakes, dripping into the mud.
Selvara moved like lightning. Her spear struck three goblins in rapid succession, piercing eyes, throats, and chests with perfect precision. She twisted, ripped the weapon free, and swept it sideways, knocking another off the wall before it could climb. Her expression never changed.
A villager screamed. A goblin had scrambled up the barricade and lunged at him. Selvara blurred, one instant standing three meters away, the next her blade flashed. The goblin's head tumbled to the dirt, and Selvara's spear caught another that had almost reached the man's throat.
"Keep your guard!" she snapped coldly, voice sharper than steel. "Do not falter!"
The villager, trembling, nodded frantically. "Y-yes!"
Loid's hands shook as he watched. She wasn't just fighting, she was everywhere at once. Cutting, stabbing, saving. Her speed carved a gap in the tide. But even with her, the wall rattled under the ceaseless pounding of goblin bodies.
A guard grunted, pushing his spear into the horde. "They just keep coming!"
Roderick's shield slammed into a goblin's face, caving it in. "Then we keep killing!"
For minutes that felt like hours, the wall became a grinder of flesh and steel. Goblins shrieked as they were skewered, their black blood soaking the earth. Villagers screamed as claws raked across shields and spears snapped in half. Every man and woman was locked in a frenzy of survival.
Selvara's silver eyes flicked, counting the movement, the numbers. She felt the burn in her muscles, her breath sharpening with each burst of speed. Endurance three. She could keep this pace longer now, but not forever. She rationed her movements, kill, pause, recover, kill again.
Her body blurred. One instant the monsters were mid-leap, the next their bodies split apart, her sword dripping black ichor. She landed lightly, exhaling through her nose, then snapped her spear back into her grip without wasting a motion.
The ground vibrated again.
From the trees, new shapes emerged.
Not small, twisted goblins. These were taller, bulkier, muscles bulging under gray-green skin. Their weapons were not crude sticks but heavy iron blades, axes chipped from boulders, and crude warhammers. Their glowing eyes locked on the barricades with savage hunger.
"Goblin warriors," Selvara muttered, her tone low, almost a growl. Her gaze sharpened. "If they reach the wall, it will fall."
The words sent a chill through every ear that heard them.
Eight of them stepped forward, their roars shaking the air. The ordinary goblins shrieked louder, emboldened by their champions.
Roderick's jaw clenched as he slammed his shield into another goblin. "Hold them back! Don't let those bastards near!"
But Selvara was already moving.
She dropped her spear, letting it clatter against the wood. Her hand went to her sword, drawing it in one smooth motion. The steel gleamed silver under the torchlight, hungry.
Without hesitation, she vaulted the wall.
She didn't answer. Her body cut through the night like a silver streak, her blade flashing as she struck the first warrior goblin. The monster raised its axe, but too slow. Her sword sliced clean through its throat, spraying black blood across the grass.
It fell with a wet crash, and she was already gone.
The second warrior swung a hammer the size of a man. Selvara darted aside, her feet barely touching the ground, and her blade carved into its ribs. The goblin howled, staggering, before her follow-up slash took its head.
The third roared and lunged, swinging wildly. Selvara ducked under the strike, twisted, and drove her sword straight up through its jaw. The point burst from the top of its skull. She ripped it free in a spray of gore, already turning toward the fourth.
Her movements blurred with inhuman precision. Slash, dodge, stab. A dance of death.
The fourth warrior tried to backstep, fear flickering in its yellow eyes. Too late. Her blade pierced its heart, driving deep until the tip erupted from its back. She wrenched it free, black blood spraying across her armor.
Four had fallen.
The other four roared in unison, their massive frames charging as one.
Selvara stood in the grass, her chest heaving, blood dripping from her blade. Her silver eyes gleamed like cold fire. She whispered, barely audible, "Come, then."
The ground shook as they barreled toward her.
And the wall behind trembled with the pounding of a thousand claws.