The torches far beyond the treeline moved like a swarm of fireflies—too many, too steady, too disciplined to be anything except soldiers marching as one. Ridgebrook fell into a hush as every villager, every militia member, every child watching from cracks in the longhouse walls realized the truth.
Tomorrow, they would face death again.
But tonight, there would be no sleep.
Liam remained on the watchtower long after the last torch dipped behind a line of dark pines. The cold bit into his fingers, but his thoughts burned too hot for him to notice. He checked the Ledger once more, as if it might suddenly offer comfort.
[NEXT SUMMON: 2 DAYS]
[WARNING: ENEMY FORCE SIZE: UNKNOWN, BUT LARGE]
[RANDOM SUMMON IMPACT LIKELY SIGNIFICANT TO SURVIVAL]
Liam exhaled slowly. "Great. No pressure."
From the shadows below, Vlad called up, "Talking to ghosts again, Chief?.
Liam jumped so hard he nearly toppled off the tower. "Why do you do this? You move like a damn cat."
"A cat?" Vlad appeared atop the tower in two steps. "Cats lack ambition. I prefer wolf."
"You're going to kill me before Rathmore does," Liam muttered.
Vlad clapped his back. Hard. Too hard. "Impossible. I need you alive. You're the only chief I've ever had who tells me not to impale everyone. It is refreshing."
"That's… not the reassurance you think it is."
Vlad ignored him, staring into the forest. "They bring more men this time. Good. More to break."
"You're enjoying this too much."
"Yes," Vlad said simply.
Down below, the militia drilled under Sun Tzu's patient, relentless eye. Even in darkness, the strategist corrected their stances with a flick of the wrist or a calm murmur. Where Vlad was chaos, Sun Tzu was geometry—precise, deadly, inevitable.
A spear line wavered. "Again," Sun Tzu said. "If you falter tomorrow, you die. If you die, others die with you. Discipline is survival."
One militia man grunted, "Why does he make everything sound terrifying?.
Vlad leaned over the railing. "Because it is."
Sun Tzu did not look up. "Thank you, Vlad. Your contribution is noted."
Liam descended from the tower, needing to walk, needing to feel the ground under his boots. Work continued everywhere: Orin supervised the oil heating pits; refugees wove more rope for barriers; even children carried small stones to the walls, eager to help.
Orin spotted him approaching. Her expression tightened. "Chief."
Liam nodded. "How bad do you think it is?"
Her grip on her spear whitened. "Too many torches to count. Forty at least. Maybe more. If they push the choke point hard enough…" She trailed off, jaw clenched.
Liam waited.
"…I'll hold them," she finished quietly. "I won't let them break us."
There was something raw in her voice. Not fear—determination wrapped in confusion, a storm she hadn't figured out how to name. She looked away quickly.
"You should get rest," she muttered. "You look like hell.
"Is that your way of saying you're worried about me?"
Her ears went red. "No," she snapped—and walked off too quickly.
Liam rubbed his temples. "Ridgebrook's first war, and I'm stuck in a love triangle."
"More of a love polygon," Vlad said behind him, making Liam flinch again. "Women are complicated. Spears are simple. Choose wisely."
"You're the last person who should give romantic advice."
"Correct," Vlad agreed.
Lira emerged from the longhouse then, carrying a bundle of herbs. When she saw Liam, her steps slowed. "You should rest," she said softly. "Tomorrow will be brutal."
"So I'm told. Many, many times."
She looked up at him, eyes warm, and brushed her thumb across the dried blood on his sleeve. "You don't have to pretend you're invincible. It's okay to be scared.
Liam swallowed. "I am scared."
"Good," she whispered. "Only fools aren't."
A long moment stretched between them—too close, too warm—until shouts rose near the south wall.
"MOTION! MOVEMENT IN THE TREES!"
Liam, Lira, Vlad, and half the militia sprinted toward the commotion. Torches swung wildly as they reached the southern barrier.
"Where?" Liam gasped.
A scout pointed. "There! By the old stump!"
Moonlight caught a figure darting between shadows—too fast, too small, too unarmored to be a soldier. For a heartbeat, Liam thought it was a child.
Then it vanished.
Sun Tzu arrived seconds later. "Report."
"We saw someone," the scout said. "Not Rathmore's men. Alone."
Sun Tzu's gaze sharpened. "The same presence from earlier." He knelt, examining footprints—light, deliberate, almost dancing. "Someone is watching this battle. But not participating."
"Why?" Liam asked.
"To see who survives," Sun Tzu answered.
Vlad grinned. "I like them already."
Sun Tzu stood. "Ignore them. The real threat arrives with sunrise."
The village settled again, though nerves twitched everywhere like plucked wires. Some militia prayed. Some vomited. Some sharpened weapons to keep their hands from shaking.
Hours crawled.
Liam made one last walk through Ridgebrook.
He saw the carpenter sharpening stakes until his fingers bled.
He saw refugees tying ropes with trembling hands.
He saw Orin practicing thrusts at a tree until the bark split.
He saw Lira whisper prayers over bandages.
He saw Vlad sitting atop the gate like a gargoyle, humming to himself.
He saw Sun Tzu drawing formation diagrams in the dirt, reviewing them in silence.
These people—scared, stubborn, hopeful—were relying on him. On the wolf they had chosen to follow.
He checked the Ledger one last time.
[NEXT SUMMON: 2 DAYS]
[STATUS: SURVIVE UNTIL THEN]
He closed it. "Yeah. Working on that."
The night deepened until it felt like the world held its breath.
Then Orin's voice rose from the watchtower, hard and sharp.
"Torches! More torches! They're moving!"
Liam ran.
Everyone ran.
He climbed the tower and froze.
A river of flames drifted through the forest's edge—dozens of torches swaying in tight formation. Metal glinted beneath them. Drums rumbled faintly, slow and heavy.
Rathmore's second wave had arrived.
Sun Tzu stood beside him, calm but grim. "Tomorrow decides whether Ridgebrook survives or burns. Prepare your heart."
Vlad smiled like a man greeting old friends. "Finally. I was getting bored."
Liam gripped the wood rail, knuckles whitening.
"Tomorrow," he whispered.
The night answered with the steady march of enemy boots