The dust raised by hundreds of semihumans running toward the mountain was terrifying.
Aren, with her spear still stained with blood and the mark of the Mother Tree burning on her forehead, looked down.
Then she saw it.
The first shadows began moving through the tall grass. At first they looked scattered, like any other movement of animals in the distance. But it didn't take long for her to notice it wasn't like that.
There was killing intent. A bloodthirsty gaze, as if they wanted to devour her.
The old fear tried to invade her, but she managed to hold it back.
No… I'm not like before anymore.
The carnivorous semihumans advanced as a rain of arrows filled the sky. All of them infused with mana, falling like judgment.
The dark elves did not stop at a single volley. They kept firing, one after another without pause.
The idea was simple: reduce their numbers as fast as possible before they got close.
The carnivorous semihumans did not slow down, even as several of their own fell.
They kept advancing, without a clear formation, but not randomly either. They didn't move in a straight line: they spread out, separated, searched for any slope, any crack, any point that could give them height. It was a wide advance, seemingly chaotic, but with a single objective.
Go up. Kill. Devour.
Some ran on all fours. Others used short bursts of jumps, using the rock as support. Their claws scraped the surface with a dry, constant sound. They did not stop. They did not measure.
Aren recognized several of them. Hyenas, large felines, predators she had learned to avoid since childhood. But among them were others—different ones. Their bodies moved with a strange stiffness, as if the force driving them didn't quite match their structure.
They weren't just stronger.
Something about them was wrong.
—They're coming… —she muttered, barely audible.
On the walls, the reaction was immediate.
Humans took position on the front line, adjusting their grips, lowering their stance, occupying the points where the slope was most direct, using the newly formed wall while covering the access routes.
Behind them, the dark elves were already drawing their bows, continuing to fire.
The arrows fell before the carnívoros reached half the slope. They weren't rushed shots. Each arrow aimed for a specific point: eyes, throat, weaker joints. Some creatures fell. Others barely slowed down.
It wasn't enough.
The first impact came seconds later.
A carnivore reached the edge of the rock and leapt upward. A human met it with a spear, driving it forward. The tip pierced, but didn't immediately stop it. The weight pushed him back half a step before he stabilized.
Another leap.
Another impact.
The sound changed.
It was no longer just rock and claws.
It was metal against flesh. Dry impacts. Forced breathing.
They were getting closer, and in numbers they had never seen before.
What was happening?
Each clash left something behind. A retreat. An opening. A gap that had to be filled immediately.
Aren saw it clearly. They wouldn't hold like this for long.
But for the first time in her life, despite the fear, she had a purpose: protect her home.
She tightened her grip on the spear.
The Mother Tree's mana flowed in the background, constant. It didn't impose itself, but it was there.
It allowed them to maintain physical reinforcement, one that should have already run out after the first attack. It kept them from collapsing when they should have fallen.
Every time the body reached its limit… there was a little more.
Without it… the line would have already broken.
Then she noticed something else.
The movement wasn't coming from only one side.
To her left, beyond the tree line, other figures began to appear.
Bigger. Heavier.
They ran. They didn't scatter. They advanced.
Straight toward the base of the mountain.
No claws. No fangs.
Horns and hooves.
Aren frowned. If the carnivorous semihumans were already a guaranteed defeat, the herbivorous semihumans were the final outcome.
—What… weren't they our allies?
The herbivorous herds entered the same space.
Their steps were steady, measured. They didn't push each other. They didn't break formation. They opened just enough space not to interfere, but never lost direction.
They were heading toward the carnivores.
When the first group reached the base, the clash happened.
No pause.
One of the largest creatures slammed into a hyena mid-leap, redirecting its trajectory before it could reach the wall. It didn't pursue it. It didn't finish it.
It only stopped its advance.
Another occupied a gap between rocks, standing exactly where two predators were trying to climb. It didn't attack. It simply held its ground, forcing them to retreat or change route.
Aren stepped closer to the edge.
Now she could see it.
The herbivores weren't attacking.
They were helping them.
They were not like their bloodthirsty brethren. Their bodies were robust, covered in thick skin and rough fur; their hands ended in hard hooves capable of fracturing stone, and from their heads rose curved, powerful horns like the branches of ancient trees. They advanced with steady determination, neither rushing nor hesitating.
They had fulfilled the agreement.
The pact, sealed when forests still shared water and peoples respected grazing lands, was honored. They did not come for blood, but for obligation.
The battle changed in an instant.
Claws and teeth met hooves and horns.
A carnivore leapt toward an elf, but was intercepted mid-air. The herbivore lowered its head and charged. The horn pierced through it with force, lifting it and throwing it against the rock.
Hooves struck with crushing power, breaking bones where before there had only been shallow cuts.
The dark elves, seeing the opening, intensified their arrow rain. Now they didn't shoot into chaos, but into exposed points where the carnivores became vulnerable.
The humans advanced as well. With tense shouts, they used the gaps the herbivores created.
It was not a clean victory.
Blood appeared everywhere: falling carnivores, wounded herbivores, humans who failed to retreat in time.
But what had once been an inevitable defeat began to change.
First came resistance.
Then balance.
And finally, the carnivores began to retreat.
A larger carnivore found a high point. It pushed off, claws digging in, and for a moment it seemed it would break through the defense.
It didn't reach it.
A lateral charge hit it at the exact moment. It lost footing and fell before stabilizing.
Aren narrowed her eyes.
—They're… organized.
It didn't seem improvised.
The difference became clear.
The carnivores' movements grew more erratic, heavier. They lost precision. They forced more than necessary.
And then Lusian and his group arrived.
The fear Aren had felt before vanished instantly. She ran toward him without thinking, as if courage had returned to her all at once, wanting to join the fight beside them.
Lusian looked at her.
—Go back to your position.