“No… don’t come any closer.”

  Elena’s legs went weak. She had burned through the last of her strength when she ran into the deep woods.

  The demon stared at her as she stumbled backward, like it was trying to figure something out.

  It was thinking, why did this little runt smell like kin, and at the same time smell like that delicious pointy-eared two-legged prey they loved so much?

  But the demon gave up on thinking pretty fast.

  Because whether she was “kin” or “pointy-eared prey,” it liked to eat both.

  It let out a nasty, amused chuckle and drifted closer, savoring the fear and panic on Elena’s face.

  Elena kept backing away, but her trembling legs wouldn’t listen, and she didn’t fool herself into thinking she could outrun a brute like this.

  In seconds, her back hit a massive tree trunk.

  There was nowhere left to go.

  Still, she clung to one last thread of hope.

  She could pray again, beg the divine messenger to help her.

  She tried.

  Then her heart sank.

  The messenger wouldn’t come again.

  She had broken the messenger’s lesson, she had used power to hurt people.

  She had snapped at John, and snapped at the people who saved her.

  Then she ran off into the middle of nowhere and still hoped John would chase after her.

  Yeah, right.

  John had to be disappointed in her.

  And the messenger would never help a stubborn, disobedient bad kid like her.

  She didn’t deserve it.

  Elena lowered her head, folding into herself, arms wrapped tight around her knees.

  Fine.

  Let it end.

  She was tired. So tired.

  If she kept living, she would only bring trouble and chaos to everyone around her.

  Seeing its “little snack” give up, the demon decided it was done playing.

  It raised its huge axe.

  Elena shut her eyes, waiting for the end.

  Boom.

  A deafening blast tore through the forest.

  Elena realized she was still alive.

  She hadn’t been split in half.

  When she opened her eyes and looked up, the demon in front of her had been crushed into pulp by some overwhelming force.

  And behind that spray of gore and shattered bone, someone stood between Elena and the darkness.

  Someone that looked, for one dizzy second, like the messenger from her memories.

  “…Divine messenger?”

  “Elena, that was way too close.”

  The “messenger” rushed to her, dropped into a crouch, and checked her for injuries.

  Enid saw only a few shallow scratches from brush and thorns. The rest of the blood on Elena was from the demon Enid had just ground into pieces with a mid-tier earth spell.

  Enid finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

  Elena blinked hard, and the illusion broke.

  This wasn’t the messenger.

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  It was the tall, white-haired elf who had come with that annoying red-haired half-elf.

  She wiped the blood from Elena’s face with a gentle hand and said, “You can call me Enid. I’m here to take you back.”

  She didn’t get to say more.

  Several arrows whistled toward the back of Enid’s head.

  Enid only lifted a hand.

  An invisible wall of wind snapped into place and scattered the arrows like dead leaves.

  “…All right,” Enid said quietly. “I was going to take you one by one. Looks like we’re doing this here.”

  She rose to her feet and stepped in front of Elena, shielding the trembling half-blood girl behind her.

  Wind blades flickered into existence around one hand.

  A crackling chain of lightning curled around the other.

  Enid stood ready, eyes sharp, tracking the shadows where more demons hid.

  From where Elena crouched, Enid’s steady back looked impossibly reliable.

  Safe.

  And in Elena’s mind, that silhouette slowly overlapped with the messenger she had clung to for years.

  The messenger who gave her hope when she was lost.

  The messenger who gave her strength when she was desperate.

  The messenger who came for her when she had given up on herself.

  Ah… maybe…

  As Elena watched Enid hold the line and keep her safe, she thought, maybe my messenger finally came to save me.

  On the other side, in Windherd Village.

  Antonio and John reached the village just before the demon scouts did, and they managed to get the warning out in time.

  And Windherd was the kind of border village that didn’t freeze when trouble showed up.

  They moved.

  Fast.

  The men built defenses all over the village, setting up spears and wooden shields behind improvised barriers.

  Under the mayor’s direction, they formed rough lines that worked like temporary walls, hard to break and easy to reinforce.

  Some villagers climbed onto rooftops with crossbows, ready to provide covering fire and act as lookout posts.

  The boldest men threw on simple but solid hide armor, grabbed whatever weapons they trusted, wooden spears, bows, sharp logging axes, heavy blacksmith hammers, then mounted the village horses.

  They formed an elite scouting group that rode tight circles around the village, prepared for sudden clashes and quick hit-and-run harassment.

  The women organized just as quickly.

  Under the mayor’s wife, they became a smooth, efficient support line, ready to rush weapons, supplies, and medical kits to the front, while also gathering what they would need if evacuation became necessary.

  Kids ran messages like they were born for it, quick little couriers darting between lines and keeping every position in sync.

  Antonio couldn’t help being impressed. Windherd’s defense work was smooth and practiced, honestly better than most basic militia units he’d seen.

  While he and John sorted the medical potions and packed them for the front, John explained, “Most of Windherd is made up of big, tough Sagrav beastfolk. The mayor used to command on the front lines in the regular army. His wife used to work with him as a logistics officer.”

  “Over the years, the two of them trained everyone here to deal with raiders and border demons. They took what they knew and turned this place into a real little fortress.”

  John glanced at Antonio, then added, “Enid probably noticed their fighting strength right away. You have to respect that kind of experience, and her eye for detail.”

  Antonio agreed, but he still couldn’t stop worrying about Enid going after Elena alone.

  She had already cast several spells today, and some of them were serious high-tier magic.

  Still, Antonio forced himself to focus. Win the fight with the villagers first, then worry about the rest. He trusted his teacher, the same way Enid had trusted him.

  Before long, messages came from the outer ring.

  Contact.

  The mounted scouts outside the village used sharp riding and the horses’ mobility to split the demons into several smaller groups.

  Then they drove each group toward a different defensive line.

  Almost at the same time, all four directions began rallying, shouting, and moving into battle positions.

  At the northern main line, the mayor raised his voice and started his pre-fight speech.

  “Listen up. Heads up, eyes open, hands tight on those spearheads.”

  He spoke the way he used to speak to soldiers before a charge.

  “Our enemies are a bunch of demon bastards who can’t even find the road. We don’t need to rush them, and we don’t need to brawl.”

  “All we have to do is keep our distance, then use spears and bolts to open a few extra ‘eyes’ in their bodies.”

  The mayor got more fired up with every word, his weathered face flushing red.

  “Let them come. Let everyone see that Windherd doesn’t raise unarmed cowards.”

  “Fight, boys. Show the Empire what border folk are made of. Make every last one of those bastards regret it in hell.”

  “Fight! Fight!”

  The villagers roared back, not just in the north. The east, west, and south lines echoed the chant, the whole village moving as one.

  Then the mayor decided to end with a joke, the kind that made people grin even with fear in their throats.

  “And anyone who performs like garbage, I’ll personally give you a full-body ‘massage’ with my boot, then I’ll plant a big kiss right on your ass. So if you don’t want that, hold your spot.”

  Not long after, the demon group the scouts had herded into position finally came into view.

  Spearmen tightened their grips. The front line locked shields and short clubs in place. On the rooftops, hunters and sharp-eyed shooters cocked strings and set bolts.

  The demons, already cut up and exhausted from being harassed by riders, realized they were boxed in.

  They shrieked and charged anyway, axes raised, betting on thick hides and brute strength to smash through what looked like a line of old men and farmers.

  Arrows and bolts rained down from the roofs, but these weren’t military bows.

  The shots were weak, the aim uneven, and they didn’t slow the charge enough.

  “Now. Pull the lines!”

  At the mayor’s shout, and the matching calls from the other line captains, villagers hidden along the street edges and between buildings grabbed the ends of spiked ropes and yanked hard.

  Barbed trip-lines snapped up from under the dirt.

  The demons at the front never saw it coming. The lead brute hit the ground face-first.

  The ones behind couldn’t stop in time. They trampled into the pile and went down in a heap.

  By the time the demons realized it was a trap, and that the riders behind them weren’t the real threat, it was already too late.

  The mayor led the push out of the line.

  Villagers surged forward and drove spears down into the demons before they could scramble back up.

  The demons in the rear tried to retreat, only to be slammed off their feet by the draft-horse riders. Hooves and spearpoints finished the job.

  Just like that, the demon scout team that meant to hit the village by surprise got wiped out.

  And the only injured villager was some poor idiot who tripped during the charge and split his forehead open.