Lieutenant Fenward stepped forward, his expression firm, voice carrying just far enough for our company to hear.

  “You all know where you’re being assigned,” he said. “Our placement is confirmed. Company Three will be stationed on the northeastern wall, roughly two hundred meters from the north gate.”

  No one spoke. We had heard it before, Colin had already announced it to our squad.

  His gaze moved across the line.

  “Edward. Harold. Derik. Vance.”

  The four of us straightened at once.

  “You’re the only healer and support types in this company,” Fenward continued. “The fort has assigned one additional high-level healer from the infirmary for severe injuries. I want you focused on your own squads and the ones positioned closest to you.”

  He turned slightly, pointing along the wall as if it already lay before us.

  “Edward, you’ll support Sergeant Patrick’s squad in addition to your own.”

  He gestured toward Sergeant Patrick. I nodded in acknowledgment.

  “Harold…” he continued, assigning squads to each of us in turn.

  Once the lieutenant finished assigning squads, he took our attention again.

  “This arrangement will apply at the start of the beast tide. Based on previous tides, we expect mostly Tier One beasts for the first six hours. Vanguard and other high-ranking units will intercept anything truly dangerous during that time.”

  His voice hardened.

  “After that, pressure on the advance units will increase. They’ll be engaging primarily Tier Threes, which means Tier Twos will start reaching us.”

  He stepped closer.

  “When that happens, you four are to return to your squads. The battle will become erratic and hard to predict. We cannot afford to have squads fight with one man short. Heal wounds only if possible.”

  Lieutenant Fenward held out his hand.

  “These are for you.”

  He distributed mana crystals, each larger than the ones issued with our pay, their surfaces cool and faintly humming with stored power. Along with them came thin plaques stamped with the quartermaster’s seal.

  “You are responsible for your crystals,” he said, looking at the four of us in turn. “Pass them among your soldiers to help them recover mana as needed. Use them sparingly. The plaques authorize you to draw additional herbs and treatment supplies.”

  He looked at the four of us in turn.

  “Collect your supplies from the supply station. We assemble at the north wall in fifteen minutes. Sergeants, gather your squads in the meantime.”

  His hand dropped.

  “Move.”

  As soon as the lieutenant dismissed us, we broke formation and ran toward the supply station, plaque already in hand.

  We weren’t the only ones. Soldiers from multiple companies were already moving in the same direction, boots pounding stone as they converged on the supply station. For a moment, I worried the quartermaster would be overwhelmed by the sudden rush.

  That fear vanished the moment we arrived.

  Neatly arranged crates lined the yard, each marked and stacked with practiced precision. Privates stood behind them, already prepared for the surge. One of them raised his voice as we approached.

  “For those drawing medical supplies, form a line on my left,” he shouted. “Present your authorization plaques and you’ll receive a prepared package. Do not request additional herbs. Any disorder will be treated as interference with fort defense and punished accordingly.”

  We formed lines and moved through quickly. Plaques were checked, packages handed over, names marked off. The entire process took less than ten minutes. Efficiency born of long experience.

  We stowed the issued supplies in our shoulder bags and were running again.

  By the time we reached the north gate, Company Three was already assembled.

  More than two hundred soldiers stood in formation, ranks tight and orderly. Each squad was arranged in two columns, ten men per column, with their sergeant standing between them. Five squads formed a larger column on each side, Lieutenant Fenward positioned at the center.

  I spotted my squad second from the right. One space on the left end was still open.

  I slid into position just as the last adjustments were made.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Lieutenant Fenward’s voice carried easily over the company.

  “We move out now. Sergeants, you’ve already received your assignments. Each squad will be placed along the battlements. We are the final defense between this fort and the beasts.”

  His gaze was hard.

  “Under no circumstances are we to allow significant damage to the wall.”

  The gates opened.

  We marched through the north gate in disciplined silence, the sound of armor and boots steady and unified. Cold air swept in from beyond the walls, carrying the faint, earthy scent of disturbed ground mixed with the greasy tang of beast fat.

  Outside, the land sloped gently downward into the outer ditch.

  Lieutenant Fenward halted us once more.

  “Sergeants, ready your squads at your assigned platforms.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the chorus of replies.

  “Everyone, follow your sergeant.”

  We split off, moving along the outer edge of the wall, revealing a long line of raised platforms built into the fort’s exterior. Around seventy of them stretched along the wall, each already manned or awaiting its assigned squad. Beyond them lay the funnel points, where the vanguard had already taken position.

  We reached ours and took position.

  Sergeant Fenward turned to me.

  “Edward,” he said, voice low and firm. “The lieutenant already briefed you. You’re positioned between platforms. Healing and recovery are your priority. Do not burn through your mana, especially in the first six hours. That applies to everyone here.”

  I nodded, shifting my grip on my spear and settling the shield more firmly against my arm.

  Then the sergeant’s focus shifted from me to the rest of the squad.

  “In the initial phase, we rotate,” Sergeant Fenward said. “Ten on the platform at a time.”

  He pointed forward.

  “Colin, Jack, Garran, Kael. Front line.”

  Then to the sides.

  “Michael, Alan. Right and left flank.”

  The formation took shape quickly. It was the same setup we used for large herd engagements, except this time only four Tier Two fighters held the front. The remaining positions were filled by Tier One recruits, their grips tight and stances rigid.

  The remaining soldiers stayed back, weapons ready.

  “Those in reserve,” Fenward said, “stay alert. Watch the ground. If you see movement from below, shout it. And if anyone is injured, bring them to Edward. I’ll position their replacement.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  As the squad settled into position, I took a moment to look out across the field.

  I positioned myself slightly back, centered between two platforms. To my left, I could see Sergeant Patrick’s squad. He acknowledged my position with a brief nod.

  I set my spear and shield aside, unshouldered my bag, and knelt. One by one, I laid out my supplies, sorting herbs by potency, bandages by size, salves within easy reach. Last, I placed the mana crystal at the center, where I could reach it without hesitation.

  Once everything was set, I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus.

  After about fifteen minutes, it began.

  At first it was subtle. A low vibration beneath my boots, barely more than a tremor. The kind you might mistake for imagination if you didn’t know better.

  But we did know.

  The vibration deepened, spreading through the stone beneath us and into our bones. Then dust began to rise along the horizon, a faint brown haze where the forest met the open ground.

  As the seconds passed, that haze thickened.

  The beasts were coming.

  At first, I tried to make sense of it. Herds usually had shape. Direction. You could tell where they were moving, what they were chasing, what had spooked them.

  This time, it looked like the forest itself was fleeing. No matter how far I could see, the land was swallowed by beasts, a moving sea of bodies that drowned the earth beneath it.

  Trees shook as dark shapes burst from the undergrowth. The ground churned beneath pounding limbs. Whatever instincts guided them were drowned beneath raw panic. They weren’t advancing as a line or a wave.

  They were running.

  We watched as the first of them reached the outer trench.

  The trench was unmanned, just as it was designed to be. Four hundred meters from the wall. Its sides bristled with spike rows on both the inner and outer slopes, each reinforced with low-mana binding runes meant to hold.

  The first beasts didn’t slow. They charged straight into it.

  Spikes punched through flesh and hide. Bodies were skewered mid-stride, momentum carrying them forward even as their weight dragged them down. Some were impaled clean through the chest. Others clipped a spike, twisted, and fell screaming into the ditch.

  Then the ones behind them hit.

  Beasts crashed into trapped bodies, shoving them deeper onto the spikes or knocking them loose only to fall atop them. The trench filled in seconds. Blood sprayed across the dirt walls. Limbs flailed. Cries turned wet and broken.

  And still they came.

  The ditch began to clog, with bodies.

  Some beasts tried to climb out, only to be driven back down by the weight of those behind them. Others were crushed underfoot, bones snapping as larger forms trampled over them without slowing.

  The trench did its job. It slowed them.

  Then a sharp whistle cut through the air.

  I looked up just in time to see a single burning arrow arc high above the field.

  It struck the trench and vanished into the mass of bodies.

  For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

  Then fire erupted.

  The beast fat coating the trench ignited instantly. Flames raced along the ditch, leaping from corpse to corpse. Smoke billowed upward, thick and black. Trapped beasts screamed as fire crawled across their hides. Some thrashed wildly, spreading the flames faster.

  For a moment, just a moment, it looked like it might work.

  Then shapes burst through the fire.

  Across the outer line, I could see heavy beasts, Dreadhorns, Hagremors, even boar-like creatures, along with four-legged canine jumpers. They cleared the outer trench and plunged straight through the fire without hesitation. At first, it was only a few herds, a few packs. Then it became clear the fire and ditch meant nothing to them. The tide poured forward, reshaping itself.

  A sharp cry pulled my attention upward.

  One of the flying beasts screamed as an archer’s arrow struck it, the creature tumbling from the sky near a wooden tower along the mid-line trench. Beyond it, dozens more took to the air, wings beating as they turned toward us, while on the ground fresh shapes rose from the smoke. They were coming from above and below alike, and now only the mid-line stood between them and us.