The fire in the outer trench was still burning, though it had begun to dim by the time the beasts reached the mid-line.

  From our position, we could see the difference immediately. The panic that had driven them through the spikes had thinned, beaten back by pain and fire. What remained was momentum, a living mass surging forward.

  The first flying beasts came into view seconds later.

  The mid-line trenches waited for them.

  Wooden watchtowers rose above the trench at regular intervals, pine logs darkened with pitch and bound by iron nails and hemp rope. Each tower held two or three archers, bows already drawn, eyes fixed on the sky. Unlike before, when I had only caught sight of an arrow streaking through the air, this time I could see the archers holding their fire, bowstrings stretched tight as they waited for the beasts to enter range.

  Then a shout rang out, cutting across the battlefield from somewhere near the center.

  “Loose!”

  The command echoed, and the towers answered.

  Arrows streaked upward in tight volleys, black shafts cutting through the gray sky. Wings tore. Bodies jerked midair. One beast folded instantly, dropping straight into the trench below with a wet crunch.

  Another climbed higher before an arrow punched through its throat. It spiraled downward, crashed into a rope net, tangled for a heartbeat, then tore free, only to be skewered on the sharpened poles beneath.

  More followed.

  The air filled with feathers, blood, and broken bodies. The nets caught some, slowed others. Archers adjusted quickly, firing again and again, their movements practiced and controlled.

  While the battle raged above, the ground did not stay quiet.

  The leading beasts slammed into the mid-line like a flood striking a dam. They piled against the raised lip, scrambling over one another, claws ripping into packed earth. Spikes bit deep. Beneath the soil, rune-etched picks had already hardened sections of ground, trapping limbs and snapping bone on impact.

  On both flanks of the towers, I could see infantry squads, five soldiers each, holding position behind massive shields. Their role was clear: guide the charging beasts into the ditches. They engaged with disciplined precision, spears thrusting downward, shields locked and braced. Beasts fell back screaming, only to be crushed beneath the weight of those behind them.

  The way they held their ground marked them as veterans. I assumed they were high-level soldiers who would join the Vanguard once the mid-line was abandoned.

  As the fire in the outer trenches died down, the pressure on the soldiers stationed at the mid-line increased. With the flames fading, the rate at which beasts crossed the outer defenses only grew faster, their numbers no longer meaningfully reduced by fire or spikes.

  The trench began to fill as bodies stacked atop one another, living beasts climbing over the dead without hesitation. Directly ahead of me, massive rhino-shaped forms launched themselves forward, clearing the trench entirely and landing among the mid-line structures with bone-shaking force. One slammed into a watchtower, snapping ropes and sending archers tumbling, while another crashed onto a platform, claws ripping through wood and flesh alike as it tore into the defenders.

  The archers fought back desperately. Blades flashed as bows were abandoned for short spears, and nets were cut loose in an attempt to entangle attackers, but the beasts tore through them with brute strength, ripping cords apart as if they were nothing.

  “Fall back! Fall back!”

  The command echoed across the battlefield, and the withdrawal began.

  Archers leapt from platforms, landing hard before rolling and sprinting toward designated escape paths, while infantry disengaged in staggered movements, covering one another as they pulled back. As the last defenders cleared the trench, the fire runes were triggered. One tower ignited, then another, flames racing up pitch-darkened logs and along tarred ropes before spreading into the hanging nets. Fire engulfed the structures in sheets, and beasts caught mid-climb screamed as the wood beneath them burned away.

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  Like the outer line before it, the mid-line became a wall of fire and smoke—larger, stronger, and more deliberate in its design. For a brief moment, it looked like it might be enough to frighten the beasts or at least slow the tide.

  But the retreating soldiers did not slow until they reached the inner lines, where the Vanguard waited.

  The funnel guard there had swelled dramatically. What had once been two Vanguard squads now stood closer to the strength of two full companies, divided into four evenly spaced formations along the slope. Front-line defenders took position at the fore, archers formed the center, and retreating soldiers filled the rear, all arranged with deliberate precision.

  And still, they did not move to stop the tide.

  At first, I didn’t understand why the Vanguard allowed the beasts to pass. The fire in the mid-line was already dimming, and just like before, the trenches had only reduced the numbers slightly. The sea of beasts began to pour forward again, reshaping itself as it pressed on.

  Then I saw why.

  A massive rhino-shaped beast emerged from the smoke, its horn entirely sheathed in metal, dull and brutal in design, as it angled toward one of the Vanguard formations. The formation didn’t move, yet the beast’s path bent toward them all the same, as if drawn by an unseen pull.

  They weren’t trying to stop the beasts. They were singling out specific targets from the tide.

  As the advance unit engaged the metal-horned rhino. Another herd surged forward, bond-tusked boars with thick skulls, upward-curving tusks, and compact, brutal bodies, and they were coming straight for us.

  I could see our squad’s front line preparing to physically engage the herd of boars. Mentally, I knew they were shaken, because I was too. Fire and trenches had done little to truly stop the beast tide, and instead had the opposite effect on our morale. When you see beasts crossing a wall of fire, when the whole battlefield is filled with the smell of roasted beast flesh and their screams, and even after that they still charge straight at you while flying beasts circle overhead, facing them becomes a completely different task.

  “Do not fear the flying beasts,” Lieutenant Fenward said, his voice carrying across the field. “Behind us, on the wall, are the best archers in our battalion. And they do not rely only on their arrows, but on the kingdom’s most feared weapon: the rune cannons.”

  I turned to look back. The wall of the fort was lined with archers, and atop the towers three rune cannons were already angled toward the sky.

  “So leave your fears behind,” Fenward continued, “and brace your shields.”

  The front line locked shields. Spears lowered. The air felt heavy, pressing in on my chest.

  Then Lieutenant Fenward spoke again.

  “Men! The time has come to show our worth!” he roared. “Remember who we are!”

  His voice carried, not just as sound, but as force.

  “We are the Wall that halts the barbarian and beast!”

  “We are the Flame that consumes the foe!”

  “We are the Unconquered, born of these lands, bound by its blood!”

  As he spoke, a thin layer of mana spread through the ranks.

  I felt it immediately.

  I knew what that mana was doing. I could feel the fear I’d been carrying ease slightly, while courage rose in its place. I recognized it for what it was, the lieutenant was using some kind of skill on all of us.

  I didn’t like it. The idea of something shaping my emotions unsettled me. It gave me the same feeling I’d had when Captain Varro extracted answers from me after my awakening. But right now, with the beasts charging and the ground trembling beneath their weight, I needed it.

  So instead of resisting the mana, I embraced it.

  Around me, I saw the same change take hold. Spines straightened. Shields lifted higher. New recruits tightened their grips until their knuckles went white.

  The boars hit our front line.

  Colin took the first impact on his shield, boots digging into the ground as the beast slammed into him. A moment later, the rest of the front line was hit.

  It always amazes me to watch conscripts. Their movements aren’t refined like ours, and their techniques are rough, but when it comes to killing beasts, it often feels like they enjoy it. Garran especially. With his seven-foot-tall frame and enormous muscle, he makes killing beasts look almost effortless. He carries a large shield and wields his spear like a butcher’s knife.

  As a boar charged him, he took the impact on his shield first. Instead of finishing it immediately, he shoved the beast aside with one arm while using his spear to kill another boar charging at him. Then he brought his shield down hard, crushing the skull of the first boar beneath it.

  Kael was just as effective as Garran, though less graphic. He drove his spear straight through a boar, lifting it briefly off the ground before wrenching the weapon free and bracing again.

  Michael moved along the flank, intercepting stragglers and diverting beasts back into the front where they could be dealt with. Alan did the same on the opposite side, less cleanly and more desperately, but effective enough.

  I stayed behind them, watching the fight with full focus. I needed to see everything, what caused each injury and how best to treat it without wasting time. My attention was split between two squads. While our squad dealt only with boars, Sergeant Patrick’s squad was fighting a mix of beasts, hyenas alongside boars.

  Once our squad finished off the boars, there was no pause. Another herd followed immediately, this time mixed with Dreadhorns. The attacks didn’t stop. Herd after herd pressed in without giving us time to reset.

  After nearly thirty minutes, there was a brief gap between waves. Sergeant Fenward used it to rotate Michael and Alan off the left and right flanks. Both shared the mana crystal to recover some of their mana while I checked them for injuries. Thankfully, there was nothing serious, only a few scrapes on their hands. I didn’t use any herbs, only [Vital Restoration].

  Every fifteen minutes, the sergeants rotated soldiers in careful coordination, allowing everyone to recover some stamina and mana without overwhelming me. For now, my work remained limited to checkups and [Vital Restoration].

  Just as we started settling into the rhythm, I spotted a new pack approaching.

  Flightless birds.

  Cliffline Raptors.

  “Colin, Garran, Owen, prepare yourselves,” Sergeant Fenward said. “Their leader is Tier Two.”