Clouds obscured the midnight sky, and in the shadows the only one of the [Hunters] left besides Algar himself gurgled as he died, blood and air mingling in the ruin of his face, running down to his shoulders where flesh and muscle had been stripped away by flensing sand streaming through the air.

  Marie would have thrown up if she’d had anything left in her stomach to void.

  She struggled backwards, grasping at the branch she bore in place of a spear, her spade long-since shattered and her shield-pan sundered in the brief forays she’d risked to shore up the faltering adventurers.

  Torn up grass and torn up earth crushed together underfoot. Both would have been dry as a bone were it not for the blood, sweat and tears that had been shed over them for the past half hour.

  A javelin hissed past her ear, but she didn’t have the energy left to react. She barely managed to lift the branch to block a slash coming for her head. The force of it exploded the dead wood and left her hands numb.

  They were being forced back.

  It had been a valiant effort, for longer than anyone had expected, but now that the enemy commanders had fully committed to the battle, time was running out.

  Beside her, Embris reeled, arms bleeding, sending one jet of flame lancing out into the [Soldier] that had cut her and another into the sky.

  They only had one hope now.

  —

  Leaping Mist was out cold once more, a lump the size of an egg on his head and a chunk of his tail missing.

  Marie dragged him back with the help of the wren-like alati she still didn’t know the name of. On her other side, Algar had Eldun’s arm over his shoulder and was leading the [Sentinel], who’d only retreated from the fighting line after an enemy’s Skill had blinded his one good eye.

  A roaring [Soldier] - a woman wielding a sparking mace - broke through the few adventurers still holding them back and slammed the ground…

  …and the next thing Marie knew she was picking herself up as the tang of ozone saturated the air, and she rushed to pat out the flames on the hem of the unconscious tabaxi’s cloak.

  —

  It was hard to see through all the smoke and chaos.

  An ethereal ringing had shaken Marie so hard her teeth ached, and as it faded she cried, not for the pain in her body, but the pain in her heart as she gathered up the scattered bones of Napoleon

  But no tears were left to fall.

  They’d been fully overrun for a second, and she’d stared death in the face as a warrior covered in shell-like growths had stabbed a shortsword straight at her gut, only for her faithful hound to launch himself up, over the shield, and clamp down on the man’s wrist. It had diverted the blow, sending it tearing through her uniform instead of her midriff, still drawing blood despite her [Resilient Threads] and [Thick Skin], but there had been no one left to save Napoleon as the enraged [Soldier] had dashed him to the ground.

  Her death would still have followed second later as he lined up another thrust, but Thror had pulled out a curled parchment that had burned up as he bellowed its inscription, and sent everyone stumbling under a pulse of arcane energy, though he’d been forced down on one knee from the effort.

  Chest heaving as her body tried to express emotions it didn’t have the resources left to, she wept for her lost companion with one part, as another was forced back to the reality of the battle, and she watched the [Guildmaster] rise again.

  When he falls, we all do.

  —

  Thror gazed out over the mass of [Soldiers] still arrayed before him as he struggled to his feet once more.

  There goes the last spell scroll. What are you going to throw at us now, commander?

  He dragged a tortuous breath into his lungs, suppressing the overwhelming urge to start coughing and not stop, courtesy of a Skill one of the [Soldiers] had tried to use on him.

  Tried and succeeded, to some degree, though it had cost the man his arm from fingertip to elbow when Thror had crushed it under the full weight of his morningstar.

  Lady Kypria held the line for a second as he wheezed, flanked by the five…three and two half… paper warriors she still had out of the dozens she’d started with.

  Sirro’s dirge had long since faded from the air, and the vengeance-fuelled energy had drained from all of them bar the [Verseblade] himself, though by this point the enemy were feeling it too. You could see it in the drag of their feet and sluggishness of their responses.

  You shouldn’t have backed us into a corner. That’s when adventurers get most dangerous.

  Barely a handful of the [Soldiers] struck out with real vigour, and more showed a mix of wariness and respect alongside the early onset of exhaustion, but on the adventurers’ side, the only person was still able to move with alacrity, even if this was the sort of engagement she professed to hate...

  —

  Chiritta jumped on the spot, doing the splits in mid-air as a wicked-looking halberd passed close enough to shave off some of her fur.

  It wasn’t the nearest the [Itinerant Monk] had come to harm by a long shot - her fur was stained with patches of red where she’d not been fast enough to move, or where some Skill had been unavoidable - but she allowed herself a grim smile as she felt the enemy [Mage] direct one of his scouring sand whips her way.

  [Greater Desert Tolerance], [Enhanced Elemental Resistance]. Bring it on you bastard.

  It seemed her time wandering the southern realms of this continent all those years before hadn’t been in vain.

  She kicked off the halberdier's breastplate and backflipped over the [Soldier] coming up behind her.

  [Head on a Swivel]

  If you only rely on yourself instead of fancy gear, you get the Skills to reward it. Who knew!

  She couldn’t put any more force behind the thought than she could into her blows though, as the same approach came back to bite her in the arse at times like these. Her staff, cracked, and half a foot shorter than it had been at the start of the fight, struck a helm with a ring like a temple bell, but the man merely fell back dazed, and another took his place.

  Her eyes narrowed in frustration at the replacement.

  Didn’t I break your arm a minute ago?

  The [Soldier] in front of her was familiar, even under the armour. Even hidden beneath a helmet, as she jabbed out with her spear, Chiritta was sure; the woman showed the same forms.

  Yep, that’s you allright.

  The squirrelkin showed her teeth in an evil grin as the woman came in for another lightning-quick attack.

  “[Been There, Done That].”

  The spear faltered as the woman let out a scream, her arm breaking again.

  But how did she fix it in the first place?

  That wasn’t the kind of Skill a [Soldier] got.

  Vaulting off the woman’s shield, with a [Swift Kick] for good measure, she leapt as high as she dared and scanned the ranks of the enemy as she sailed through the night air back towards the beleaguered adventures.

  There.

  With a twitch of a tail that was far less bushy than usual, she landed without a sound next to Thror as he fought off four [Soldiers] in formation. She didn’t have a chance to help before he forced them back with a wide swing.

  “They have [Medics] or something similar in their camp. Anyone we don’t put down for good is going to come back at us.”

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  The lion-maned tabaxi was barely a silhouette against the dark of the clouded night sky, only truly visible in the brief flashes of Skills or spells, but she caught his nod.

  “Their leadership is taking its toll too...”

  He broke off to deflect a blow from a greatsword and kick a lizardman back a few paces.

  “...can you do anything about them?”

  Chiritta shook her head as she hurled her staff into the mix, bouncing it off a [Soldier]’s helm to catch it on the rebound.

  “Not on my own.”

  “We need to take down the command structure, and the healers too if we can. Cut off the-” He caught a javelin and hurled it back with force enough to pin its owner to the ground “-head and we might have a chance of escape.”

  “It’ll take you and me and Ununcia at least, and even then we might not make it. And unless something evens the odds it’ll mean leaving the rest of them to die.”

  She spared a glance for the closest adventures. Fodrin the [Deadeye] gave no reaction, but she grimaced as saw the pain in Dusty Brow’s expression as the injured [Resonance Striker] sheltered behind the prowess of the [Guildmaster], limping out a step every few seconds to jab with a spear or throw a Skill where she could.

  But there was no denying it. They had minutes left at best before they ran out of everything - Skills, blood, energy, luck.

  They had to do something, or they were all dead.

  —

  Lady Ununcia Kypria stood with the three remaining paper familiars she had under her command; the other two damaged ones collapsed as they interposed themselves between wounded townsfolk and enemy blades.

  [Impart Fire Resistance]. [Mark for Preservation].

  A gout of flame poured over the adventurers around her and failed to do anything more than char the surface of their skin, and an elven adventurer wielding a whip and sword was spared a deep laceration as a ward of ink manifested in the air an inch before the blow could connect. She only hoped the [Librarians] back in Wayfarrow were being careful with candles at the moment.

  [Instant Categorisation]: Threat.

  A number of the [Soldiers] around her lit up in her vision, and she aimed the swings of her flamberge at those, keeping them at bay. But her Skills wouldn’t last forever, and she could already feel her ability to fight beginning to drain from her mind. Even with [Greater Knowledge Retention].

  Prioritise defensive maneuvers. Footwork is key. Forego offensive [Warrior] Skills. Just need to buy enough time for… that.

  —

  A horn blared in the darkness.

  The fury of the battle hesitated and died for a moment as the combatants paused to gauge what new threat was incoming.

  Marie simply stood in shock, like most of the adventurers. Any second not having to raise overexerted arms or swing swords that felt like lead was a blessing. They drew ragged breaths and leaned on each other for support where they stood - half way down the hill, forced back by overwhelming numbers.

  Sixty yards above however, at the summit, where the bodies of Dap and many of the other fallen still lay, the commander of the southern warriors didn’t let his [Soldiers] rest. His hands were already flicking out in gestures, and the mousy [Tactician] next to him began directing the troops as the sound faded into the surrounding countryside.

  They’d been preparing for something.

  The [Soldiers] reformed their lines, drawing back from encircling the embattled adventurers, arranging themselves in an arc that threatened the small group without exposing their rear ranks to whatever was about to appear.

  Even exhausted and barely able to focus, Marie realised what was happening.

  They are here. They have finally arrived.

  The commanders of the invading force began to call out Skills in their unfamiliar language, the incongruously smooth, melodic tones repositioning their warriors like waves shifting sand.

  And then Marie heard a voice she could understand echoing off the barren landscape. A harsher one, strained and hoarse, but one that she recognised.

  “Faster! [My Offer Still Stands] Ten gold to the first one to find them!”

  Lights appeared in the cleft between the two closest hills, rapidly resolving into a dozen burning torches held aloft, as upwards of thirty figures, surrounding a cart and the fat tabaxi [Merchant] that sat atop it, rushed to relieve their foundering comrades.

  They weren’t fresh, and they weren’t the best that the town had to offer, but they had come.

  It still might not be enough…

  A couple of them fell before they even reached the base of the slope as the group were struck by a volley of arrows, but Marie couldn't make out who they were, or if the wounds were fatal.

  Thror gestured for a slow retreat, and as the new arrivals charged up the hill to meet them, Marie felt a surge of hope that they might be allowed to flee.

  That changed when another shower of arrows came hissing through the hot night air, arcing towards the adventurers with unerring accuracy.

  “[Protect My Investment]!”

  Gil’s Skill rang out from the cart as a mule struggled to haul it up the incline, and Marie flinched away from the shafts that were sure to end her life.

  Except, rather than the piercing death she foresaw, less than a foot from her body the arrows ricocheted off the air itself. No, not the air. It was as though they'd glanced off something…

  A sheen of spectral coins?

  Half a dozen missiles pinged off the intangible barrier that surrounded her - that surrounded all of those on the hillside - one that was only visible when a shaft was about to hit. She gasped in relief, but the breath caught in her throat as she saw the number of golden ethereal discs that blocked and scattered out from where the arrows struck growing smaller and smaller with each successive warding, until the missiles were barely being deflected, and the defenders began employing their own skills to keep from being skewered. She sought shelter behind the armoured figure of Dusty as her tabaxi friend beckoned her over to hide, her shield battered but still held high.

  Three more waves of arrows had fallen by the time Marie could see the newcomers properly. They weren't being slow, even charging uphill; the [Soldiers] were simply shooting at superhuman speeds.

  And the adventurers weren’t just rushing to meet up either.

  She watched one of the relief force - one of Algar's Hunters - Ashe - drawing back her own bow, and the arrow that lept from it intercepted one that had been heading towards the leader of the allagi group.

  Embris hurled out a wave of fire that burnt a swathe of arrows to ash mid-flight, and one of the adventurers running next to the cart threw his shield out with a shout. It tripled in size as it flew forwards, spinning until it hung in the air above them like a second moon, blocking a portion of the shafts that fell before reversing direction and gliding back to the man’s arm.

  It wasn’t enough to protect them all though, and a couple more of the adventurers dropped to the ground as some of the missiles got through their defences, but by the time the frontrunners of the reinforcements reached the main line, the first ranks of [Soldiers] had given up on ranged warfare and were charging down the hill to clash in furious melee once more.

  Braer ran along in the midst of the fastest bronze-ranked allagi, each of them drawing a bladed weapon as the [Butcher] waved a cleaver over his head and shouted above the din of the oncoming tide of warriors.

  “[Sharpen Knives].”

  As the first wave of men and women crashed towards each other, she watched him leap forwards with the vitality of someone half his age to engage one of the southern warriors that was a full twenty paces ahead, sprinting faster than the others in some kind of battle frenzy.

  “[Razor Edge], [Clean Cut]...” his cleaver carved through the narrow gap between the [Soldier]’s gorget and helmet, decapitating him as though it took no more effort than butchering a chicken carcass, and the old allagi looked up to the oncoming horde as the man died, pointing his cleaver at a section of them. “[Mass Carving].”

  Almost a dozen [Soldiers] dropped to the ground, hands grasping throats as blood sprayed into the air. Half of them were dead before the lines met, and Marie lost sight of the others as another figure bounded in front of her.

  Kalminash was wild-eyed and roaring in defiance as he grew in size by a foot - ten and three quarter inches - and his muscles bulged. A horned helm on his head glittered just as menacingly as the double-headed axe he wielded in one hand.

  Like a viking out of legend… if film depictions were accurate.

  The shockwave as he slammed his axe into the ground brought her out of her daze, and the force it blasted out sent four charging [Soldiers] sprawling.

  A minute after the horn had sounded, the entirety of Wayfarrow's available Silver-ranked adventurers, along with Algar's Hunters and a handful of townsfolk that had surpassed level 30 that had dared join them, were standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the remnants of the Spellswords and Evermore’s, over the bodies of more than a dozen [Soldiers], as the rest of the first wave retreated back up the hill.

  And just like that, their small but elite force had doubled in size.

  But they were still outnumbered almost two-to-one, and a second wave of armoured men and women of the southern realms barrelled towards them with deadly intent.

  —

  [Chief Librarian] Ununcia hadn’t been idle in the minute the distraction of the new force arriving had brought. Her analytical mind had come to one undeniable conclusion.

  It was one that [Guildmaster] Thror shared.

  In the seconds they had to plan before arrows began to fall again, the two of them exchanged hurried plans, pulling the only other high-leveled person present into their huddle as Thror gave the orders.

  “I will take the leader. Chiritta, you go for the [Mage], Unun-”

  “No. I’ll take the Mage, Miss Chiritta, you take the [Tactician].”

  The beastkin and tabaxi bowed to the librarian’s wishes, and all three gathered themselves to strike.

  “When the next wave reaches us, we break through and go. Agreed?”

  Chiritta and Lady Kypria nodded, and as the second mob of screaming [Soldiers] hit, the three of them unleashed the best Skills they had.

  —

  Marie had learned from the past hour, taught by repeated pain and injury, and though a core part of her raged as her friends were stabbed at and cut down and pushed back, she kept away from the crush of higher-leveled soldiers and adventurers.

  Missiles were still flying thick and fast as the lines clashed this time, aimed just beyond the first rank of [Soldiers] with disturbing accuracy, and as Dusty threw herself back into the fight she was forced to take cover behind the cart as the armour of spectral coins finally dissipated and an arrow cut into the meat of her arm.

  Her mind was thrown back to the undead city, and the damage she'd taken from an arrow to the shoulder, and as hunkered down, making herself as small a target as possible, she choked back a sob as she remembered the small skeletal companion that had likely saved her life that day, and many times since.

  She didn’t have time to wallow in the pain of her loss.

  Atop the cart, boards splintering under the impact of arrows he was trying to ignore, Gil cursed, drawing Marie’s attention as he rummaged around in the back of the wagon.

  Heart in her mouth, she sprang up to the wooden bed, climbing onto the mess of goods he kept there, ready to pull him back into cover, but before she could call out to him his eyes lit up and pulled out a bow of his own.

  He held it awkwardly, by the tips of his fingers - well-manicured claws - rather than his whole hand, and as he turned and fitted an unsteady shaft to the string, he called out, voice wavering from a strain that she initially attributed to stress.

  “[Favourable Trade].”

  The arrow he loosed barely made it twenty feet, arcing feebly over the front rank of adventurers and dropping harmlessly onto the heads of the [Soldiers].

  A second later Marie’s mouth opened in amazement, grief forgotten.

  The rain of arrows stopped. Every single archer amongst the [Soldiers] found themselves momentarily unable to shoot better than the fat [Merchant].

  She looked up at Gilded Paw. The tabaxi fell heavily to the driver's seat, sweating profusely, eyes rolling up in his head for a moment. He pulled out a silk handkerchief and dabbed his brow as he called out to the surrounding adventurers.

  “Oof. That won't last more than a minute ladies and gentlemen. Make the most of it whilst you can, and if we survive this, make sure to stop by Gil’s Glorious Goods for regular bargains, and the best trade deals you'll find in town!”

  As the skies above cleared of both arrows and clouds for the first time in what felt like hours, a roar came from ahead, and the [Guildmaster], followed by Lady Kypria and Chiritta, made a sudden push into the centre of the Southern army.

  It took Marie a second to work out what they were doing, but as Thror cleaved through a trio of spearmen and hurled Chritta towards the summit of the hill, she saw their target.

  And in the moment of silence left in the wake of the huge tabaxi’s lion-like call, Sirrochon’s voice filled the hot night air, as frayed as the rest were afraid, singing lamentations for the fallen and vengeance for the dead, and the spark of anger that had been doused by pain and fear was reignited… and as her anger kindled to an all-consuming rage against the foul invaders that took the blood and the breath of the people she cared for - that had dared to come to these lands and slaughter innocent people - Marie and every other adventurer of Wayfarrow threw themselves forward after their [Guildmaster] with a wild yell.

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