Spiritbound [Spirit Magic, Military, Progression] (Book 1 Complete)

Blood ran down Ray's trembling hands. He stared at his fallen brothers and forced himself to stand, barely holding himself together as Eric leaned in to support him.

"We need to fall back," Eric said tiredly.

"We can't," Ray forced the words out with a heavy breath. "If they break through here… we're finished."

Around them, the surviving knights were on their knees, far too drained to rise. They had fought for hours, and their strength had long since been bled away. The ground was a carpet of corpses with friends and foes alike. Archers sat slumped against the walls and rooftops of barracks and storage buildings. Their fingers were torn and bloodied from firing arrows long past the point of pain.

Droplets of blood fell onto the ground, leaving small splatters as Ray pulled his sword free from the heart of a corpse with a sickening tug. In the corner of his eyes, he saw Pathfinder and her medics dragging the wounded to safety, their hands red to the wrist. Two hundred men, maybe more, had been pulled from death's grip—but to what end?

The question twisted Ray's gut as the sound of metallic boots echoed through the courtyard. The stone bricks beneath them radiated heat and were stained with ash that drifted upwards. Ray stared at the dull grey sky once more, watching as the sunlight barely broke through the clouds.

He turned to the gates that had been torn open with dim eyes. The reinforced iron gates were ripped open like ribs of a beast. Through the breach, he could see the next wave of Imperial soldiers assembling. Their banners snapped proudly in the wind, and Ray didn't know if they had anything left to stop them.

He stared at the men they trained with an admission of guilt. They tried their best, but it wasn't enough. No matter what kind of training they gave them, it wouldn't have been enough to prepare them for this. Against such hate and cruelty, how could they fight back?

The war horns of the Empire roared once more, releasing a deep cry like an ancient beast that awakened from its slumber. All the Everheart soldiers stared at the gates as figures began to emerge through the smoke. The soft creak of bowstrings and swords being pulled from their scabbards entered their ears once more.

Eric and Ray raised their blades at the enemy soldiers as the men of the Thirty-First stepped into formation, shields locking together into a tight wall. They didn't know when reinforcements would arrive or if their captain was alive. But if there was one thing they knew, it was that they needed to hold the line.

For those who had fallen.

For those who might still be alive.

.

.

.

"Forward!"

The Empire's forces shouted in unison, pushing into the shattered inner gates. Hundreds of them were waiting for a chance to get in. To make a name from themselves. Their pristine armor gleamed beneath the sunlight, and their battle cries reverberated across the tiles like thunder.

Ladders slammed against the inner walls, shaking as the enemy troops climbed upwards with bloodlust in their eyes. The fire that burned within their souls flared, and victory was right within their grasp.

Inside the courtyard, only a handful of battered Everheart knights remained. They fought with the desperation of men who had nothing left to lose. Their formation had broken, and they dragged the wounded out of the way, barely clearing space for a final stand. With one final push, the Empire would seize the inner walls. All that would remain was the castle, and the forces stranded on the outer walls.

Rubble fell from above. They could taste victory on the tip of their tongues, but soon a murmur rippled through the Empire's ranks. Some turned, confused. Then a soldier at the rear narrowed his eyes, squinting through the swirling haze in the distance. He lifted his visor, trying to make out the shapes approaching through the smoke. It was possible that more of their comrades were joining the battle, but as the figures drew closer, his heart sank.

Capes fluttered in the air. Blue and green—tattered from countless past battles, smeared with blood and ash. Yet despite their appearances, the cloths remained proudly draped over their broad shoulders with their mismatched helms symbolizing the various knightly orders that had answered the kingdom's call.

"Enemies!" The soldier roared at the top of his lungs. "Enemies at our flanks!"

But the warning was too late.

The Everheart reinforcements had already broken into a sprint, charging headlong into the enemy's exposed side. In the front leading them was Tucker, sword clenched in one hand and eyes locked forward. Wind swirled around his blade, howling like a tornado sweeping through a meadow. With a single swing, he released the torrent of roaring gust that tore into the Empire's lines. Soldiers staggered, and their shields were pulled from their grasp as the air itself turned against them, breaking their momentum.

The Empire's archers immediately nocked their arrows, aiming at the men charging at their flank. The arrows whistled through the ash and smoke, but soon shattered mid-air against a series of translucent hexagonal tiles that formed a shield.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

"What?!" one of the archers shouted, eyes wide in disbelief while reaching for another arrow.

Volley after volley, their arrows broke into countless splinters. Not a single one found its mark as the aura-clad arrowheads fell to the ground. The Everheart soldiers kept advancing, drawing closer with each breath. The ground trembled beneath their charge. Panic spread throughout the Empire's rear lines. Some tried to form a defensive perimeter, shouting orders and trying to rally the other men. But it was too late. Troops stumbled into one another as some tried to retreat, while others were desperately raising their shields as javelins rained down on them, piercing their armor and flesh.

But it didn't matter—the Everheart vanguard crashed into them like a hammer striking an anvil.

Steel clashed against iron. Shields buckled, and flesh tore. Screams filled the area as Tucker and his men tore through the Empire's flank. Their formation was tight, leaving hardly any openings for the Empire's forces to take advantage of. And in the face of the overwhelming might shown by the Everheart soldiers' unyielding resolve, the enemy fell apart.

A line of the kingdom's finest knights led the charge, with standard soldiers supporting them. Their auras blazing behind them in vibrant shades of blue, red, and gold.

"What the hell is going on?" The Empire's knight glared at their flank as bodies were blown aside.

He focused on the soldiers that were being cut down, but before he could do anything, a silhouette loomed above his head. The black and gold accent helm blotting out the sun while the single horn-like extension that rose from one side cut through the air. Brian's bright orange aura flared like a comet. Before the enemy knight could even react, his head was already rolling across the blood-soaked stone.

Brian clenched onto his sword and spun on his heel, releasing a wide crescent arc that carved through the enemy like a blade of light, decapitating them before their bodies could hit the ground.

The world around them slowly shifted as two knights surrounded Brian, but he merely scoffed, shattering their domain with his own. A wave of golden-orange light swept outward, consuming the battlefield. The men of the Thirtieth were unfazed as a new domain took hold—a battlefield of eternal dawn.

Enemy knights tried to summon their aura once more, but only gritted their teeth in frustration. After the brutal skirmish with the knights guarding the gates, they had depleted most of their aura. Two hundred enemy soldiers and all the soldiers following Tucker's bold assault were pulled into the heart of Brian's domain.

The air was warm but sharp, like the cusp of a new day before battle. The sun hung low on the horizon, unmoving but radiant, casting long shadows and bathing the terrain in amber light. While ancient, crumbling statues of past heroes and watchful saints stood tall. All turned toward the center in reverence.

Tucker stood on the scorched earth. His body felt lighter, and a newfound energy coursed through his limbs. It wasn't just him who felt this sensation, but all the Everheart soldiers behind him. The Empire soldiers hesitated. Their movements were far slower compared to before, and their expressions grim.

Tucker knew they couldn't let this opportunity slip by. Not while the enemies were still taken aback.

"Charge!" He shouted, raising his sword up high. The blade caught the amber light and blazed like fire born from the sun. Behind him, his men roared in unison. Their swords ignited—set ablaze not by flame, but by conviction.

The Everheart line surged forward.

He glared at the enemy soldiers and parried the first blade that came in his direction. Tucker's aura crackled on impact as the attacker stumbled back. Capitalizing on the moment, Jones closed the gap and thrust his blade through the man's chest. The soldier coughed out a mouthful of blood and fell to his knees as Jones freed his sword.

Everywhere Tucker looked, his men were all decisively winning their battles. Not a single one was being pushed back, and as his gaze met Brian's, the man gave a curt nod before continuing his onslaught. Within minutes, over fifty of the Empire's soldiers were lifeless on the ground.

But Tucker knew it didn't matter if they dealt with the grunts. Both him and Brian were searching for the knights that were hidden deep within their ranks. The fact that none had challenged Brian's domain confirmed their suspicions. They were out of aura and powerless. Nothing more than wolves with their fangs broken. Trapped in a den of predators waiting to tear them apart.

His gaze flicked to the crumbling statue beside him. Tucker immediately gathered mana beneath the soles of his boots and launched himself upwards. A sharp burst of energy propelled him forward as he scaled the weathered stone using Swift Stride, leaping ledge to ledge until reaching the peak.

There they are.

His eyes locked on a dozen knights who were in the far back of the domain. In between them and their forces were a hundred soldiers, but Tucker knew that they needed to kill them here and now. This was their only chance, and he couldn't allow them to escape. If they did, then they would only return with far more reinforcements.

They had to die here.

He channeled spirit essence into his palms, manifesting a bow of wind. His torn clothes and scorched cape fluttered in the wind, and soon the enemy knights caught sight of him. But it was already too late. They had nowhere to run, and the attack was already well on its way.

The spirit arrow sang as it left Tucker's bow, drawing the golden energy from the domain as it soared through the air. Even Gale, circling high above, caught sight of the attack and veered toward it, wings beating faster as the spirit followed its path. The arrow absorbed Gale's essence mid-flight, its verdant hue deepening with streaks of radiant gold, growing faster and stronger.

Just as the knights desperately raised their aura to defend themselves, the arrow struck, colliding with their bodies and tearing through their defenses as their limbs were blown apart. Tucker focused on the twelve knights, who were barely standing. Only one had died from his attack, but the others were critically wounded.

His expression darkened. He had hoped for more but had failed.

Jones glanced up at Tucker, catching the grim look on his captain's face. He turned toward the crater and, without hesitation, roared, "Thirty-First! Open a path!"

His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. The soldiers didn't wait for a second command—they surged forward in a wedge formation, driving through the enemy ranks with cold-hearted rage. Swords slashed and shields slammed against one another. The Empire's soldiers fell one after another as their ranks buckled beneath the Thirty-First's assault.

The Everheart knights were right behind them. Once Jones had opened up the path as far as he could, the others took the lead and continued their assault. Brian led the charge, cleaving through all who stood in his path, inching closer and closer to the enemy knights. His blade danced with golden fury. His steps never slowed.

The enemy knights looked up and saw the Everheart knights closing in.

Only fear filled their eyes—and it was the last thing they ever saw.