NOVEL NEXT 114. Volunteers Of The Bastion
"It'll be you," Tucker muttered the words quietly to himself once more. Most of the captains had left the war room. Even Reynold had parted after speaking those words.
In the silent marble room that had been cleaned of all military papers, stood Tucker, Brian, and Max. The three captains that survived the fourth bastion massacre. None of them could have predicted that Reynold would give Tucker command just like that. But for better or worse, it worked in their favor.
Max stared at the two with his arms crossed. He cleared his throat to break the silence that filled the room. "What's the plan?"
Tucker glanced at the golden badge before pinning it to the side of his leather belt. "For now, we need to figure out how much manpower we'll have along with what supplies will be left behind."
"Once we get a count, what's our next move?" Brian asked. "The commander won against the general, but there's no telling what they're planning next."
"If what we know is correct… then they will want to take over the bastion as soon as possible." Tucker peered out the open window, gazing at the burning city. "They'll launch another all-out attack."
"Damn… it really seems like we can't catch a break," Brian said with a smirk. "I've already sent word to the capital. If they choose to advance, at least our nation will be ready."
Max furrowed his brow upon hearing this. He didn't want to believe them, but the stern gaze from the Thirty-First's captain told him otherwise. Without wasting a second, he pushed the unnecessary thoughts to the back of his head and locked eyes with Tucker. "Do you think we stand a chance?"
The captain of the Thirty-First met Max's gaze and revealed a faint smile. He walked towards the open steel doors, with Brian and Max following suit. "I wouldn't be trying if I didn't think it was possible."
Max crossed his arms, the metal plates of his armor clattering against each other as he nodded in approval.
The three of them made their way toward the castle's grand chamber. Minutes passed in silence before the looming outline of a massive steel doorway emerged ahead. On its surface were countless intricate engravings etched by master magic engineers. Mana shimmered faintly across the metal as indistinct murmurs drifted through the air. Tucker wasn't sure who was standing behind the doors. His platoon should have been well on its way out, and the other watchmen had already completed their mission.
By all logic and reason, none of them had a reason to stay, and it was better that way.
He set his hands against the cold surface and pushed while taking a step forward.
A long, drawn-out scrape echoed through the corridor, the heavy panels grinding against their hinges. The sound released a deep rumble that drowned out the voices on the other side. Light spilled through the widening gap, cutting across the darkened hall. It took a moment for their vision to stabilize, and then the sight hit them.
Over seven hundred soldiers stood within, wearing tabards from every platoon proudly displayed. Knights from rival Orders stood shoulder to shoulder with common soldiers. Their differences stripped away. In that single unified moment, the room seemed to breathe with one heartbeat.
"Well, Captain Welford, it looks like we've got quite the number of volunteers," Brian said.
"I expect nothing less from my brothers of the bastion," Max added.
He glanced at the organized ranks of the Twenty-Eighth. Yet as his eyes scanned the chamber, he could see soldiers of the Thirty-First, lined up in perfect rows with their hands over the hilt of their weapons. Their armor was riddled with blade marks, and the green tabard they wore was stained in blood, yet they stood tall.
"You've also trained an impressive batch of soldiers," Max commented.
"I was fortunate to be given a dedicated group of soldiers," Tucker replied with a smile. He stepped into the light, watching as all the soldiers turned to him.
Luka and all the other watchmen were with the Thirty-First, while Wilfred and his comrades were reunited beside them. They waited in anticipation for what their leader had to say, and despite the fact that Tucker didn't wear the golden badge with pride on his chest; they knew that he was the one who would lead them.
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Tucker's eyes held a determined light as he scanned the room. He kept his hands by his side and met their gaze. There was no speech planned, no well-organized rally to raise their spirits. Only the lingering thoughts in his head and what they had been through.
"First, I want to thank each and every one of you for volunteering for this role." Tucker's firm voice echoed in the chamber. "As you know, we're currently in the process of retreating from the bastion, and in order to do so… we need to buy roughly a day's worth of time."
The soldiers stood in silence. Some removed their helmets and held them under their arms, while others simply gazed at Tucker.
"We're at the final defense of the bastion," he continued. "There's no telling… how many of us will be standing here tomorrow. But know this… you have all fought bravely for your country, and you should be proud of what you've done." His tone was clear, loud enough for all the soldiers to hear.
His gaze swept over the soldiers of the Thirty-First. "In the coming days, the Empire's war machines will be upon our doorstep."
Whispers rippled through the ranks. Tucker stood quietly for a moment, catching a flicker of fear in their eyes but didn't soften his words. This was something they needed to hear.
"There's a plan in place," he added. "One that requires the cooperation of every single one of you. At the very back of the machines lies a cylindrical device. Its purpose is to feed mana to the weapon. From the work of the Nightfall Rangers, we have received critical information that if it's destroyed, the machine will be rendered useless."
The soldiers glanced at each other in disbelief. One of them asked, "Is it possible for us to destroy it?"
Tucker took a deep breath. "It is… but to do so, we'll have to break through multiple layers of defense. The only way is to form a strike team composed of the Kingdom's strongest knights. While the rest will work to immobilize the machine, the knights will strike together and cut through its defenses."
"The team will be led by Captain Morgan," Tucker continued. "I'll lead another group to cripple the machine itself, while Captain Maystone commands a group of soldiers to hold the line. If every one of us does our part, we will see this through, and we will win. That, I promise you."
The men exchanged firm nods as Tucker's words settled over them. In the grand chamber of the castle, every single one of them stood with pride. They all moved with purposeful haste. Time was slowly fading away, and they needed to make every second count.
A squadron of knights drawn from several different knighthoods formed up behind Brian. To his left stood his brothers. The Knights of Hearthfire, with their azure cloaks and sigils proudly displayed across their shoulders. Then to his right marched an Order whose emblem bore a silver branch carried by a white dove. They were the Eternal Keepers, a renowned group known throughout the Kingdom for their wisdom and tactical mastery.
Yet what drew Tucker's gaze the most was the symbol that bound them all. A silver five-pointed star set against a gleaming silver shield on their shoulder plates, each adorned with a ribbon marking their years of service. It was an honour bestowed only upon those who had achieved feats deemed impossible by the King himself.
Then came the soldiers following Captain Maystone. Three hundred able-bodied men composed of knights and common soldiers alike. They were the remnants of his platoon and those who had fought alongside him before, bound together by an unshakeable brotherhood forged only in war. Many bore grey beards and were well past their prime, yet their presence carried the weight of veterans who had survived the Kingdom's fiercest battles. From their steady gazes, Tucker could tell they had endured the worst the bastion had to offer.
Finally, came Tucker's unit. A hundred and fifty soldiers from the Thirty-First. Nearly every single one of them had chosen to stay behind. The only ones who left were those who had been claimed by death or those with wounds too severe to return to combat. The sight drew a bitter smile from Tucker. His eyes found the troublesome trio, Jones, Nemo, and Liam. All standing shoulder to shoulder with Luther just behind them. Then he spotted the soldiers of the Twenty-Eighth, who had fought by his side in the storage garrison. Wilfred grinned and raised a simple salute, echoed by the rest of his surviving comrades.
Tucker's gaze shifted to the side, where all the watchmen stood at attention. Beside Luka was a small wooden crate resting on the floor. Inside were blue ribbons tied to a smooth, translucent orb that glimmered faintly in the light. Each one had enchantments inscribed on the surface, and without uttering a single word, Tucker knew what it was.
These were the memory recording devices that had been discussed before. Luka had gone straight to the magic engineers, demanding that they craft as many devices as possible for the soldiers before the battle. Now they would distribute it among the men and track every last moment of their fight.
Tucker walked towards his men, his boots softly pressing against the red carpet that led to the exit. As he drew closer, they straightened instinctively, forming a perfect line. He patted Jones's shoulder as the young man nodded and wore his helmet. Without a word, the line began to move, falling in behind him as he headed towards the cold air that seeped into the chamber.
Somewhere beyond the walls of the castle were the enemy's war machines, and Tucker could feel its shadow stretching over the bastion like a night that would never end. In hours, flesh and steel would meet in a clash that would burn itself into the Kingdom's history. One that many would give their lives for. Yet even though Tucker told himself to prepare for what was coming. He felt a familiar ache bloom in his chest. A weight of loss pressing down on his shoulders. But right now he couldn't let it pull him under. Not while his men were watching.