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

Enjoy your ride to hell.

The words struck the Eleventh Order and stole their breath. Their eyes focused on the Everheart forces, and a sense of fear filled their minds. Their best soldiers were wounded, exhausted from the earlier skirmishes. The foot soldiers were in excellent condition, given the circumstances, but still didn't pose much of a threat. There was no visible threat. Not one they couldn't handle, and that was what terrified them.

How could a force that was driven to the brink of extinction be filled with confidence?

How could their spirits not be shattered?

It didn't make sense, and the fear of the unknown is what held them in place. The soldiers in front of them had every reason to tremble, every reason to fall into the depths of despair. They were trapped with nowhere to run against a sea of enemies. Yet here they were, standing as if they were the victors of this scarlet ocean.

Hundreds of fallen soldiers littered the halls, covering every inch of the marble tiles in the castle. Bodies were left in piles; some lined the walls while others rested on the crumbling stone pillars. There wasn't a single inch of land that hadn't seen conflict. Both sides knew this. The world quivered beneath the Eleventh Order's feet. They gazed at the surroundings, watching as bits of stone violently quivered.

The tremors grew fiercer, stronger with each passing second, and then it all clicked into place. The desperation to push them beyond the gates wasn't a mere act of defiance. One after another, the outer courtyards around them burst into fire and stone. Each explosion tore through the air alongside the rumble of thunder, like the roar of a leviathan that had awakened from its slumber.

Screams of men engulfed the Eleventh Order. Their eyes darted around the surrounding landscape as flames clawed up the walls of the castle. Every detonation drew closer and closer, leaping from yard to yard while tearing apart their ranks like thin pieces of parchment. The ground shook beneath the attacker's boots as the towers shuddered and roads cracked. Flames twisted from the crevices with an intensity that defied the downpour while smoke billowed through the courtyards, choking the very air from their lungs.

"You bastards! Do you have no shame?!"

The knights from the Eleventh Order screamed and cursed, yet the defenders from the inner halls simply watched. Flashes of orange and red lit their faces from afar. With each moment, the explosions drew closer until the blasts from the heat burned against their skin. The stench of charred flesh permeated their nostrils, and the horrific sight of men desperately flailing their arms to extinguish the flames ingrained itself into their memories.

The sound of a bowstring being drawn entered Tucker's ears. His arm immediately swung out, signalling the archers to hold their fire while observing the Empire's forces.

"Let them burn," he said.

His words caused a stillness to cling to their hearts, but none disobeyed. Even if his orders labeled him as ruthless, there was no other choice. After everything the Empire did, this was their retribution. Their punishment for the monstrosities they committed in the name of progress.

Voices choking from the smoke and flames begged for mercy. For their suffering to end. Yet none of the defenders moved as a rank of shield bearers and pikemen remained in defensive positions. The Everheart Knights raised their blades. Everything was going according to plan, and Max couldn't help but glance at their commander. Tucker's insight and tactics were undoubtedly remarkable. It was one matter to set a plan, and another to execute. With one decisive tactic, the tide of battle had instantly turned in their favour.

"I'll fucking kill you!"

A voice filled with pure rage erupted throughout the chamber. The Eleventh Order unleashed a seething battle cry and stormed their positions. But before they could draw near, Tucker swung his arm forward. Sharp hisses cut through the air as dozens of arrows flew at once. Death rained upon them from all directions. Arrowheads punched through the vulnerable gaps in their armor until the floor bristled like a forest of black thorns.

The knights were falling.

Picked off one by one as the clouds of dust seeped through the entrance and obscured the defender's vision. However, Tucker maintained his composure and stood in front of his men, glaring at the shadow that charged headfirst towards him. All the defenders focused on the looming figure with their weapons ready. Max and Brian rose to their feet as the metallic stomps echoed against the chaos.

As the shroud broke, the knight of the Eleventh Order swung his sword with all his might. The edge gleamed beneath the rain and flaring embers, but before it could reach the Bastion's commander—countless pikes shot forth, piercing the knight mid-charge.

Warm droplets of blood landed on Tucker's face as he gazed at the enemy. The man's silver armor was scarred with deep blade marks. His crimson cape hung on his shoulders in ragged stripes, becoming nothing more than a remembrance of their once-proud order.

Tucker stared at the sword that had almost reached him. The blade that was centimeters away from his face, with eyes that didn't flinch. In the knight's final moments, he had thrown himself into a desperate, suicidal attack to avenge his comrades. But such an attack would never reach him for those emotions burned stronger in the bastion's defenders.

"You… monster…"

The knight spat out a mouthful of blood as his helm slipped off. A soft clank entered their ears as it struck the ground before rolling towards Tucker's feet. A sense of sorrow filled his heart. The man who sought to take his life was no older than sixteen years old. But on a battlefield like this, there was no room for compassion. His last words were met with silence as Tucker's men twisted their pikes, tearing the soldier's body into shreds.

How far must we go to win?

Tucker clenched his fists as the dust settled. The Empire's forces at the front of the gates were in disarray. They had lost one of their knight orders in a daring assault to take the castle along with hundreds… perhaps thousands of soldiers. The chaos outside the castle bought them precious time, but for how long?

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Brian clasped his side and clicked his tongue in pain. The corners of his lips slowly curled up. "It looks like we've dealt with most of them."

"But not all," Max replied. He leaned under Brian's arm and hauled it over his shoulder. "Plenty more are still waiting for their chance."

"Then we'll need to move fast," said Tucker.

He glanced around the chamber and watched as his men counted the dead. Benjamin was off to the side, gathering the wounded and organizing their ranks, but from the veteran's grim expression, he could tell that the casualties weren't light. They had lost many good soldiers in the battle.

Tucker's eyes drifted to Wilfred. "How… how many did we lose?"

"Around a hundred dead, forty wounded," Wilfred replied.

The commander stared at the soldier from the Twenty-Eighth. The linen cloths used to wrap his wounds were soaked in dirt. They had run out of healing potions, and now there was no telling how many casualties would amass.

"Have the men fall back to the teleportation platform," Tucker ordered. "We'll prepare for our last stand there. Do we have any clue how far along we are with the evacuation?"

"No, there hasn't been word," Wilfred replied.

Tucker clicked his tongue. "Alright, get the wounded out of here first. The rest will follow me."

Wilfred nodded and joined the escort party gathering the injured. Small wooden carts rattled against the jagged tiles, pulling to the front to help transport the injured as Pathfinder and her medics tended to the wounded. From the side, Luka and Ray brushed past the rushing soldiers. Calmly navigating through the piles of dead bodies that blocked their way.

"Fucking hell…" Ray stared at the dead bodies in dismay. "I thought we had it bad, but… fuck…"

He shook his head in disbelief. A thick layer of blood covered the floor; the metallic scent hung heavy in the air. Comrades he recognized rested on the marble tiles, and seeing this, Ray felt as if something in his chest had been wrenched apart. He knelt down beside one of the fallen soldiers he had fought with and gently closed their eyes, knowing they would never open again.

A numbness spread through his limbs that carried no comfort—only a heaviness that marked something irreplaceable had been lost. But now wasn't the time to grieve. Ray stood up, his eyes drifting to Tucker, and the stern gaze told him everything.

"What do you need us to do?" he asked softly.

"I'm not sure yet," Tucker answered truthfully.

Beyond the gates were hundreds of injured enemy soldiers. Soldiers the Empire would have to rescue—and because of Tucker's tactic, they had bought several hours of time. Enough for their forces to complete their evacuation. There wasn't a point in chasing the Empire's forces and finishing them off. But a breeze pricked at the back of his neck.

Tucker furrowed his brow, unable to shake off the unease. The Empire had them trapped in the castle with nowhere to run. They didn't need to rush the siege. The defenders had nowhere else to go, and the odds of reinforcements arriving were slim. He played out the possible scenarios in his head, but no matter how much he thought about it, logically, it didn't make sense for the Empire to continue.

From the corner of his eye, Tucker saw an Everheart soldier approaching a wounded foe, who was begging for his life. The soldier held out his hands, revealing that he was unarmed, and dragged himself back as the defender drew closer. Yet, the defender didn't stop. In moments, a flash of silver arced through the air with several others following shortly after. Stragglers were killed left and right, some of the soldiers couldn't bear the sight and turned away, while others buried the memory in their hearts.

A trace of sadness lingered in Tucker's eyes, but he didn't stop them. After seeing such a scene unfold, Tucker knew not in his mind, but in his heart, that war made men mad. In his days at the bastion, he had seen the worst and best of humanity. The lengths people would go to in order to survive and what they would do to save those close to them.

He was no longer the same person who had seen everything through a black and white lens. Morals were a liberty granted to those who had not seen enough, and Tucker couldn't help but bitterly glare at the Empire's forces. He heard the sound of drums hammering in the distance. A sign that their foes weren't done. Not yet.

"Commander?"

Luka's voice brought Tucker back to reality. A reminder that his fight was still not over despite how much he wanted this damn war to end. His gaze fell on his friend. Tucker had made plenty of mistakes in his life, but if there was one he wouldn't make, it was having Luka die on his behalf.

"I need you to guide the wounded, Luka. Make sure they make it to the teleportation platform," he said.

"What?" Luka shook his head. "No—you need every help you can get!"

"I need someone I can trust to protect the injured," Tucker countered. "I want all the knights who can fight by my side, those who can still manifest aura to form their ranks!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

The soldiers shouted in unison, rushing to form their lines as they pulled into the tight corridors. Pathfinder and her medics stared at Tucker as he led his men from the front. Issuing orders left and right while urging the injured to run into the stone halls. Because of how the defense was structured at the start, the first to third groups had depleted their aura, leaving only the fourth and fifth groups.

"Go! Go! Go!" Ray yelled, ushering the soldiers to move.

"Wait—!"

Luka held out his hand to grab Tucker's shoulder as the wounded pushed past, but before he could get close, Ray clenched onto his wrist.

"Get the hell outta here." Ray's cold voice pierced Luka's conscience, causing him to flinch. "You heard the Commander, so do your job."

Luka hesitated for a moment, staring at Tucker's back with eyes that once carried conviction. His gaze wavered, and the light behind it dulled, but he knew better than to make a scene. Yet, as he blinked, the sound of fire crackling like dry branches entered his ears. The heat choked his every breath as he shut his eyes to calm himself.

This scene played back in his head like a nightmare that refused to leave. There was a time when this had happened before—back when he was with John and his mentor. And now everything was unfolding again. The same situation where he was too late to stop his friends from dying. The realization hurt more than any blade, and Luka knew history was repeating itself.

"Go, Luka," Tucker said, without looking back. "Good soldiers follow orders, and I need you to set an example."

Every part of him wanted to stay, to fight alongside his friend. However, Ray's grip held firm. There were many soldiers surrounding them, each wanting to fight till the last man, but they were beyond the point of victory. They had lost the bastion. All of them knew this, and the commander was right.

Living is winning.

So why did those words make it all the more difficult to leave?

He watched as their comrades followed Tucker, and in their eyes was a light filled with determination. One that was devoid of fear—of resentment. If the men from the last two groups had spite in their gazes, then it would have lessened the burden on the retreating soldiers.

Yet as each one passed, Luka felt a light pat on the back, drawing his gaze.

"Live well, kid." The veteran grinned before walking past, pulling Luka's gaze for a moment.

Soon, another hand landed on his shoulder, and then another. One by one, the fourth and fifth groups were leaving behind words of encouragement. Words filled with hope and warmth—words that no one would have expected, and Luka couldn't help but lower his gaze.

Ray let out a soft sigh before releasing his grip. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Luka's stomach sank as if the floor had fallen away. "I know…"

He turned away from the entrance of the castle and followed the few soldiers that remained in the hollow corridors. Their hearts hung heavily in their chest. Not a word escaped them as a thunderous battle cry broke out from the fourth and fifth groups.

Luka stopped for a moment, glancing over his shoulder as Tucker raised his blade in the air. The men who followed him did the same, and their voices erupted throughout the chamber. His chest tightened until it hurt. The sight of his brothers, his friends, charging headfirst into a battle they couldn't win broke his heart. But there was nothing he could do except move forward. He tore his gaze away and ran into the dark halls, leaving behind those he vowed to protect.