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

Ray sat on the wooden stool, his leg rapidly tapping the dirt floor while crossing his arms. The soldiers were all running around the area, fortifying the defenses and moving munitions closer to the walls. A look of anxiety filled Ray's eyes. The frantic shouting of the gatekeepers and the constant arguments between the other platoons left him exhausted.

Is this what the Captain had to deal with?

He quietly glanced at the other platoons and covered his eyes. Eric was busy managing the Thirty-First, and Jess was tending to the wounded. There was much they had to do for the upcoming battle. Yet, in his hands was a note sent by his captain.

What the hell do we do?

He read the contents over once more. The Empire planned an attack on the inner walls at sunrise, and they were prepared for it; however, his captain's request was what left him speechless. Only Tucker would think of something that crazy. Somehow—some way—Ray needed to get one of the cannons on the inner walls and target the buildings Gale was flying over.

The attack didn't need to be strong, just enough to shake it.

But to gain access, he needed to convince the narrow-eyed bastard, Norman, to give him permission. The very same gatekeeper who locked his comrades out. Ray stared daggers at the gatekeeper's back, watching the middle-aged man's every move. It was so apparent that even the other guards took notice.

"Do you have something to say, watchman?" Norman asked.

Ray scoffed, barely holding back his anger. He shook his head and closed his eyes. It took everything in him to not curse that gatekeeper out, but now wasn't the time. "I'll be frank. Give me one of your cannons."

"Ha! You must be out of your goddamn mind." Norman returned the glare. "What makes you think we'll lend you one of our cannons?"

"Because our captain, along with the captains of the Thirtieth and Twenty-Eighth, is still alive. Along with hundreds of other men." Ray's voice loudly echoed throughout the area. The soldiers of the other platoons immediately dropped what they were doing and stared at the two. "If you don't lend me one fucking cannon, do you really think we'll cooperate with you?"

Norman glanced at the other gatekeepers. The atmosphere was already bad enough with what happened in the previous incident. Even though the knights of the platoons were professional with their conduct, the same couldn't be said about the standard soldiers. Many of them would probably stab them in the back if they were given the option.

"So what'll it be?" Ray asked.

Norman slowly exhaled and held out one finger. "One cannon, that's all you'll get. A single one and nothing more."

"That's all we'll need." Ray waved at the soldiers of the Thirty-First to move before standing. He walked by Norman and coldly said. "Don't think this makes up for what you did."

The middle-aged gatekeeper stood still. "I won't."

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Tucker sat on the steps leading to the second floor of the building. The smell of blood had yet to fade, but at this point, he was used to it. His eyes drifted to the soldiers gathered around him. Professional knights stood to his left, and the men of the Thirty-First to his right. All of them were waiting in silence, not daring to utter a single word as they waited for orders.

They had moved all the dead bodies into the depths of the stone-cold basement in hopes of decreasing the foul stench that filled the room. But it seemed like Tucker's worry was unnecessary, as none of the soldiers were bothered by it.

Brian stood beside him with his silver pocket watch in his hand. He had smeared it with dirt to remove the gleam, and despite it being a precious artifact of his order, he did it without hesitation.

"We have a couple more minutes before the sun is fully in the sky," said Brian.

"And how are the men doing?" Tucker asked.

"So far, so good. There haven't been any complaints, and everyone seems to be on board."

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"That's good." Tucker held onto the triangular hat crafted from demonic hide in his hands. There wasn't a point in having any doubts now. "Are the other five parties ready?"

"They've checked their equipment and have been briefed about the plan." Brian stared at the chalk diagram on the floor. "They're as ready as can be. Hell, I'm sure those guys would gladly give their lives just to make sure this succeeds."

Tucker cracked a smile. "Well, I don't need them to die. I need them to live, or else this entire thing is wasted." He smirked and stared at the soldiers. "If any of you die before this operation is over, I'll kill you myself."

The men around him quietly chuckled, laughing at the ironic statement.

"But, sir, we would already be dead!" Jones retorted.

"Don't test me, Jones, I'll find a way." Tucker placed the hat on his head, signaling for the men to get ready.

The men all fell silent once more. Their plan was simple and involved storming the building beside their current one to get closer to the inner walls. Right now, the Empire didn't seem aware that they were occupying this location. A careless mistake on their part, but one they planned to take advantage of.

He gazed at the wooden door to the side of the building, counting the seconds that went by. As instructed, all the blinds were closed, and not a single bit of sunlight entered their rooms. Each floor had roughly fifty soldiers, divided into two groups. It would be a miracle if everything went smoothly, but with Jones handling the initial coordination, everything should fall into place.

Brian stared at Tucker, who noticed his gaze and nodded. The knight captain pointed at the pocket watch in his hands. Everyone remained quiet, and not even a whisper escaped their lips. The thunderous roars of war horns blew in the distance, penetrating through the glass panels of their building.

Right on time.

Tucker closed his eyes as the surrounding breeze swept through the area. The Empire's forces were moving. Thousands of soldiers were marching towards the inner walls with their weapons in hand. Spears gleamed beneath the sunlight, and their banners fluttered in the wind. Their main force was roughly a thousand meters away from them. Everything still fell within expectations except for the few stragglers who were roaming around the area.

None of the Everheart soldiers dared to peek out the blinds. They simply waited until the time was right for them to make a move. The sounds of cannons thundered like a raging storm, shaking the very ground they stood on. Yet Tucker remained composed and patiently waited. They needed the Empire's forces to slam into the inner walls like a tidal wave. To start a chaotic symphony of bloodshed so they could mask their own battle with the screams of their foes.

Looking back, Tucker couldn't help but bitterly laugh in his heart. When he joined the Order and became a watchman, he was eager. Naïve. Thought that he could make a difference in the world and live up to being a hero like the stories his grandfather told him about. A man who lived through the five-year war and served with the Kingdom's best.

Everything seemed great. He made it through the rigorous training of the watchmen, made countless friends—people he could call his sworn brothers. Trained his very own platoon with the help of his comrades and those he trusted.

But now? He couldn't even stomach the idea. The men he spent his days with were dying, wiped off the face of the world like it never mattered. No matter how hard he tried, how much he prepared, it felt like it would never remain untouched by the war. He played the cards dealt to him and each time, the results felt like shit.

There were times when he sat by himself, thinking about why it mattered. Why he should keep fighting and maybe it was because people depended on him. But no matter what he tried to come up with, it didn't ease his mind. His men would die in this plan. By his words, his orders, but this was their best option.

There was no rescue.

Even if they asked, the Kingdom wouldn't spend resources to save a few hundred men. Not at the cost of thousands. Not as the ashes fell from the sky and the mud buried their lifeless bodies. There was too much uncertainty, and a single sign of weakness would break them.

Each grueling battle they won paved the way for their survival. Yet it felt like they were slowly being pulled back and set up for failure by those above. Their platoon held the outer walls with the thirtieth platoon, even as his men coughed up blood and bled out on the stone bricks. Refusing to let go of their weapons. Yet, less than a day later, they were sent to another battlefield with no regard for their condition. Forced to follow a plan that killed countless more.

It was ironic.

When he fought orders, he was punished, and when he listened, those around him suffered. It felt like nothing mattered, and parts of him died inside each time. Like a part of him disappeared that would never make him feel whole again.

Tucker slowly opened his eyes, listening as the cannon fire hammered away at the stone buildings. The men all watched and stood at attention as the Captain of the Thirty-First rose.

There wasn't a point in complaining about what had already happened, and even if his body and soul broke down, it didn't matter. He would uphold his promise and do his best to keep his men alive. That was all he could do. Before, he didn't understand why Blaire saw the world with such spite—but after experiencing firsthand, Tucker understood. He had come to terms with the darkness of war.

With what it's like to hold a friend bleeding out in your arms.

With the determination of men who sacrificed their lives just so others could live a day longer.

With bonds that were extinguished, like flames snuffed from a candle.

They were all experiences that others didn't talk about. Buried in the heroic victories of war—but if he made it out, his future children would know that it wasn't all glory. Tucker gazed at the surrounding men, examining their hardened gazes. Each one had faith in him, and seeing their confidence, he knew he couldn't afford to fail them. With one final breath, Tucker solidified his resolve and took a step forward.

His eyes flickered with confidence. Not in himself, but in those who followed. "Let's move out."