Chapter 66 — First blood
[04: 15: 32: 09]
...
The horn's echo hadn't even faded when the first wave crested the ridge.
Cassian's breath caught in his throat. The distant screams weren't distant anymore—they were a tsunami of bloodlust rolling down the hillside like spilled wine. What had been empty moorland seconds before now writhed with shadow and fang, a living carpet of corruption that made his skin crawl and his balls try to retreat into his ribcage.
"Holy shit," he whispered.
[DING! THE SIEGE OF WYRMWATCH BEGINS]
[DING! MAIN OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE THE FIRST WAVE]
[DING! SIDE OBJECTIVES: KILL THESE MUTTS I (0/10)]
[DING! SIDE OBJECTIVES: KILL THAT PACK LEADER (0/1)]
[DING! SIDE OBJECTIVES: KILL THAT ALPHA DEMON (0/1)]
[DING! "The Wild One": "This is gonna be fun! Look at all those lovely murder puppies!"]
[DING! "The Eternal Wanderer" cautions: "Stay vigilant, Cassian. This would be your first time participating in a war."]
[DING! "The Wild One" says: "Bah! Focus on your sword, the blood spilled, and your desires!"]
[DING! "Keeper of Archives" says: "Ohh, my cutie has grown! That was good advice, Cassian, for meditating on Aura."]
What had once been human was now something far worse: bipedal nightmares standing eight feet tall, their bodies stretched and warped like taffy pulled by a sadistic god. Muscles bulged beneath matted fur that gleamed with an oily sheen, reflecting the dying light like wet leather. Their faces—Christ, their faces—were caught somewhere between man and beast, jaws unhinged and filled with rows of yellowed fangs that clicked together as they ran.
They howled as they ran. Not the clean howl of wolves, but something broken and hungry—the sound of souls being torn apart and reformed into weapons.
The stench hit him next. Even from this distance, the wind carried the reek of rotting meat and sulfur, mixed with something that reminded him of burned hair and old copper pennies. His stomach lurched, but he managed to keep his breakfast down.
Barely.
Cassian cracked his neck and stretched his stiff body, the borrowed armor creaking like a ship in a storm. Remembering his duty, he picked up the rope beside the gong bell and, with all his strength, banged on the bronze disc. The sound exploded across the battlements—loud, deafening, and sharp enough to wake the dead.
Or at least wake the sleeping defenders.
"POSITIONS!" A deep voice cut through the chaos in response to the gong. "ARCHERS TO THE WALL! PIKE FORMATION ON THE RAMPARTS!"
Looking over, Cassian saw a figure dressed in full bronze plate that gleamed despite the overcast sky. As his eyes focused on the armor, he caught sight of a bird in flight insignia etched into the breastplate—wings spread wide, beak open in a silent scream.
Jon Vyke Thorne from House Thorne. Brandon had mentioned him in passing. Excellent archers and leaders, he'd said. Bit of a hardass, but the kind you want when the shit hits the fan.
Around him, the defenders of Wyrmwatch Keep scrambled into formation. These weren't the polished knights he'd expected—they were a ragtag collection of conscripts, sellswords, and broken men who'd found purpose in holding a line that couldn't be held. Their armor was mismatched patchwork, their weapons were crude and dented, and their eyes held the hollow look of people who'd already made peace with death.
Some looked barely old enough to shave. Others seemed too old to still be breathing.
"First time on the wall, boy?" The voice belonged to a grizzled sergeant with three parallel scars across his left cheek. Claw marks, by the look of them. Deep ones. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Something like that," Cassian muttered, forcing his fingers to stop shaking as he drew his sword. The blade felt foreign in his hands—too heavy, too clumsy, nothing like the heart weapons his sealed cards could have conjured.
Haa... stupid restriction.
The sergeant spat over the battlements, the glob of saliva disappearing into the mist below. "Name's Korren. Been holding this wall for seven years. You want some advice?"
"I'm listening."
"Don't think. Just kill. Think too much and you'll freeze up when the first one comes over the wall." Korren's scarred face twisted into something that might have been a grin. "And trust me, boy—they will come over the wall."
But before Cassian could respond, another voice boomed across the ramparts.
"HOLD YOUR POSITIONS, YOU MAGGOTS!"
Cassian turned to see a man striding along the wall like he owned it—which, technically, he probably did. His armor was practical rather than ornate, but it fit him like a second skin.
Sir Rancoor. He does look the most competent and awe-inspiring in this dungeon.
"Listen up, you sorry bastards!" Sir Rancoor continued, his voice carrying easily over the wind—no doubt enhanced by aura. Cassian could feel faint wisps of energy moving every time he spoke.
"I see some of you idiots already fingering your weapons like virgins at a brothel. Stop it."
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the ranks.
"War ain't about who swings first or who swings hardest. It's about who's still swinging when the sun comes up." He pointed toward the approaching horde with a gauntleted hand. "Those ugly sons of bitches down there? They're counting on you to panic. They're counting on you to waste your strength in the first ten minutes."
The knight began pacing, his boots ringing against the stone. "But here's what they don't know—we've been doing this dance for weeks. We know their steps. We know their rhythm. And we know how to make them bleed."
He stopped directly in front of a group of young soldiers who looked like they were about to piss themselves. "You scared, boy?"
"Y-yes, sir," one of them stammered.
"Good. Means you're not stupid." The knight's expression softened slightly. "Fear keeps you alive. Just don't let it control you."
He turned back to address the entire wall, and with a deep breath, he roared, the aura responding as Cassian saw golden lights dancing around him, converging into a form of sword above his head.
"WE SAHASAHNS ARE BORN FROM BLOOD AND WILL DIE IN BLOOD!"
"DEATH IN BATTLE, HONOR IN BLOOD!!"
He pounded his closed fist on his chest as he spoke, and everyone, every single person, pounded their chest loudly, all screaming, "DEATH IN BATTLE, HONOR IN BLOOD!!"
Damn, he sure as hell knows how to hype.
[DING! "The Eternal Wanderer" nods: All leaders need to learn that sooner or later, Cassian, 'no matter the odds you can't give up', this is the mood you need to instill into your followers.]
[DING! "The Eternal Wanderer": You can do this by fear, respect, or love]
Sir Rancoor nodded, pleased, as he barked orders. "Now then—archers! If you can hit a target at fifty paces, grab your bow and find a spot on the wall. If you can't hit the broad side of a barn, stay the hell away from the arrows before you put one in my back."
Several men moved toward the weapon racks, while others stepped away with obvious relief.
"Crossbows and catapults—that's where the rest of you come in. Don't need perfect aim, just need to know which end goes toward the enemy." More nervous laughter. "And if you can't figure that out, there's always the kitchen. Cook could use help keeping the soup pots boiling."
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Sir Rancoor's voice grew serious again. "This isn't going to be quick, and it isn't going to be clean. We're in for hours of this—maybe all night. Maybe longer. Pace yourselves. Drink water. Share your food. Watch each other's backs."
He drew his sword—a practical, well-maintained blade that had seen plenty of use. "And remember—every single one of those bastards you kill is one less trying to tear your throat out. Make it count."
Cassian found himself nodding along with the rest of the men. There was something about the way Sir Rancoor spoke, with all that aura—confident without being arrogant, honest without being cruel—that made him want to follow orders for once in his life.
Pretty sure there was aura fuckery in the mix as well... So the power can influence others. Good to know.
Sir Rancoor raised his voice again. "ALL RIGHT, YOU BEAUTIFUL DISASTERS! POSITIONS!"
The horde was closer now. Close enough that he could make out individual details. With a bow in his hand, he hoped his skill, which was firearm based, would somehow work on bows as well.
[DING! "The Wild One": "Oh, they're beautiful! Look at those claws! Those teeth! That murderous intent!"]
[DING! "The Eternal Wanderer": "Focus on your breathing, Cassian. Instead of going for numbers, let your essence bathe the area. Shoot where you are needed the most."]
"Hmm, I'll do that."
Well, he thought, watching the tide of claws and fangs surge toward the wall. This should be fun.
[DING! "The Wild One": "And here we go! Let the bloodbath begin!"]
The first arrow whistled past Cassian's ear close enough to part his hair. Shit, too fast!
"INCOMING!" someone screamed, but the warning came too late. A volley of crude spears and sharpened bones filled the air like deadly rain, clattering against stone and finding gaps in armor with sickening thuds.
Cassian ducked behind a merlon just as a spear point scraped across his borrowed breastplate, leaving a bright scratch in the dull metal. His hands shook as he nocked an arrow—the first time he'd held a bow since summer camp when he was twelve.
Please let this work like firearms, he prayed, drawing back the string.
The Lycanae were close enough now that he could see the corruption eating them from the inside. Their red eyes wept bloody tears, and patches of their fur had fallen out to reveal skin that looked like molten wax. Some still wore remnants of human clothing—a torn shirt here, a wedding ring there—horrible reminders of what they'd once been.
"LOOSE!" Sir Rancoor bellowed.
Cassian released his arrow along with forty others. The shaft flew true—surprisingly so—and punched through a Lycanae's throat. The creature stumbled but kept running, black blood streaming down its chest.
[DING! "The Wild One": "Yahoooo!"]
[DING! KILL COUNT: 1/10]
Da fuck!! Just how much vitality do they have? Man, I want a card that would let me see others' status.
[DING! "The Eternal Wanderer": "Incredibly rare, but there are cards that let you sense enemy power level and stuff to see detailed status that would be legendary."]
Good thing I have the [Akashic mirror], no?
[DING! "The Eternal Wanderer": "Indeed, that's a game changer card."]
"Nice shot, boy!" Sergeant Korren grinned from the next position over. "But next time, aim for the heart. These bastards can run for minutes with holes in their necks."
Another volley of arrows met the approaching horde. This time, Cassian aimed center mass, his shot taking a smaller Lycanae in the chest. It dropped immediately, twitching in the mud.
The catapults let loose with a thunderous crack that shook the entire wall. Boulders the size of wine barrels arced over the battlements, crashing into the densest parts of the horde with wet, satisfying impacts. Body parts flew in every direction—an arm here, a leg there, sometimes an entire torso spinning through the air like a grotesque wheel.
But for every demon that fell, two more seemed to take its place.
"They're going for the gates!" Jon Vyke Thorne's voice cut through the chaos from his position near the tower. "Siege teams, redirect fire!"
Cassian glanced down and felt his stomach drop. A group of larger Lycanae—each one carrying what looked like a massive tree trunk—were charging straight for the main gate. Their pack leader, a beast the size of a small building, loped behind them with lazy confidence.
That had to be the alpha.
"Crossbow teams, focus fire on the ram!" Sir Rancoor commanded. "Don't let them reach the gate!"
Cassian abandoned his bow and grabbed the nearest crossbow. The weapon felt more substantial in his hands, more like a gun. He sighted down the length of the bolt and squeezed the trigger.
The bolt caught the pack leader in the shoulder, spinning it around. It roared—a sound like a landslide mixed with a screaming child—and fixed its burning gaze directly on Cassian.
Oh shit.
"LADDERS!" someone screamed from the far end of the wall. "THEY'VE GOT LADDERS!"
Cassian's head whipped around to see crude wooden ladders slamming against the wall like skeletal fingers. The first Lycanae were already climbing, their claws finding purchase in the ancient stone.
"Form up!" Sergeant Korren shouted, drawing his sword. "Spear wall at the battlements!"
Cassian's mind instinctively reached for cards. With a sharp pull at his essence, he funneled his will into activating the card.
"[Expedite]!"
[DING! RUN CARD «EXPEDITE(DESTRUCTION SORCERY)» USED, CONSUMED 1 POINT OF ESSENCE]
«DING! +5 STRENGTH, +5 PERCEPTION, +40% MOVEMENT SPEED»
The world sharpened into crystal clarity. Every sound became distinct—the scrape of claws on stone, the labored breathing of his fellow defenders, the wet slap of demon flesh hitting wood. His muscles felt like coiled springs, ready to explode into motion.
The first Lycanae crested the wall twenty feet to his left.
It was smaller than the others—probably had been a woman once, based on the tattered remains of a dress still clinging to its torso. But its claws were as sharp as razors, and its teeth clicked together in anticipation as it spotted a young archer backing away in terror.
Cassian moved without thinking, his enhanced speed carrying him across the battlements in three quick steps. His borrowed sword swept up in a vicious arc, catching the creature across the midsection. The blade bit deep, spraying black ichor across the stones.
But the damn thing didn't die.
Instead, it spun toward him with impossible speed, claws raking across his chest. The armor held, but the impact sent him stumbling backward. Cursing as he still kept mentally reaching for the Behemoth card.
Taking a deep breath, he moved in again. His next swing took the Lycanae's arm off at the elbow. As the blade cut through corrupted flesh, Cassian felt a surge of vitality flow into him—not much, but enough to dull the pain in his ribs and clear his head.
«DING! [DECK CARD] Lifesteal triggered—42 HP and 12 Essence plundered»
The werewolf screamed and tried to bite his face off with its remaining arm. Cassian ducked under the swipe and drove his sword up through its ribcage, twisting the blade as it pierced the heart.
This time it stayed down.
[DING! KILL COUNT: 4/10]
When did I kill that many?
"Behind you!"
The voice came from his right—young, confident, with just a hint of an accent. Cassian spun around to see another Lycanae climbing over the wall, this one bigger and nastier than the last.
But before he could react, a spear point erupted from the creature's chest. The weapon was wreathed in golden light that burned the demon's flesh like acid. The Lycanae shrieked and clawed at the spear, but the light intensified until the creature simply... dissolved.
Aura?
[DING! "The Wild One": "Nice! This one knows how to use it! Not at the moustache man level but still good!"]
[DING! "The Wild One": "Why don't you learn instead of using those magic-based cards! See what you can do now that they are sealed!"]
[DING! "The Wild One": "And guess in how many trials physical and martial capability would be sealed!"]
[DING! "The Eternal Wanderer" sighs: "Silence, Wild one, let Cassian focus on the thing in front of him right now!"]
Cassian blinked, ignoring the train of chats Wild One conjured.
"Power of purity, My bald friend," said the spear's owner, vaulting over the battlement with practiced ease. "Useful trick, but exhausting as hell."
The newcomer looked young—maybe early twenties—with dark hair and intelligent brown eyes. His armor was battered but well-maintained, marked with scratches and dents that spoke of real experience. There was something about his posture, the way he carried himself, that suggested noble birth despite his common appearance.
"Nice reflexes," the stranger continued, wiping demon blood from his spear. "Most people freeze up the first time they see one of these things."
"Yeah, well," Cassian panted, "today's full of surprises. I'm Cassian."
"Arin." The young man extended his hand with a grin. "And judging by your technique, not much training in proper form, eh?"
"Yeah, never expected myself walking the path of blood." Cassian clasped the offered hand, noting the calluses that came from years of weapon work. "Never mind me, you always fight with fancy light shows?"
"Can't help it—I'm just that good." Arin's grin widened. "I can sense vestiges of purity from you... Keep looking within and maybe decide if you want to keep on walking, spilling blood—just why are you doing that in the first place?"
Before Cassian could respond, a horn blew from the valley below—deep and mournful, like a funeral dirge.
"Retreat signal," Arin said, his expression growing serious. "They're pulling back."
Cassian looked out over the wall. The Lycanae horde was indeed withdrawing, leaving behind dozens of corpses and a ground soaked with black blood. But he could see them regrouping at the tree line, their red eyes still glowing with hunger.
"How many waves do these things usually come in?" Cassian asked.
"Three," Sir Rancoor's voice answered from behind them. The knight approached, his sword still dripping with demon blood. "Sometimes four, if we're unlucky. But the real question is whether we'll have enough men left for the second one."
Cassian looked around the battlements. The bodies were already being dragged away—both human and demon. He counted at least a dozen defenders who wouldn't see morning, including the young archer he'd tried to save. The boy had been disemboweled by a second Lycanae while Cassian was distracted.
"Could've been worse," Korren said, appearing at Cassian's shoulder with a bloody bandage wrapped around his forearm. "Could've been a lot worse."
But looking out at the regrouping horde, Cassian wasn't so sure. The pack leader—the alpha he'd shot with the crossbow—was still very much alive, and it was staring directly at the wall. Directly at him.
[DING! KILL COUNT: 4/10]
[DING! TIME REMAINING: 45 MINUTES UNTIL SECOND WAVE]
[DING! "Keeper of Archives" nods: "Ooh, you made a friend!"]
[DING! "The Eternal Wanderer": "The advice this Arin gave you was sound."]
[DING! "Keeper of Archives" points: "This Arin you just met has excellent form. Very... refined. Almost like nobility, wouldn't you say?"]
Cassian wiped the sweat from his forehead. He had a feeling the night was about to get a lot more complicated.
"So," he said to Arin, who was cleaning his spear with practiced efficiency. "You're also a soldier, or did your father kick you out too?"
Arin laughed—a genuine sound that somehow made the surrounding carnage seem less oppressive. "First time. I sneaked out against my father's wishes. You got kicked out?"
"Yeah, had an incident," Cassian said, pointing to his bald head, thinking since the system had already given a backstory, why not stick with it. "And my father seemed to have had enough of me."
"Oh, don't say that," Arin said with mock disappointment. "We're just getting started. Wait until you see what they bring for the second wave."
Cassian groaned. "Please tell me it's not worse than this."
Arin's grin turned predatory. "Friend, you have no idea what you're in for."
In the distance, the horn sounded again—closer this time, and somehow hungrier.
[04: 14: 27: 43]
The countdown continued its relentless march toward zero, each second a reminder that time was the one enemy he couldn't fight with sword or spell. But looking around at the defenders of Wyrmwatch Keep—bloodied but unbroken, grim but determined—Cassian felt something he hadn't experienced in a long time.
Hope.
Maybe they could hold the wall after all.
...