Mist Valley – The Kill Zone. Morning – Moments Before Detonation.
Ssssssttttt...
The fuse Rumina ignited snaked through the air, a trail of sparks disappearing into the earth.
Three seconds of agonizing silence followed. Time seemed to congeal for Rianor as he peered through the dense foliage atop the ridge. His heart hammered against his ribs, keeping pace with the rhythmic thunder of thousands of iron-shod boots trampling the narrow path below. He could feel the vibration deep in his marrow.
"God, please," Rianor rasped, his fingers digging into the dirt until his nails were caked in grime. "Let the mixture be right."
At the valley floor, a vanguard captain of House Valerius came to an abrupt halt. He sensed something wrong—a hollow resonance beneath his feet. A split second later, his nostrils caught a sharp, alien scent of brimstone.
"Wait! Halt—"
KABOOM!
It wasn't a single blast, but five consecutive detonations that tore through the earth.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The ground beneath the Valerius vanguard erupted. The narrow valley acted as a massive acoustic chamber, magnifying the shockwave until it slammed into the cliff walls and bounced back, shattering the eardrums of anyone within a hundred-meter radius.
Shards of clay jars, searing dust, and thousands of rusted iron nails sprayed outward like lethal hail. The front line of the Valerius force—three hundred heavy infantrymen who had looked invincible in their steel plate—were tossed aside like bowling pins struck by a massive ball. Cavalry horses shrieked in hysteria, bucking their riders and, in their blind panic, trampling their own comrades.
Acrid black smoke billowed upward, swallowing the morning light and choking the air.
"NOW!" Roland screamed from the eastern ridge. His voice cracked from the sheer force of the signal.
"DROP THEM!" Rhea answered from the opposite cliff.
Garrick's mercenaries, positioned at the edge of the precipice, swung their axes to sever the holding ropes.
RUMBLE...
Massive teak logs and boulders the size of carriages began their plummet from fifty meters above. The roar of the man-made landslide was even more terrifying than the explosions. The enemy soldiers, still reeling from the dust and heat, found themselves staring at death falling from the heavens. The screams of men were instantly drowned by the sickening crunch of stone meeting bone and steel.
The "Iron Tortoise" formation, the pride of House Valerius, was pulverized in seconds. Not by the edge of a sword, but by the cold, impartial laws of gravity.
At the Barricade.
Sir Riven stood tall behind the stack of timber and overturned wagons, squinting through the stinging dust. Before him was a vision of the underworld. Mangled corpses, gut-wrenching wails, and blinded soldiers crawling aimlessly through the mire.
"Insane..." Garrick "The Butcher" muttered beside him. The grizzled mercenary's mouth hung agape, his callous expression replaced by pure shock. "I've fought in fifty wars, but I've never seen a slaughter this efficient. What was that? Dragon Magic?"
"No," Riven replied coldly, rolling his neck until it let out a sharp crack. "That was just physics."
Riven hoisted his battle-axe high, the sunlight piercing through the smoke and glinting off its sharpened edge.
"THEY'RE IN DISARRAY! CHARGE!"
Riven vaulted over the barricade in a single, fluid motion. He plunged into the black smoke alone, followed by the roar of fifty mercenaries and thirty "Red Lions," their courage overflowing at the sight of the broken enemy.
"Slay them all!"
The melee began, but it was less a battle and more a systematic purge. Riven swung his axe in a wide, horizontal arc. SPLAT! Two dazed soldiers fell instantly, their chests torn open. Riven then drove his boot into a shield in front of him with a front kick so powerful the iron buckled inward, before ending the man's life with a brutal strike from the axe's haft to his helm.
"Fall back! Fall back!" a Valerius lieutenant shrieked, desperately trying to reform his line.
But retreat was impossible. The path behind them was choked with horse carcasses and fallen boulders. Simultaneously, the thousands of reserve troops in the rear continued to push forward, oblivious to the carnage at the front. A lethal Crowd Crush ensued. They were pinned, suffocating, and becoming easy targets for the Sudrath forces.
Up on the cliff, Rianor watched the scene through his makeshift spyglass. His face was deathly pale; his hands trembled. Bile rose in his throat, but he forced it back down.
"This is war, Rianor. Focus," he whispered to himself, his voice shaking. "If you show them mercy, your family will be the ones in the ground."
Rianor turned to Roland. "Roland! Signal B! Archers!"
Roland immediately unfurled a yellow flag. From behind the treeline on the ridges, Northreach's ten best hunters emerged. They didn't aim randomly; they sought out officers marked by plumed helms.
Swish! Swish!
Arrows hissed through the air with lethal precision. One by one, the Valerius field commanders fell, severing the enemy's chain of command entirely.
Amidst the chaos, an elite Valerius knight—a giant of a man in ornate gold-trimmed armor—managed to break through the blast zone. He saw Riven carving a path through his men and spurred his fury.
"YOU! Die, you Sudrath dog!" the knight roared, lunging forward with a heavy, spiked mace.
CLANG!
Riven parried the blow with the shaft of his axe. The vibration traveled through his shoulder blades, forcing him back two steps.
Strong, Riven noted inwardly.
"I am Sir Boras! The right hand of Duke Varkas!" the enemy shouted with arrogant pride.
"I didn't ask," Riven shot back.
Riven tossed aside his axe, which had grown dull from hitting steel plate. He dropped into a low, rooted stance—the signature posture of his previous life's martial arts.
Sir Boras looked bewildered. "You surrender? You wish to die with bare hands?"
"No. I just want to make sure you feel every bit of this before you go to sleep forever."
Boras swung his mace vertically, intending to crush Riven's skull. But Riven executed a lightning-fast step-in. He parried Boras's arm aside and unleashed a right hook that detonated against the exposed jaw of Boras's helm.
CRACK!
Boras staggered, his golden helm dented. Riven gave him no room to breathe. His left elbow slammed into the man's solar plexus, followed by a rising knee that snapped Boras's head back. To finish, Riven gripped Boras by the waist and hauled him over in a perfect Suplex.
THUD!
Sir Boras, the pride of the Valerius elite, lay motionless in the mud, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. Dead before he hit the ground.
Garrick, witnessing the brief duel, let out a wild laugh. "Hahaha! Our commander is a damn monster! He killed an elite knight with his bare hands!"
The morale of the Valerius troops shattered completely. Seeing their champion crushed like a dry leaf, they began throwing down their weapons and frantically trying to scale the cliff walls to escape.
"DO NOT PURSUE!" Duke Lucian's command suddenly cut through the din of the battlefield. He spurred his warhorse to the front. "Back to the barricades! Defensive formation!"
Riven, his breath ragged and adrenaline surging, looked at his father in confusion. "Why, Father? We could finish the rest of them now!"
"Look over there," Lucian pointed toward the southern end of the valley.
The mist was thinning, revealing a grim reality. The vanguard had been wiped out, but behind them, three thousand fresh soldiers had just arrived. Worse yet, they were hauling several Trebuchets—massive siege engines.
Rianor saw it too from above. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath. "We survived the first wave, but they brought the heavy artillery."
The bomb traps were gone. The boulder supply was dwindling. The real war had only just begun.
Riven wiped the spray of enemy blood from his face and retrieved his axe. He stood tall beside his father's horse.
"Fine then," Riven said, his eyes reigniting with a lethal fire. "Round two. Let's see how much spine they have left."