172. Battle of Verdis (2)

The explosion shook the ground as if the earth itself groaned in pain. The blast painted the air with a terrifying display of raw power, light and heat flashing like the anger of a god. Screams tore through the battlefield, brief and haunting, as whole groups of soldiers vanished in a blink, their bodies burned to nothing. Steel armor and weapons melted into molten pools, glowing faintly as the echoes of destruction lingered.

The mana cannons fired again, their combined roar deafening as their blasts tore through the enemy ranks, wiping out over a quarter of their forces in seconds. Feroy had seen the cannons before—during the beast wave, when they leveled entire hordes. But watching them used against humans was different.

The destruction wasn't just terrifying; it was unnatural. It felt as if the cannons themselves were forged by the death god, designed to remind mortals of their frailty.

Steel, spells, or numbers—it didn't matter. In the face of this power, humans were little more than ash waiting to scatter.

The enemy hesitated, their line broken and their confidence shattered. For a brief moment, silence hung over the chaos—then a sharp voice pierced through the noise. "Scatter! Don't stay together! Spread out!"

The disorganized soldiers obeyed, their panic turning into desperate action. They scattered across the battlefield like startled ants, dodging the deadly precision of the mana cannons.

Feroy's gaze flicked toward Baron Idrin, whose face was pale and tense as he barked orders no one could hear. For a moment, their eyes met, and Feroy caught the unease in the baron's expression before he turned back to the fight.

"Archers and gunners, fire!" Feroy bellowed.

A rain of arrows and mana blasts followed, arcing through the air with deadly accuracy. The scattered soldiers avoided the concentrated blasts of the cannons, but the storm of projectiles picked them off mercilessly.

Those who thought themselves safe were struck down by the smaller mana guns Lord Arzan had developed—sleek, portable versions of the devastating cannons. Each shot hit its mark, tearing through armor and flesh with horrifying precision. The battlefield quickly became a sea of blood, the cries of the wounded and dying filling the air.

To sow even more chaos, the gunners targeted the horses. Panicked neighs echoed as the beasts collapsed, their riders thrown to the ground or crushed beneath trampling hooves.

The scene turned chaotic as men fell, some crushed under their own stampeding animals. Arrows and blasts tore through the enemy ranks, thinning their numbers with every passing second.

But Feroy knew the fight wasn't close to ending. His sharp eyes caught movement among Baron Idrin's Mages. They stood in tight clusters, their hands weaving chaotic patterns in the air.

In an instant, their chants bore fruit—blades of wind sliced through the air, glowing spheres of flame arced toward the walls, and jagged spikes of earth erupted from the ground, throwing debris and bodies alike into the air. The battle raged on, chaos fueling chaos, with no sign of stopping.

"Earth Mages!" Feroy's voice thundered above the chaos. "Defensive formations, now!"

The defenders snapped into action, the ground responding to their commands as walls of stone and sturdy barriers rose to intercept the incoming magic. Jagged wind blades shattered against reinforced earth, and fireballs fizzled out, smothered by thick stone shields.

Yet, not all attacks could be stopped. Some broke through, slamming into the walls with deafening force. Archers collapsed, their arrows veering off course as they writhed in agony. Gunners dropped their weapons, succumbing to the searing heat of flame or the slicing fury of wind.

Behind the lines, the recovery teams worked tirelessly.

Priests clad in simple robes moved among the injured, their divine healing magic glowing softly as it mended flesh and sealed gaping wounds. Potion bearers hurried from one fallen defender to the next, pouring shimmering liquids into trembling hands.

The defenders were able to hold on even though the chaos became relentless. The church healers from behind, wove healing chants towards the injured and broken, healing them almost instantly, using the power of their goddess.

Feroy stood firm amidst the storm, his voice cutting through the roar of battle as he issued commands to every unit under his charge.

His eyes darted across the battlefield, taking in every detail—the crumbling formations, the scattered enemies, and the flickering hope in his men's faces. The enemy's numbers were dwindling, but they still pressed forward with desperation.

Fuck! This wouldn't be easy.

Even so, Feroy felt it—a certainty in his bones. Victory was within reach. But the price would be steep.

His eyes narrowed, catching a flicker of ominous light among the enemy ranks. One of their Mages stood apart, hands glowing with a menacing aura. Feroy watched in dread as the ground beneath a cluster of enemy soldiers trembled, shifting unnaturally.

"What is—" His thought was cut short as the earth beneath the enemy burst upward with a surge of magic, propelling the group high into the air. They landed heavily on the wall's walkways, sending shockwaves through the defenses.

Chaos erupted instantly. The distance they had relied on to protect the walls was gone.

Before the defenders could react, the enemy soldiers struck with ruthless precision. An archer's scream was silenced as a blade pierced his chest. A gunner was thrown from the wall, his weapon spinning uselessly to the ground below. Shouts and cries filled the air as the defenders struggled to regain control.

Feroy's heart pounded as he assessed the breach. His gaze snapped to the enemy Earth Mages in the distance, their hands glowing as they prepared to launch another wave of soldiers onto the walls. He acted without hesitation, roaring to the cannon crews below, "Focus fire on the enemy Mages! Stop them before they send more!"

Without hesitation, Feroy sprang back into action, turning to confront the invaders who had breached the walls.

Five of them stood before him. The five tall men moved their weapons as if to show off, cutting and striking through the air.

Their eyes burned with malicious intent as they charged him all at once.

Feroy spun his spear, intercepting their advance and driving them back a few steps. But the narrow confines of the wall walkways left little room to maneuver, forcing him to rely on precise movements and his enhanced reflexes.

The attackers moved in unison, coordinating their strikes one after another.

Feroy ducked under a scything blade, twisted to parry another, and pivoted to avoid a thrust aimed at his side. The press of their numbers made it increasingly difficult to hold his ground.

He considered summoning his flames, the magic pulsing in his core, eager to be unleashed. But the risk was too great—one misstep in these tight quarters, and he could harm his own defenders as much as the enemy.

Just as one of the invaders raised his sword for a killing blow, a shout rang out behind Feroy.

"Knight Feroy, we'll handle it!"

A young man and woman rushed onto the walkway, their weapons flashing as they threw themselves into the fray. The man, wielding a longsword, charged headlong into the enemy formation. His companion followed close behind, her heavy axe carving through the air with killer force.

The pair fought with practiced harmony, their movements perfectly synchronized. The man parried a blow meant for the woman, opening up an opportunity for her to swing her axe in a devastating arc. The men faltered under it, unable to keep up with the duo's coordinated attacks.

When the woman's axe smashed through the defense of one attacker, the other struck the killing blow without hesitation, his longsword finding its mark.

Feroy took the opportunity to turn his attention to the remaining two invaders. One lunged at him, a reckless attack that left the enemy's stance wide open. Feroy ducked under the swing and countered with a quick thrust to the man's thigh, sending him stumbling. With a flick of his wrist, Feroy's spear found its target again, ending the threat.

The last invader hesitated, glancing at his fallen comrades. It was all the opening Feroy needed. He surged forward, delivering a precise, lethal strike that left the man crumpling to the ground.

The immediate threat neutralized, Feroy turned to the young duo who had aided him.

The young man, Eron, stood tall and lean, his spiky brown hair disheveled from the fight. Sharp green eyes gleamed with confidence as he wiped his blade clean. His companion, Tiara, was shorter but sturdily built, her fiery red hair tied back in a braid that swung with every movement. Her blue eyes burned with the same fire that had fueled her strikes.

Both had been found during Verdis' desperate search for Enforcers, their raw talent quickly molded into capable fighters. But they hadn't unlocked their affinities yet.

"Good work," Feroy said with a curt nod. "But stay on high alert. You're both still just Grade 1."

Eron grinned, his confidence undimmed. "We'll be fine, Knight Feroy. These guys weren't much of a challenge."

Tiara smirked, resting her axe on her shoulder. "Yeah, we've got this."

Feroy frowned, his expression hardening. "Don't be overconfident. We haven't seen the blood drinkers yet."

At the mention of the blood drinkers, the smirks faded from their faces. Eron's grip on his sword tightened, and Tiara's fiery confidence dimmed, replaced by a cautious determination.

"We'll be ready," Eron said, his tone more measured.

Feroy nodded. "Good. Get back to your positions and stay alert," Feroy commanded, his eyes scanning the battlefield below. They scrambled quickly.

A thunderous explosion shook the walls. Feroy tightened his grip on his spear and turned his gaze back to the chaos. The battlefield was alive with destruction. Mana cannons fired relentlessly, their blinding blasts carving through enemy ranks and leaving smoldering craters. Mages hurled fire and ice with abandon, their spells painting the field in flickering light. Defensive barriers shimmered and cracked under the onslaught, the air vibrating with raw energy.

Near the command post, Baron Idrin was a stark contrast to the chaos.

His pale face was tight with fear, his posture rigid as he shouted orders no one could hear over the deafening cannons and clashing weapons. His eyes darted about, frantic and searching, his every movement betraying a man on the verge of fleeing.

Feroy caught it—a subtle shift of weight, a hesitant step back. Idrin was already testing his escape.

"Eron! Tiara!" Feroy's voice cut through the din like a blade. The duo, locked in combat with an enemy soldier, glanced up at once.

He gestured toward the baron. "Watch him. If he runs, stop him."

They exchanged a glance, swiftly finished their foe, and nodded with confidence. With them watching the baron, he could focus on more important parts of the battle.

Before Feroy could take in more of the battlefield, a shiver ran down his spine. The air grew heavy, suffocating, like the moment before a predator's strike. Instinct flared—something was coming.

He spun sharply, narrowly avoiding the crimson blade that sliced through the air where his neck had been. The weapon had appeared from nowhere, like it had been born from the shadows themselves. Feroy staggered back, spear in hand, ready.

Before him stood a creature from a nightmare—a blood drinker. The dark creature's pale face twisted into a smug grin, his glowing crimson eyes alight with cruel hunger. The air around him seemed to ripple with menace.

"You can turn invisible," Feroy said, his voice low, testing the waters.

The drinker hissed, his fangs gleaming in the dim light as he perched unnaturally on the wall's edge. "I didn't think you'd dodge that. Impressive."

His voice wasn't very pleasant to listen to—rough, grating and just annoying.

Feroy's muscles tensed, every fiber of him prepared for the next attack.

There was no time for words. In the blink of an eye, the blood drinker lunged, a blur of liquid shadow aimed straight at him. His speed was unnatural, almost impossible. But desperation sharpened Feroy's reflexes. He threw himself back, his spear snapping up just in time to meet the monster's advance.

The spearhead gleamed in the moonlight, catching the creature's predatory gaze for a fraction of a second. Feroy held his ground, his weapon a barrier between him and the nightmare that sought to end him.

The blood drinker halted, cocking his head a ninety degrees unnaturally, his grin stretching wider. "You aren't normal," he hissed. "No ordinary human should be able to keep up with me."

Feroy ignored the taunt. Instead, he focused, channeling mana into his spear. Flames roared to life along the weapon's shaft, their heat distorting the air. With a quick step forward, he lashed out.

The blood drinker's eyes widened for the briefest moment before his hands moved in a blur, conjuring blades of blood from thin air. They streaked toward the spear, colliding in a burst of sparks and crimson mist. Feroy didn't stop. He dashed along the wall, weaving through the projectiles as they exploded around him, his eyes locked on the nightmare.

The creature sneered, parrying Feroy's strike with unnatural precision and countering with a slash of a blood blade. "I'd love to taste your blood," he growled.

Feroy ducked beneath the strike, the heat of his flaming spear scorching the air between them. As he rose, he spotted movement behind the drinker—Eron and Tiara, weapons raised, preparing to attack.

But then, his instincts screamed. Another blood drinker materialized in the air, a dark blur coming toward them.

"Behind you!" Feroy barked.

The duo spun just in time to meet the new threat. The clash of steel and claws rang out as they engaged the creature. Feroy's eyes darted to the far side of the wall, where yet another blood drinker wreaked havoc. This one tore through Mages and gunners with brutal efficiency, his goal clear—destroy the mana cannons.

A sharp pain stung Feroy's cheek. He flinched back, a blade of blood grazing him and snapping his focus back to his own opponent.

Gritting his teeth, Feroy let the flames from his spear spill over, wrapping around his arms like molten chains. He pressed forward.

There was no room for error—not against a monster like this.

He fought with an almost artistic cruelty, manipulating blood into sharp blades, explosive blasts, and grotesque, living constructs that lunged for Feroy. Each attack was met with fire. Feroy burned through every assault, his flames consuming the blood constructs before they could reach him.

Finally, the blood drinker loomed close, his pale face inches from Feroy's. It darted his tongue out, as if to take a taste of Feroy. The latter dodged the disgusting organ by moving his head backwards.

"I've never seen someone like you. This is going to be fun. So, your lord hides secrets. I never thought I'd see a mere human wield the power of a Mage. When I'm done here, I'll tear you apart piece by piece."

In an instant, the blood drinker disappeared, vanishing in the air.

Feroy twirled his spear, the flames dancing along its length, their light casting jagged shadows on the blood-soaked walls. He locked eyes with the creature who appeared in some distance, his smirk steady and cold. "You talk too much."

Before the blood drinker could respond, Feroy surged forward, his spear slicing through the air in a fiery arc aimed straight for the creature's heart.

Flames roared around him, scorching the blood blades the creature conjured. Each swing of his spear sent sparks flying, lighting up his focused face.

Then, a shift came over him—a dizzying, feverish clarity.

The noise of battle faded, distant cries and clashing steel becoming nothing more than a dull hum. The only thing that mattered was the drinker, sharp and clear before him. Feroy grinned, his body suddenly sharper, movements quicker, as his mind slipped into the battle fever Killian had warned him about.

In this state, there was only the fight. He leaned into it until he could only see the blood drinker.

The creature snarled, leaping into the air and summoning sharp blood blades to rain down like falling stars. He dodged them easily. His spear flowed with precision, always staying one step ahead, pushing the blood drinker back, his once-confident sneer twisting into frustration as wounds began to mark his pale skin.

"Enough!" the blood drinker hissed, pulling back slightly. "You've wasted enough of my time. Now, prepare to die."

With a growl, the blood drinker slashed his wrist, dark blood pouring out and forming into a massive serpent. The beast's fanged mouth snapped, charging toward Feroy with deadly speed. His eyes widened as he sprang back, the serpent crashing into the ground where he'd been moments before. The walls offered no safety, so Feroy raced to the edge and leapt down into the courtyard below.

His landing was brutal, pain shooting through his body as he hit the ground hard. Gasping for breath, he reached for a healing potion. But before he could drink it, he heard the faintest sound of movement behind him.

He froze. A blood blade hovered just inches from his throat.

"Put it down," the drinker whispered venomously, stepping closer. "You've been nothing but a thorn in my side, and your time has come."

Feroy didn't move, keeping his spear tight in his grip, his glare unwavering. "I haven't lost yet," he muttered, his voice dripping with defiance as he lowered the healing potion slowly. The blood drinker stepped forward with a mocking smirk, his victory close.

"You're going to die, whether you like it or not," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice. "I know death can be unpleasant, but don't worry—even in death, you'll serve me well." He tilted its head, crimson fangs gleaming as he stepped closer. "I'll drain every last drop from you."

But before it could strike, a loud cracking noise echoed beneath his feet. The drinker froze, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as it glanced down, then back up at Feroy.

The corner of Feroy's lips curled into a sly grin.

"You talk about death too much," Feroy growled. "Hope you like it."

With those words, the ground beneath the blood drinker exploded in a thunderous blast.

The hidden potion trap activated with devastating force, sending the drinker crashing into the stone wall with a sickening crunch. The sound of snapping bones filled the air, followed by the rattle of debris as it rained down on the battlefield.

Feroy coughed, the shockwave making his ears ring. He quickly uncorked a healing potion and downed it, his body absorbing the bitter liquid. He pulled himself to his feet, gripping his spear tightly, and moved toward the crumpled form of the blood drinker. The creature was sprawled on the ground, his legs completely shattered, dark blood pooling beneath it. His eyes fluttered open, seething with rage and desperation.

The creature was still alive, at least above the waist.

Feroy's face hardened as he looked down at the blood drinker. "I don't even feel bad about this," he muttered, raising his spear high. With a burst of flame igniting at the tip, he plunged the weapon forward. The fiery blade pierced the vampire's neck, severing its head cleanly from its body. The head rolled to the side, and the battlefield grew eerily quiet for a moment.

Sweat trickled down Feroy's forehead as he wiped his face, glancing at the scorched earth where the blood drinker had once stood. "Zorgar was right," he murmured, recalling the precautions they'd taken. "Lining the ground with explosive potions inside the gates... just in case we lost."

Feroy's gaze shifted toward the wall, where another blood drinker lay slain. His body was riddled with wounds from the gunners and Mages' relentless fire. The two remaining Enforcers were still locked in battle with the last blood drinker, their focus unwavering as they dodged and countered its vicious attacks.

Feroy hesitated for a moment, tightening his grip on the spear as he considered jumping in. But after seeing the Enforcers work with the support of the gunners and archers, he decided against it. "They'll manage," he muttered to himself, turning his focus back to the battlefield as he moved up the walls through the stairs.

The chaos was starting to die down. Enemy mages lay scattered among fallen soldiers, their bodies lifeless. The tide had turned, and it was clear—victory was theirs.

Amidst the chaos, Feroy's eyes locked onto Baron Idrin, who was struggling to control his panicked horse.

His face was pale, the nobleman's grip faltering as he fought to regain control. The baron's earlier ambition, the dream of a prosperous factory, was long gone—replaced by the instinct to flee in the face of crushing defeat.

Not on my watch. No, you aren't fucking leaving.

With a grunt, he vaulted down from the castle wall and surged forward, cutting through the battlefield with precision. The soldiers and warriors parted before him like the sea, no one daring to challenge him as he advanced.

Baron Idrin caught sight of the charging figure, his eyes widening in panic. He spurred his horse, urging the creature to run faster, but Feroy was already on him. He hurled his spear. It flew true, striking the horse square in the chest. The animal let out a pained whinny before collapsing to the ground, throwing Idrin from its back.

The baron hit the dirt with a thud and scrambled to his feet, trying desperately to flee. But Feroy was faster, closing the distance with purpose.

A sharp kick to the baron's side sent him crashing back to the ground, gasping for air. Feroy grabbed him by the collar, lifting him effortlessly off the ground as he glared into his terrified eyes.

"You picked the wrong enemy," Feroy growled.

Idrin sputtered, his voice shaking with panic. "Let me go! Duke Lucian will—"

Feroy silenced him with a deadly calm. "Lucian will have a fate much worse than you," he said, his words cutting through the baron's rambling. "Nothing you say will save you, so shut up and act like a good prisoner."

The baron's lips trembled, and he opened his mouth again, but froze when Feroy raised a hand as if to slap him. Idrin flinched, his anger dissipating into fear. Feroy's attention turned toward the battlefield, where the battle still raged. People were locked in vicious combat, some still fighting to the death, others attempting to escape the chaos.

Feroy raised his voice, his tone carrying over the battlefield. "Everyone! I have captured Baron Idrin! The battle is over! Surrender now, and we will spare your lives!"

His commanding words echoed across the field, demanding attention. Every eye turned toward him, then to the baron, and finally to the wreckage around them—the fallen soldiers, the shattered walls. The message was clear.

Baron Idrin, defeated and broken, raised his arms in surrender, falling to his knees. His last shred of pride shattered.

One by one, the remaining soldiers dropped their weapons, their resistance faltering. Slowly, they sank to their knees, raising their hands in submission.

With that, the siege ended. Arzan's forces had secured their first major victory.

***

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