Chapter 47: Danger!

Barely ten minutes later, Joshua and Maydee reached the village, their breath steady despite the breakneck pace. The moment they stepped past the outer barricades, the sight before them confirmed their worst fears.

Warriors scrambled into formation, clad in full battle regalia, their faces grim yet resolute. Some fastened armor with practiced ease, others checked the sharpness of their blades or tested the weight of their spears. The sound of weapons being unsheathed and armor being secured filled the air, mingling with the steady toll of the town bell.

The bell of war.

Its relentless ringing sent a clear message: danger was fast approaching.

Villagers hurried back to their homes, guided by steely-eyed guards who ensured there was no panic. Children were ushered indoors, their mothers whispering reassurances even as fear darkened their eyes. Despite the looming threat, there was no chaos—only swift, practiced efficiency. These people had seen danger before, and they knew what to do.

Maydee's sharp gaze swept the village as she moved forward. Looks like Bran beat us back.

At the center of the commotion, standing tall amidst his warriors, was Amador—the village chief. His voice rang out over the organized frenzy, rallying his men with crisp, authoritative commands.

"Quartermaster!"

"Yes, Chief?"

"Arm every youngling strong enough to carry a sword or a spear! We need every able hand on the line."

"At once, Chief!"

The quartermaster sprinted off, barking orders of his own as he gathered those barely past their coming of age. Their faces were pale, their hands trembling as they accepted their weapons and armor. Not out of fear, but excitement. They understood what was at stake. From the moment they could walk, they were baptized in blood and harsh training. Only the weak cower in fear and none of them were weaklings.

Amador's expression darkened, his jaw clenched tight. His village was small, barely boasting thirty full-grown warriors. But every single one of them was battle-hardened, willing to offer their lives to the Mother's embrace if it meant protecting their home. And yet, he knew it would not be enough.

Amador's gaze reached the agitated younglings. Each one of them eager to prove themselves in combat. How many will be sacrificed today? Amador looked up to the sky and saw the sun barely inching up on the horizon.

Hundreds.

Bran's report had been dire—hundreds of beasts, of all different kinds, were closing in on Irene. This was not just a stray hunting pack. This was a siege.

The weight of it pressed down on him. Still, there was no time for doubt.

"Sound the war horns" Amador commanded the nearest warrior.

The man's hands trembled only slightly as he grasped the big horn and blew. The horn bellowed, sweeping across the land, a defiant cry against the approaching doom.

Amador barely had a moment to process before he spotted two figures weaving through the controlled chaos—his daughter and the outsider.

Maydee's expression was tense, her posture rigid as they heard the blast of the horn. Joshua, though clearly alert, lacked the experience of a true warrior. Even so, Amador could not deny the change in him—the way he moved now, with the quiet readiness of someone who had faced death and survived.

Maydee approached, eyes locked on her father. "Bran was right. Something stirred those beasts into action. This isn't just a random attack."

Amador's expression remained unreadable, but his knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists. "Did you see anything?"

"A Gifted. More powerful than me in manipulating spirit magic. That bastard is stirring up beasts everywhere. We don't have much time."

Joshua stood silently beside her, scanning the warriors, the barricades, the hastily armed younglings. His heart pounded, but not from exertion. A war is about to begin.

Amador exhaled sharply, nodding. "Then we make our stand."

Amador surveyed the warriors before him, his expression hard as stone. He had no illusions about the battle to come. They were outnumbered, possibly outmatched. But retreat was not an option. This was their home, and they would defend it with their lives.

Turning to the Quartermaster, he issued his next command. "Arm every able-bodied farmer. If they can pull a bowstring, they'll take position on the walls. We need every arrow in the sky to buy us time on the ground."

The Quartermaster hesitated for only a moment before nodding sharply. He rushed off, barking orders as bows and quivers were hastily distributed. The farmers—many of them older men and women, some barely past adolescence—steeled themselves, accepting their weapons with grim determination.

Amador turned to Maydee. His voice, firm yet carrying the weight of a father's concern, cut through the surrounding chaos. "My daughter, take the outsider and position yourselves on the walls. Cover us. I will stand at the front and meet the enemy head-on. Let these beasts know the wrath of Irene's warriors."

Maydee clenched her fists but did not argue. She met his gaze and gave a curt nod before heading toward the fortifications. Joshua followed, sparing one last glance at the hardened leader before ascending.

Before stepping onto the ramparts, Maydee turned back. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of her words carried through the turmoil. "Be careful, Father."

Amador, sensing her hesitation, allowed himself a small, reassuring smile. Then, without another word, he marched forward, gripping his greatsword as the distant howls of the approaching horde echoed from the forest.

—

Joshua stood atop the wooden ramparts, his glowing eyes scanning the horizon. With his enhanced vision, he saw them—hundreds of beasts, an unholy amalgamation of fangs, claws, and hunger, surging toward Irene like a living tide. His mind worked quickly, analyzing their speed and trajectory. Ten minutes. That's all the time they had before the horde was upon them.

With a steady breath, he placed his round shield on his back and centered himself. His core pulsed, a steady thrum of power resonating within him. He knew his limits—two, maybe three devastators before his energy reserves ran dry. He had to make every shot count.

Beside him, Maydee stood tall, her own eyes glowing with ethereal energy. Their gazes met.

"I know what you're thinking," she said, her voice steady. She raised a hand and pointed toward the densest cluster of the approaching horde. "Before they reach us, fire your strongest attack there. That is where they are thickest. If you act quickly, you can take out a large portion before they realize the threat and scatter. Know your limits and do not overdraw."

Joshua nodded. No hesitation.

"I'll cover you," Maydee continued, "and provide enchantments for the warriors. Be steady. Clear your head. And may the Gods of War bless us today."

Joshua inhaled deeply, centering his focus. He extended his hands, feeling the energy within him surge to life. He began refining it, condensing it—calculating.

Fifteen thousand joules should be enough.

The raw force compressed and swirled into a small, brilliant sphere before him, pulsating with untamed destruction. Slowly, it expanded, taking shape, molding itself into something more than just energy. A solid form emerged—a sleek, 20-centimeter projectile resembling an artillery shell, its surface humming with raw potential.

Joshua smiled. "My Devastator… make Daddy proud today."

He locked onto his target, adjusting for distance, trajectory, and enemy movement. The instant his calculations were complete, he unleashed the attack.

SWOOSH!

A silence followed by whistling winds were heard. Every one looking at the bright object as the shell tore through the air, a streak of blinding light racing toward the unsuspecting horde.