The vibration began in the soles of their boots, a low, rhythmic trembling that grew into a steady thrum, shaking the loose stones on the outpost walls. It was not the wind, nor the shifting of the earth, but the synchronized march of twelve hundred warriors.
Liam stood atop the wooden palisade, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of his mithril short sword. Below him, hidden within the shadows of the trench they had agonizingly dug over the last few days, lay the foul mixture of well water and waste, a stagnant, reeking moat that looked pitiful against the encroaching tide.
"Steady," Captain Karl Volgunder's voice cut through the rising clamor, calm and anchoring as a granite boulder. He stood at the center of the wall, his greatsword resting on his shoulder, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the Rubak army crested the rise.
They were a terrifying sight. A sea of furs, crude steel, and painted skin, moving with a discipline that betrayed Veigard's unifying hand. At their head, looming like a nightmare made flesh, was the Chieftain himself, clad in the hide of a snow beast, his demonic aura distorting the air around him.
"They aren't stopping," Brian observed, standing to Liam's left, his bow strung but lowered. "They see the trench. They think it's just a ditch."
"Let them think it," Karl growled. "Archers! Nock!".
Behind the wooden battlements, Anayis and her squad, reinforced by every soldier capable of drawing a bow, readied their weapons. The tips of their arrows gleamed with a dull, silvery-blue light—the remnants of Darwin's longsword and Liam's mother's blade, reborn in Lia's forge.
The Rubak horde let out a collective roar, a sound of primal fury that seemed to tear at the sky, and broke into a charge. They surged forward like a landslide, ignoring the treacherous footing, their eyes fixed on the wooden walls that separated them from their prey.
Liam watched them come, his heart hammering against his ribs. He could feel the Umbral Core tucked against his chest, humming in resonance with the approaching demonic energy. He pushed that distraction aside, focusing every ounce of his will on the muddy water below.
The first wave of Rubaks reached the trench. They didn't hesitate. Driven by bloodlust and the momentum of the charge, they plunged into the waist-deep sludge, wading through the filth with shouts of derision, intending to scale the berm on the other side.
"Now, Volgunder!" Karl bellowed.
Liam didn't need to be told twice. He closed his eyes, visualizing the Orb of Frozen Warding, not as a defensive sphere around his body, but inverted, projected outward and down. He drew upon the reservoir of cold he had been building, the chill of the crypt, the bite of the Eastern Wastes, and unleashed it.
Freeze.
The effect was instantaneous and catastrophic. The muddy liquid didn't just ice over; it flash-froze, expanding with a violent, cracking roar. The temperature in the trench plummeted unnaturaly fast.
Screams of rage turned into shrieks of agony as the sludge solidified around the legs and waists of the vanguard. Hundreds of Rubak warriors were instantly trapped, their lower halves encased in concrete-hard ice. The momentum of the charge behind them caused the second wave to slam into the frozen backs of the first, creating a chaotic, crushing pile-up.
"Release!" Karl commanded.
The air filled with the hiss of fletching. The volley of arrows arched high, then rained down upon the stalled, chaotic mass.
Unlike the battle at the Serpent's Pass, where arrows had bounced harmlessly off the demonic shields, these missiles found their marks. The mithril arrowheads, forged in Lia's desperate inferno, bit through the shimmering barriers of dark energy as if they were paper.
Rubak warriors, confident in their supernatural protection, stared in shock as shafts pierced their chests and throats. The demonic energy flickered and failed against the touch of the ancient metal.
"It's working!" Lia shouted, sending another arrow flying with deadly precision. "They're breaking!"
But they weren't breaking. Not yet.
From the rear of the chaotic mass, a roar silenced the screams of the dying. Veigard pushed through his own men, tossing them aside like ragdolls. He stood at the edge of the frozen trench, his red eyes burning with a mixture of fury and calculating intelligence.
He looked down at the ice, then up at the wall, locking eyes with Liam.
Liam felt a physical blow of malice, a psychic weight that nearly buckled his knees. Veigard raised his massive axe, the demonic energy swirling around it condensing into a black, crackling fire.
"You think a little ice will stop the avalanche?" Veigard's voice boomed, amplified by magic, rolling over the battlefield like thunder.
He brought the axe down, not on a person, but on the ice itself.
CRACK.
The impact shook the entire outpost. Spiderweb fractures raced across the surface of Liam's frozen trap. Veigard struck again, and again, channeling his corrupt power into the blows. The ice didn't melt; it shattered, exploding into razor-sharp shrapnel that tore into the trapped Rubaks as much as it cleared the path.
"He's destroying his own men to clear the way," Brian murmured, horror and respect warring in his tone. "He's ruthless."
"He's coming through!" Karl shouted. "Brace yourselves! Swords ready!"
The trench was compromised, a jagged wound of slush and shattered bodies, but it was passable. The Rubak horde, driven by their chieftain's terrifying will, surged over their fallen comrades, scrambling up the berm toward the wooden walls.
Liam drew his sword, his hands trembling slightly from the magical exertion. The trap had worked, it had thinned their numbers and halted their initial momentum, but the true battle—the grind of steel against steel—was just beginning.
"Brad," Liam whispered, sensing the older man beside him.
"I'm here, Liam," Brad replied, his voice calm amidst the rising cacophony. "Remember the breathing. Remember the flow. You are not alone.".
As the first Rubak crested the wall, eyes glowing with bloodlust, Liam stepped forward, the mithril blade gleaming in his hand.
"For Van," he whispered.