The sweat fell into my eyes.
It wasn't just sweat. It was sweat mixed with blood — mine, theirs, from creatures that had fallen close enough for the impact to reach me. The mixture froze on the skin in the temperature of that plain, crystallizing in layers that made movement heavier with every passing minute. I had never seen so much blood in a single place.
My mind went, for a second, to the ancient wars — the ones that books described with the comfortable distance of those who had never set foot on a field like this. They said rivers of blood formed. That iron oxide altered the soil in ways that lasted decades. That the smell never left those who had been there.
I understood now.
The plain was covered. Bodies from both sides, overlapping in layers that prevented any firm footing — a meat grinder that didn't distinguish winner from loser, only who was still standing and who no longer was. The screams had become part of the environment, like the wind, like the cold — too present to be processed individually, registered only as background noise of something that hadn't ended.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Let's rotate."
It had taken a few good minutes to find a pattern that worked. And when it did, it was because the Urskra were there — not because I had planned to put them on the front line, but because the alternatives had run out before I could find another way out. It wasn't what I wanted. It was what was left.
The soldiers with large shields hadn't held — the Infernals' superiority was enough to turn any structured defensive line into a question of time, not strategy. What remained was the body itself. Mine, Zaetar's, the father Urskra's and the son's.
The area I could defend had shrunk to at most ten meters. It wasn't an advance — it was resistance. Zaetar and the father Urskra attacked while the son and I rested the few minutes the body allowed. Then we advanced, making a constant and patterned rotation — each pair covering the interval with the massive presence of something the enemy needed to go around before getting close to anything resembling victory.
The wounds on the Urskra were too deep for any ordinary healing to absorb easily. They would have died at least ten times already if I hadn't intervened. I knew that. They knew it too — and kept standing regardless, with that specific stubbornness of ancient creatures that had learned that pain and death were different things.
The deaths of the Lords had become more frequent with every passing minute.
Crushed heads. Bodies pierced through. Tears — I hadn't expected to see tears in a field like this, but they were there, on the faces of those who had arrived believing there was some chance and had understood, in a specific and irreversible moment, that there wasn't, at least not for them. The crying of someone being run through is different from any other crying. I had learned that today.
On my part, I had also learned something else.
The density of something living yielding beneath the sword. Eyes losing focus in confusion, not rage. The weight of killing constantly — not quickly, not gloriously, just constantly, because stopping was dying and dying wasn't acceptable.
"Rotate."
I advanced to the front line again.
My high status allowed me to defend. Attack was another matter — using blood magic would have solved the problem immediately and created a larger one afterward, the rebound too large for a field that hadn't finished yet. So I defended. I resisted. I killed what appeared and waited for the next.
Carla had stopped advancing on the front line at some point I hadn't registered — and had done something more important. The chariot went back and forth between the human groups, healing in area with the regularity of someone who had understood that the only way to keep a fragile line standing was to not let the damage accumulate too fast. Without her, the front line would have broken much sooner. With her, it had lasted.
The Griffins were the ones that had killed the most.
The constant bombardment from the sky minimized the front line shock in a way no other unit could replicate. The Infernals had no answer to aerial attacks — it was the weakness I had calculated, and it had proven real. The price was that the Griffins needed to stay in the air constantly, without landing, without real rest. The fatigue of going and coming was becoming clear — the passes were less precise, the detonations more spaced, the rhythm that had been metronomic in the first hours beginning to lose consistency. And the Infernals had begun to notice that.
The Yokai soldiers' bombards did different work — slower, more specific, but also more lethal. The constant shots formed a perimeter on the flanks that prevented the Infernals from closing the ends, forcing all advance through the center. An inevitable corridor. That cost the enemy — but also forced the human center, where I was, to absorb more than it had been designed to handle.
The remaining Yokais I had split into two groups of five, each responsible for holding one flank. I knew what happened when a flank broke — the line collapsed on itself, chaos spread inward through the formation, and what had been a front line became a rout. For us, with the power disparity that existed, that would be the end before there was time to react.
The five Yokais stationed on each flank ensured that wouldn't happen.
And there was another reason to keep them there. The combined attacks — giant spiders functioning simultaneously as mounts and as predators, with mounted riders directing each lunge — were something the Infernals had clearly never encountered before. It was exactly what made the Bloodsuckers a power: their Yokais weren't just transport, they were living weapons, capable of causing the damage of a feral creature while carrying an experienced rider on their backs. The enemy didn't know how to deal with that. And while they didn't, the flanks would be ours.
And then, over time, something happened that I hadn't anticipated.
The bodies.
The quantity of dead from both sides had created, over hours of combat, a natural wall — not planned, not built, just accumulated by the weight of the battle. An obstacle that hindered the enemy's advance as much as any structure I might have deliberately erected. Perhaps more — because the obstacle in question was shapeless and unstable, forcing the enemy's advance to be uneven, hesitant, without rhythm. Climbing slippery bodies wasn't the same as crossing open field. And being met by steel and blade at exactly the moment when balance was compromised made each Infernal that arrived on the other side substantially more vulnerable than they had been advancing in open field.
It was the only real advantage we had.
And it had been built at the highest possible cost.
✦ ✦ ✦
"They're retreating."
I don't know when I noticed.
I was on autopilot — movements the body had learned to repeat without needing instruction, the mind somewhere between present and absent that happens after hours of combat without interval. The surprise of looking for someone to drive the sword into and finding nobody was genuine.
Nobody was appearing over the bodies.
"AHHHHH!"
"WE WON!!!"
"GO TO HELL, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!"
I wanted to scream.
I fell onto a pool of blood before finding enough voice. Got up after a few seconds — there were still enemies, something was happening, lying down wasn't an option. Before I was completely upright, I felt the energy returning to my body. Carla had approached without my noticing, her unicorn's area healing arriving before she did.
As soon as the body responded better, I advanced to the Urskra.
"I'm sorry, my friends. And thank you."
I healed what I could heal. The large creatures fell pressed against each other as soon as I finished — not from death, but from exhaustion, the kind that comes after the body decides the emergency has passed and finally allows the collapse it had been postponing. The wounds were too deep for the mind to keep ignoring after the immediate danger ceased. I didn't disturb them.
They had earned the right to rest.
Carla finally got close enough for me to hear her.
"What's happening?"
Carla had a higher view from the chariot. She observed the enemy terrain while my vision was still obscured by the haze of dust and smoke the battle had left over the field, and especially the wall of bodies before me.
"They retreated. Probably tired — or thinking of a new approach."
Smart.
They had waited for the Griffin bombardment to stop before retreating — knowing the Yokais were too slow to cause damage in an orderly withdrawal. It wasn't retreat from defeat. It was retreat by calculation.
"Let's regroup and understand what's happening."
Carla seemed to be talking to herself. But before I could respond, she had already shouted across the field.
"Retreat for rest."
It was the right decision — maintaining distance from the enemy was the only way to anticipate surprise attacks. If they retreated, we retreated too.
While everyone moved away, I stayed. Carla looked back at me once more while I sat leaning against one of the sleeping Urskra's chests.
"You can retreat. I'll meet you in an hour."
"Don't be long — you'll be alone out there."
"Stay calm. The Griffins will keep watch."
I pointed upward. The creatures were still circling overhead in a surveillance pattern they had developed on their own over the course of the battle — I hadn't ordered it, they had learned.
Before moving away, Carla threw another potion.
"You don't happen to have ten more stashed away, do you?"
I tried to force a smile.
"Unfortunately not. And even if I did, I very much doubt you'll win this war on your own with just my potions — however capable you seem in close combat."
She looked at my wall of Infernals before moving away.
Deep down I was satisfied. She still had potions — and while she did, the front line would be healed. It didn't guarantee victory. It guaranteed time. And time was the only currency I was still managing to accumulate.
✦ ✦ ✦
I summoned Zaetar while the plain emptied.
It was better to have him present from the start — use the interval to recover mana and have him ready before the next advance began. Arachne was anxious, I could feel it through the bond, but I stopped her from approaching. She had been our greatest weapon and would continue to be — and for that she needed to be whole, not spending energy on a field that hadn't ended yet.
There was something curious about the effect she caused.
Her size, which had frightened everyone when the portal opened, had transformed into something different. The Lords instinctively retreated toward her to rest. They used her body as cover, as a point of reference, as the place to go when they needed a second of pause. Perhaps that was it — when you have a colossus on your side, the threat of the colossus on the enemy's side seems a little less desperate.
I got up slowly.
Climbed on top of the sleeping father Urskra — the highest position I could reach without the flying creatures — and looked toward the enemy side.
The third Vorthari was still there.
Exactly where it had been since the beginning.
Its foot sank into the earth with the weight of something that had stood still long enough to leave a mark in the ground. There was no urgency in that posture. No impatience. It was the stillness of something that had calculated that the right moment hadn't yet arrived — and that was willing to wait until it did.
Behind it, a small hill.
Natural. Discreet. The kind of elevation that exists in open fields without drawing attention. But from there, the view covered the entire plain — every human position, every grouping, every weak point that eight hours of battle had made visible to whoever was observing from above.
"Son of a bitch."
I had assumed its stillness was caution. It was command.
It had been watching the entire battle, strangely ahead, from that elevated point — cataloguing what worked, what didn't, where we were strong, where we were weak. The retreat wasn't fatigue. It was analysis. It was the interval it had created to process eight hours of data before using what it had learned.
And I was using the same interval just to recover the little strength I had left.
"How are these bastards so cautious around us?"
It was a valid question. I had assumed carelessness and had received strategy. Had assumed brute force and had received patience. The Infernals were the third strongest race in the Oasis — and their commander had arrived at that field knowing exactly what a stronger race does when it underestimates a weaker one.
It doesn't underestimate.
The numerical advantage, after hours of battle, was theirs — at least three to one, probably more. And still they had retreated. Had waited. Had used the wall of bodies as data, not as obstacle.
"An enemy with no escape fights to the death."
I said to myself, looking at the motionless Vorthari.
"You intend to wear us down gradually."
I looked at our side.
The adrenaline had dropped. The remaining Lords were falling where they stopped — some asleep before hitting the ground, others simply stopping moving like machines that had run out of fuel. Every minute of interval was a minute less of combat capacity for those who couldn't maintain high alert.
"Damn. This is going to be harder than I thought."
I had come prepared for an unprecedented battle. But what was happening was different — it wasn't a battle of strength, it was a battle of who dismantled the other first. And the commander on the other side had understood that before I did.
I couldn't lie down. Couldn't black out. If I did that, it would be the end — not because I would die immediately, but because the field would lose the only element that was still functioning actively when everyone else had collapsed.
"Prince — bring the Griffins down."
The creatures descended one by one.
I had been so focused on the battle that I hadn't really looked at them until now. The females were more slender, with smooth plumage that captured the light differently at each angle. The males were stockier, the thick feathers forming manes that distinguished them with a dignity I hadn't expected to find in creatures made for war.
They were beautiful.
I had forgotten they could be beautiful.
"Friends — we need to do something. Let's build a defensive perimeter. Help me with the bodies."
The idea was simple.
If shields were lacking, bodies would suffice. If the enemy intended to use the interval to undermine us psychologically, I would use the same interval to build something that would force them to act prematurely — or to keep fighting at growing disadvantage. Each Griffin took two bodies — each one would be a stone in a wall that hadn't been planned, but that would exist no longer by accident, but by strategy.
I would work while the enemy rested.
While my new wall grew beneath the enemy's nose, I looked once more at the motionless Vorthari on the horizon.
Who was still exactly where it had been.
Observing.
Waiting.
"What will you choose?"