Goff's arrow struck like a verdict from the heavens.
For a brief moment, everything outside the wall fell silent.
The last three infantrymen staggered back in terror, retreating across the pit and regrouping at a distance. No one dared approach the wall again. Their earlier arrogance had vanished, replaced by raw fear.
"A bunch of useless trash!"
From afar, Falk nearly leapt off his horse in rage. Eight trained soldiers—cut down by a group of weak refugees. Only three remained.
If word of this spread, he would become a joke among the nobles.
His face twisted with fury and humiliation.
"Jack! Fire arrows! Burn it all!" he roared. "Turn this rat's nest—and everything in it—into ash!"
The second officer wasted no time. He pulled a longbow from his saddle, struck flint to steel, and lit the cloth-wrapped arrowheads with practiced ease.
"They're going to burn us out!" someone cried from the wall.
The outpost was mostly stone—but months of gathering brush and firewood had turned it into a tinderbox. One good blaze, and everything would go up.
Panic surged again.
"Water!" Colin's voice cut through the chaos. "Get water!"
The women jolted into motion, grabbing jars, skins—anything that could hold liquid—and rushed toward the well.
A flaming arrow shrieked through the air.
Thud!
It struck the crude wooden gate.
Fire exploded instantly across the dry planks.
"Uncle Goff!" Colin barked. "Pin down that archer!"
Goff didn't reply. He drew a captured military arrow, set it to his bow, and locked onto the distant target.
The bowstring sang.
The arrow streaked like a falling star.
The enemy archer reacted at the last instant—yanking his horse sideways. The animal reared, taking the shot.
The arrow buried deep into its belly.
The horse screamed and collapsed, throwing its rider to the ground.
Not a kill—but enough.
The long-range threat was weakened.
Still, the danger pressed on.
The three infantrymen lit torches and, under Falk's furious shouts, advanced again—shields raised, preparing to hurl fire onto the walls.
"Douse it!" Colin shouted.
Sarah and the others reached the wall, slinging water with trembling arms. The flames at the gate sputtered and died under the deluge.
For a moment, neither side gained ground.
Fire and arrows rained in.
Inside the walls, chaos reigned. Smoke thickened. Children cried. Women ran back and forth, stamping out sparks.
The air burned the lungs.
It was a vision of hell.
Lina darted through the chaos, clutching a clay pot almost as big as her head. It sloshed with precious water as she struggled toward the wall.
Then—
The fallen archer rose.
Ignoring his dying horse, he grabbed his bow, drew, and released in one smooth motion.
"Careful!"
Colin saw it too late.
A streak of cold light—
A scream.
Lina.
The arrow tore across her shoulder as she handed off the pot, ripping flesh before burying itself in the wall behind her.
Blood sprayed.
The pot shattered.
She collapsed, crying out in agony.
"Lina!" Sarah's voice broke as she rushed forward.
The rhythm shattered.
A woman faltered—then a thrown stone struck her head. She dropped with a cry.
The defense wavered.
It was about to collapse.
"Don't panic!"
Colin's roar cracked like thunder.
He was already at Lina's side. One glance at the wound—and something dark flashed in his eyes.
No hesitation.
He pulled out the small crystal vial.
"It's alright," he said, steady and firm. "You'll be fine."
He uncorked it and poured the pale green liquid directly onto the wound.
What happened next froze everyone in place.
The potion glowed.
Soft. Green. Alive.
The bleeding stopped instantly.
Flesh knit together before their eyes. The torn wound shrank, sealed, and smoothed into a faint pink scar within seconds.
Lina's cries faded.
She stared at her shoulder, stunned.
Silence fell across the outpost.
Miracle.
There was no other word.
Then—
Hope ignited.
Stronger than fear. Brighter than fire.
Colin… could save them.
In that moment, he became more than a leader.
He became something else entirely.
Outside the wall, Falk saw it too.
The green light.
His breath hitched.
He didn't understand magic—but he understood value.
That was no ordinary medicine.
That was a treasure.
Greed devoured his anger.
"Charge!" he roared, madness in his voice. "Take him alive! That potion is mine!"
He spurred his horse forward, charging straight toward the soaked entrance.
Colin had been waiting.
His eyes locked onto Falk.
Cold. Focused.
Like a hunter watching prey step into a snare.
"Goff—cover me!"
Then he moved.
He sprinted along the wall, faster than anyone could follow.
At the edge—
He leapt.
His body launched into the air, clearing the pit in a single, impossible arc. Over the soldiers. Over their defenses.
A shadow falling from the sky.
"What—?!"
Falk's eyes widened in disbelief.
He swung instinctively.
Too slow.
Colin twisted midair, slipping past the blade. His foot slammed into the horse's head.
The impact was devastating.
The horse screamed, legs buckling.
Man and beast crashed to the ground.
Before Falk could recover—
Colin was already on him.
A phantom.
A nightmare.
His knee crushed Falk's sword arm.
The dagger flashed.
A precise thrust—
Straight into the gap between helmet and armor.
Pfft.
Blood burst forth.
Falk's eyes locked wide in shock. His lips moved, but no words came.
Life drained away.
[Patrol Captain killed. Kill Points +30]
The cold notification echoed faintly.
The battlefield froze.
The remaining soldiers stared, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed.
Their leader—slain like an animal.
Their will shattered.
"The captain… is dead…"
Someone whispered.
Then they broke.
Weapons dropped.
They ran.
"Leave none alive."
Colin rose slowly, voice like ice.
An arrow whistled—
One fleeing soldier dropped, struck through the back.
Goff.
Colin didn't wait.
He surged forward, chasing the last three like a released arrow.
The hunt was not over.
But the end—
Was already decided.