The moon had quietly climbed to its zenith, its clear, cold light pouring down like a waterfall. Above the Solon Mountains, night covered the forest, like a fluctuating black ocean. At the ocean's edge, a line of five figures, accompanied by the residual blast waves from behind, stumbled and tumbled over the mountain ridge, their forms distorted under the moonlight. Close behind, pinpricks of torchlight, like scavengers, bit down relentlessly, signaling the approaching danger. The chase and escape had lasted for over ten minutes, feeling as long as a century.
Having crossed the mountain ridge, Corbin's leg muscles protested violently, his lungs burned. He gritted his teeth and held steady. The residual warmth of Combat Aura and his extraordinary soul power still lingered in his body. His body felt sore and weak, but he could still move, with about fifty percent of his stamina remaining, capable of one last burst of effort. The night wind brought fatigue. Owen, Matthew, Rhodes, and Lyra were also breathing heavily, feeling exhausted. They bore new injuries—Matthew's arrow wound was bleeding, Rhodes's palm was split by the shield's vibration, Owen's breathing was somewhat rough, and he felt his strength considerably depleted. Leaning against trees for a brief moment, even adjusting their breathing was difficult.
In the brief respite, Corbin attempted to touch the alien soul power within him that had been restless since replicating the Lightfoot Charm. It pulsed incessantly, urging him to try. But each attempt to mobilize it, the power was like elusive flowing water, bringing only vague ripples, unable to gather and sustain itself. He would not give up. Deep within, he made futile efforts, time and time again.
The brief moment of respite was swallowed before they could fully appreciate it. The crisis behind them surged forward like a tide. The torchlight was close now, and thunderous shouts of killing echoed in the night. Mingled with hoarse commands in the common tongue, they were clear and organized. The main force of the smugglers' pursuit was rapidly approaching.
Several faster figures had already broken away from the main group, lunging like hungry wolves.
"Careful!" Corbin hissed, his body tensing instinctively.
Knight Owen gripped his sword hilt, forcing himself to hold strong. Though exhausted, Rhodes and Matthew's survival instincts struggled to push them into a fighting stance. Lyra's petite figure hid behind Matthew, her eyes resolute. They knew the enemy would offer no moment to catch their breath.
Combat erupted in an instant, fierce and desperate. Charging at the front were two Goblins and a Refugee wielding a rusty knife. The lowest of low-level enemies, in their current state of heavy stamina, Combat Aura, and magical depletion, they attacked like charging beasts, their blows heavy and threatening.
Corbin's longsword flashed like a viper, whistling through the air as he struggled to parry a Goblin's bone club. He flicked the sword tip upward, attempting to pierce its throat. The Goblin reacted quickly, arching backward. In Corbin's fatigue, his sword tip only grazed its neck fur, drawing a foul odor. Corbin flashed back, his legs feeling sore from the continuous sprint.
"Get lost!" Knight Owen roared, his voice hoarse. Forcing his body, he chopped at another Goblin with his sword. The sword strike lacked its usual swiftness, but the precise strength of long battle experience remained. The Goblin shrieked and dodged, struck by the sword wind, stumbling backward.
Rhodes gritted his teeth, barely managing to raise his one-handed sword to block. The grating clash of metal was earsplitting, and the sword was nearly knocked from his grasp. His tiger's mouth split instantly, causing him to groan in pain, his arm numb from the recoil, almost unable to grip the sword. He used all his strength to deflect the rusty knife, using the force to pull back and barely create distance.
"Damn it! My arm is finished! I'm going to chop these scum into pieces and feed them to wild dogs!" Matthew cursed, his face contorted in pain and rage from the arrow wound. His right arm was severely injured, his movements slow. Relying on sheer stubborn strength, he violently rammed into a Goblin attempting to circle around Owen, knocking it violently aside. The Goblin wailed in pain, tumbling on the ground.
Lyra's small hand moved quickly, chanting an incantation. A faint light flickered at her fingertips. The nearest incoming arrow deflected slightly, pinging off a tree trunk. Her breathing grew more ragged, having expended considerable magical power, yet she stubbornly persisted in casting.
In just over ten seconds, they had barely dealt with the three enemies who had charged ahead. They fell or were forced back. But the protagonists paid a greater price—Matthew's arrow wound had burst open from the strenuous movements, blood gushing out, staining his entire right sleeve red, rendering his arm nearly useless. Rhodes's tiger's mouth was split, his palm bloody, making it difficult to grip his sword. Owen's breathing was heavy and rapid; his Combat Aura was severely depleted, his face grim from the exhaustion. Corbin's arm ached from parrying and slashing, his stamina further diminished.
Without a moment's pause, the torchlight of the main force behind them was close. The main body of the smugglers' pursuit, like a snarling maw, charged ferociously along the undulating mountain ridge, moving at great speed. Rapid yet disciplined footsteps indicated the pursuers were familiar with the complex terrain, by no means a disorganized rabble.
Further in the distance, two black-cloaked figures were clearly visible. The fingertips of one flickered with leaping firelight. The other emitted a cold, oppressive magical fluctuation around them, the aura of death and decay growing more potent, as if gathering more formidable power. The threat was like a massive grinding stone, pressing heavily upon their hearts.
Corbin quickly scanned his surroundings, searching for natural barriers or treacherous terrain. The area under the moonlight was open, with sparse rocks and bushes insufficient to form a defense line or hold them off for long. The low-lying area where the horses were hidden, once completely surrounded, would be a dead end. Their only advantage was being relatively close to the horses' hiding spot.
But in their current state, they could not run back to the hiding spot and escape on horseback. The pursuers were too fast; they would be caught and annihilated at the hiding spot before they could even mount their horses.
Corbin's eyes were sharp as he rapidly assessed the desperate situation in his mind. Running was not the best option; they had to make a stand here, to buy precious time.
He looked at Uncle Owen, the reliable knight like a mountain, now exhausted, his back straining to stay straight, his face grim from severe depletion. He looked at Lyra, breathing heavily, magic considerably consumed, her eyes resolute. Rhodes and Matthew, heavily wounded and depleted of strength. Matthew needed assistance to walk, and Rhodes's sword-hand trembled. Surviving and running back for help was already a miracle beyond their limits.
"We can't wait any longer," Corbin's voice was breathless, yet exceptionally firm. His gaze swept over the pursuers, then to his teammates, a look of grim determination flashing in his eyes. "The horses' hiding spot is not far. There's no good cover here; we can't hold them off for long. Someone must stay, to hold off the enemy here, to buy time for the others."
Knight Owen forced himself to stand up, struggling, breathing heavily. His voice was hoarse but authoritative: "Stop talking nonsense! This is an order! If anyone stays, it's me! You immediately take Matthew and Lyra and go! Rhodes, you're the fastest, go set off the signal flare!"
"Knight Owen!" Corbin interrupted urgently. "You've expended a huge amount of energy and need to recover your Combat Aura quickly. Matthew is severely wounded and needs help. Rhodes needs to set off the signal quickly. To hold them off here, my Perception needs your magic to coordinate." Corbin looked at Lyra, his eyes pleading. "Lyra, you and I will stay. Your magic can provide cover and delay them, and my Perception can give warnings. We can buy more time."
Lyra was breathing heavily, her face showing fatigue, her eyes resolute. She looked at Owen, then at Matthew and Rhodes, and finally her gaze settled on Corbin's eyes. She bit her lip, silently clasped her hands in front of her, and began chanting an incantation. She made her decision with her actions.
"Lyra!" Knight Owen roared, his voice complex. He knew Corbin and Lyra's combination would be more effective at delaying the enemy, but he did not want the children to risk their lives.
"Go! Rhodes! Take Matthew and Lyra! Find the horses, set off the signal!" Knight Owen suppressed his reluctance, yelling at Rhodes. His voice carried the weight of a command: "Call for reinforcements from Captain Boone and the Windbreath Town Town Guard Knights!"
Corbin walked towards Rhodes. Besides his one-handed sword, Rhodes was struggling to carry Matthew's heavy two-handed greatsword on his shoulder. Corbin reached out, patted Rhodes's shoulder, and took the relatively lighter one-handed sword from Rhodes's waist. He knew the next phase would be a tough fight and required a more flexible weapon.
Rhodes gritted his teeth, his eyes red-rimmed. He looked at Corbin and Lyra, his eyes showing a mix of complex emotions—worry, reluctance to leave, a silent entrustment. He did not speak, just nodded heavily. Then, stepping backward, step by step, his gaze vigilantly fixed on the direction of the pursuers, he provided cover for Matthew and Lyra. Lyra was breathing heavily, having expended considerable magic, her eyes resolute. Her small figure followed closely behind Rhodes and Matthew; the three of them supported each other, staggering towards the horses' hiding spot. Corbin watched their tired, determined backs disappear into the night. He exchanged a look with Uncle Owen, their eyes conveying a shared, grim determination.
In the brief interval while Matthew, Rhodes, and Lyra retreated, and Corbin and Owen prepared to face the enemy.
In the distance, the hooded figure with the ring raised a hand, firelight flickering at their fingertips. Beside them, the other hooded figure, holding the dagger, also raised a hand simultaneously, a cold light emanating around them.
"Careful! They're catching up!" Corbin yelled.
A twisting tongue of fire, carrying scorching heat, shot out from the firelight, whipping like a lash! Immediately after, a swath of ice spikes carrying bone-chilling cold, rose silently from the ground, blocking the retreat paths on both sides for Corbin and Owen!
Corbin violently dove sideways, avoiding the whipping flame, and at the same time, used his longsword to vault over the ice spikes on the ground! Knight Owen roared, Combat Aura bursting forth, forcefully chopping apart the whipping flame, while side-stepping to barely avoid the ice spikes on the ground!
But they had nowhere left to avoid; the pursuers behind them were now right upon them!
In the forest behind the Solon Mountains, several miles from the mountain ridge.
Elder Lysander, a dazzling magical light on his body, sped like a cannonball. His figure never stopped; his perceptive gaze quickly swept the forest below, rapidly spotting the deliberately hidden horses' hiding spot. Seeing the horses concealed behind bushes and rubble, with tracks erased, his heart tightened. He confirmed the children had been there. His gaze quickly cast towards the distant mountain ridge, where he could still see the residual firelight from the explosion, and the relentless pinpricks of torchlight in close pursuit. The situation was far worse than he had imagined! The children were in danger!
Elder Lysander's heart burned with anxiety; the magic within him boiled, and his speed increased again. He shot towards the direction of the firelight and fighting sounds like an arrow released from a bow. That fluctuation contained powerful magical energy, carrying the depth accumulated over ages, making his face even graver. His Perception had never before captured these imprints so clearly. He knew the children had encountered enemies far beyond what was expected. He could only hope he would arrive in time, before everything became irreversible.
Windbreath Town, before the Viscount's Castle square.
The night was deep, the air carrying the chill of early winter. Knight Boone and over twenty fully armed Town Guard Knights stood side-by-side, their faces serious, occasionally looking up towards the faint firelight in the distant Solon Mountains. Lianna stood at the side of the group at this moment, watching the firelight that had been burning since midnight, and which had now lasted for over ten minutes. Each flicker felt like a heavy hammer blow to her heart. The knights gripped their weapons, their eyes exchanged glances filled with barely suppressed anxiety, ready to charge towards the back mountain at any moment.
To the side, the Viscount's steward—a fat, grim-faced middle-aged man—watched this group of knights vigilantly, fearing they would act without orders and reduce the Castle's defensive force. He was like invisible shackles, restraining the loyal and anxious knights. The last time bandits attempted to infiltrate the town, the Viscount had become exceptionally cautious, strictly forbidding the Town Guard from leaving their posts. The steward was simply executing the command, even though the command felt inhumane at that moment.
Lianna stood at the side of the group at this moment, watching the firelight that had continued for over ten minutes. The worry in her heart reached its peak, almost consuming her. Corbin, Matthew, Rhodes… they were out there! Looking at the steward's unyielding, obstructive face, and the knights' faces showing suppressed anger and helplessness, Lianna's eyes flashed with grim determination. She knew that simply talking wouldn't work. Seizing the moment while the steward was unprepared, she suddenly charged forward from the side and behind him. Her hand moved swiftly and cleanly, chopping the side of the steward's neck. The steward did not even manage to gasp in surprise, his eyes rolled back, and he fell limply to the ground.
Knight Boone, seeing that things had come to this, knew there was no turning back. A complex expression, a mix of approval and helplessness, flashed across his face. Several senior knights beside him quickly exchanged glances. No extra words were needed; the command had been conveyed in their eyes—rescue, start now!
"Mount up!" Knight Boone ordered in a deep voice.
The over twenty Town Guard Knights immediately responded with a thunderous assent: "Yes, sir!"
From atop the high city wall, their sight sweeping over the town's rooftops, they looked towards the Solon Mountains. Under the clear, cold moonlight, the Windbreath Town Town Guard Knight contingent, over twenty riders, like tigers unleashed from a cage, swiftly charged out of the square and galloped along the road leading to the back mountain. Lianna, riding a fine horse, followed closely behind her father's group, her eyes burning with urgent, grim determination. At this moment, the Viscount's Castle gates were tightly shut, and the wall guards nervously watched the depths of the night, awaiting an unknown fate.