The Verdant Scar's green-glowing craters pulsed like open wounds, their vines writhing as the Dominion riders charged, their red-glow steeds tearing through the dawn mist. Yuto Akiyama's scrawny frame tensed on the northern rise, his new steel breastplate heavy, his crossbow loaded, his dented helm reflecting the crimson light. The riders—dozens of cloaked mages on tainted horses, their hides glowing like molten iron, hooves sparking against scorched earth—galloped with staves blazing green bolts. Dominion grunts trailed, axes raised, their spiked armor clanking. Braxium's camp, a sprawl of tents and fresh capital-supplied gear, buzzed with panic, soldiers forming ranks in gleaming tunics, crossbows raised. Yuto's hastily crafted bomb—a clay pot packed with Mara's sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter—hung at his belt, its fuse a lifeline. His inner thoughts roared, a mix of panic and gamer grit. These riders are speed-hacking cavalry from hell. Karl's sorcery accusation's got me on a timer, and this camp's a germ fest. Gotta outsmart these mages or I'm fragged—burned as a witch or trampled by demon ponies.
The air reeked of sulfur, ash, and the camp's overflowing latrines, Yuto's rash burning under his crisp blue tunic. His hygiene rage flared, the camp's filth—coughing soldiers, festering sores, no soap—clashing with the new steel boots and crossbows from the capital. New gear's lit, but we're still one plague from game over. Dominion's got magic horses, and we're stuck in melee meta. His gunpowder obsession burned, Mara's musket sketch vivid in his mind. Sulfur, charcoal, saltpeter—check. Forge a barrel, and I'm sniping mages from 50 yards. Gotta survive this to build it.
Granite-Face, his whip coiled, barked at Yuto's patrol—Torren, Lyssa, Gav, Redbeard, and six crossbowmen. "Mud Boy, stop that charge, or you're kindling!" Yuto's bomb demo was on hold, Karl's accusation unresolved, the confined soldier's allies whispering "heretic" among the ranks. Yuto's strategic mind, honed by World Warfare 4 and history's battles, kicked into overdrive. The Verdant Scar's terrain was his chessboard: a gully to the west, choked with glowing vines, could slow the riders; a ridge to the east offered crossbow range; and a crater field ahead, pocked with green pools, could break their formation. Mongol ambush meets Agincourt—funnel 'em, pin 'em, pop 'em.
"Torren, ridge, snipe the mages! Gav, Redbeard, gully—block the grunts! Lyssa, backline, don't fumble! Crossbowmen, crater field—volley on my call!" Yuto shouted, sprinting to the gully, his crossbow bouncing, breastplate clanking. Torren nodded, his rune-etched armor glinting as he scaled the ridge, his crossbow ready, his mentorship sharp. "Mud Boy, I fought cavalry once—tainted wolves, fast as these. Aim for the mounts, break their speed." His green eyes held a survivor's weight, a bond forged in fire. Yuto gripped his bomb. Torren's my shot-caller. Let's clutch.
The riders thundered closer, their steeds' hooves drumming, green bolts lancing like artillery. One struck a crossbowman, his new armor sizzling, body crumpling, blood pooling in the mud. Yuto dove into the gully, its vine-choked walls humming, the air thick with ozone. Redbeard's sword met a grunt's axe, sparks flying, his amulet pulsing as he roared Valthar's prayers, blood dripping from his prior wound. Gav's crossbow twanged, a bolt grazing a grunt's shoulder, his weasel face grim but steady in his new gear. Lyssa, her capelet flapping, raised her staff, her blonde hair whipping in the wind. "I'll shield us, Mud Boy!" Her crystal flared blue-white, a shimmering barrier snapping up, deflecting a mage's bolt with a crack. She staggered, tripping on a vine, but held firm, grinning. "Epic, right?"
Yuto blinked, his quip quick. "Yo, Glitter Queen, you're actually cracked! Keep that up!" Lyssa's blush mixed with pride, her growth clear despite the stumble. The riders split, half circling to the crater field, their steeds leaping craters, mages' staves blazing. Yuto's plan was working—the gully bogged the grunts, the ridge pinned the mages, but the riders' speed was lethal. A steed charged the gully, its mage hurling a bolt that scorched Gav's arm, his scream piercing. Yuto's crossbow fired, the bolt punching the steed's flank, black blood spraying as it reared, throwing the mage. Got one. Need more.
He scanned the crater field, where crossbowmen knelt, their new gear gleaming but faces pale. The riders' formation was tight, their speed blurring through the mist. Yuto's brain flashed to Agincourt's muddy fields, where English longbows broke French knights. Terrain's my DPS. Those craters are traps. "Crossbowmen, aim low—hit the steeds' legs! Fire on three!" he roared, counting down. Bolts flew, a steel rain slicing the mist, striking hooves and shins. Steeds stumbled, their red glow flickering, mages tumbling into green pools, their screams drowned by hooves. The formation broke, riders scattering, Yuto's ambush landing hard.
But the mages rallied, their staves pulsing, a green wave of energy rippling outward, shattering Lyssa's barrier. She fell, gasping, her staff skidding, but scrambled up, chanting. A crackling bolt shot forth, slamming a mage's chest, the cloak igniting as he collapsed. "Take that, fiends!" she shouted, tripping again but catching herself. Yuto grinned. "Glitter Queen's got aim now!" Her spell was clutch, her growth a beacon in the chaos.
The grunts pressed the gully, axes hacking, Redbeard's sword slowing, blood soaking his new tunic. Gav's dagger slashed, nicking a grunt's throat, but a second axe grazed his leg, dropping him. Yuto's bomb was his ace, its fuse unlit but ready. Mara, at the camp's edge, had warned him hours ago, her wiry frame tense as she handed over the saltpeter. "This'll boom bigger, lad, but it's fickle—too much, and you're ash. I crafted war-fire for Lord Karath, burned whole camps, till Valthar's priests chained me. You're walking my path—tread light." Her rebel past, defying Braxium's dogma, made her Yuto's mirror. She's my crafting god-tier. Musket's next.
Yuto eyed the riders' main cluster, regrouping near a crater, their steeds pawing, mages chanting. Weak point—formation's tight, one blast'll scatter 'em. He lit the bomb's fuse, its hiss sharp, sparks spitting like a firecracker. A rider spotted him, steed charging, mage's bolt searing the air. Yuto dove, the bolt scorching his breastplate, the heat blistering his chest. His hygiene rage spiked—no medkits, no clean water, just blood and filth. He hurled the bomb, the pot arcing through smoke, landing amid the riders. The explosion cracked the air, yellow flames erupting, steeds rearing, mages' screams mingling with black smoke. The cluster shattered, riders fleeing, their red glow dimming.
The camp surged, soldiers in new armor thrusting spears, crossbows twanging. Torren's bolts pierced mage throats, Redbeard's sword cleaved, Gav limped up, dagger slashing. Lyssa's shield flickered back, blocking a stray bolt, her face drained but fierce. Yuto staggered, sulfur choking him, his arm bleeding, rash burning. Bomb's MVP again. Oracle of Mud, baby. Granite-Face, whip raised, roared, "Hold the line!" The riders broke, grunts retreating, the Verdant Scar's craters swallowing their dead.
Post-battle, Yuto planned his musket with Mara, her sketch vivid—iron barrel, flint spark. "Forge it, lad, and you'll outshoot their magic," she said, eyes wary. "But Valthar's priests are circling—Karl's got ears among 'em." Torren clapped Yuto's shoulder, his mentorship firm. "You fight like a devil, Mud Boy. Keep that brain sharp." Lyssa, bandaging Gav, glowed, her spells earning Redbeard's nod. "Not bad, lass," he grunted, his amulet pulsing.
The camp's filth lingered—latrines reeked, sores spread, no soap despite new gear. Yuto's rage burned, his gunpowder dream a lifeline. But as he mixed another bomb, the Verdant Scar trembled, green pulses flaring. A scout's scream pierced the dusk: "Dominion mages—cloaked, in the craters! They're summoning!" The ground split, a red-glow rift opening, a clawed limb emerging, bigger than the beast. Granite-Face's eyes locked on Yuto. "Mud Boy, your boom's our only shot, or we're all dead." Yuto's brain froze. That's a raid boss spawn, and my bomb's on cooldown.