A dozen were already gone before the rear lines realized something was wrong.

From the wall, the soldiers cheered, but Ludger’s expression didn’t change. His eyes tracked the rhythm, reading the tremors through the soles of his boots. He could feel every struggling body, every impact, every desperate movement beneath the surface.

“Not deep enough,” he muttered, raising his other hand.

Mana surged from his core. The quicksand expanded.

The pits widened into gaping maws, dragging down another fifty barbarians as the front line shattered into chaos. Bubbles of red foam and armor plates broke the surface, then vanished under the churning earth.

Some of the enemy tried to circle around the pits, roaring and slipping on the trembling soil, but the shaking made every step uncertain. Ludger twisted his wrist sharply—anchor—and the loose ground hardened without warning, trapping those still halfway buried. Their bodies locked in place like insects in amber.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “That’s better.”

Down below, Darnell’s command rang out, loud and sharp: “Archers! FIRE!”

Arrows cut through the air, dark rain hissing down on the struggling berserkers. The quicksand became a graveyard—mud, blood, and feathers from shattered shafts.

Ludger stepped back from the parapet, his palms still faintly glowing, the faint tremor of the earth syncing with his heartbeat.

First line down, he thought. Now let’s see if their commander’s as reckless as his underlings.

And as the screams of the trapped faded into the rising chorus of horns and battle cries, Ludger turned his focus to the next stage of his trap network — the one waiting just beyond the kill zone.

Even as the quicksand churned and swallowed men whole, the rest of the horde didn’t stop. They didn’t hesitate.

The front lines had vanished into the earth, and instead of breaking, the next ranks climbed over them.

Hands, boots, and weapons dug into sinking bodies like footholds. The berserkers used their own dying comrades as stepping stones, snarling and clawing their way forward with a kind of animal cunning that made Ludger’s stomach twist.

They weren’t just insane — they were still thinking, in their own brutal way.

One brute vaulted off a trapped warrior’s back, landing in a patch of hard ground that hadn’t given way yet. Another grabbed a sinking man by the shoulder and used the leverage to fling himself clear. Dozens followed, a wave of muscle and steel crashing over the broken ground.

“Damn it,” Ludger muttered. “They’ve completely lost it.”

The air was filled with guttural roars and the slurping sound of mud swallowing men alive. The berserkers’ eyes burned like coals in the dim light, and foam streaked their faces as they charged straight through the dying. Morality meant nothing to them now — just movement, forward, blood.

And then the first collision happened.

The town’s front line braced just in time — shields locked, spears angled — but the impact was monstrous. Dozens of berserkers slammed into them all at once, the sound sharp and heavy, like a landslide made of flesh.

The air rippled with the noise. A deep, wet thud. Metal clanged, bone cracked, breath exploded from lungs.

Ludger flinched despite himself. From his vantage atop the wall, he could see it — two tides of bodies crashing together, neither yielding, both tearing into the other. Blood sprayed in arcs that caught the early sunlight, misting the air in red.

For a heartbeat, it was just chaos. Screams. Snarls. The crunch of steel on bone.

Ludger’s expression tightened into something complicated — not fear, not pity, but the grim understanding of what real war looked like. No spell, no plan, no clever trap could make that sound clean.

So this is the price, he thought, eyes narrowing as the next wave surged. Let’s make sure it buys us time.

He turned his hand, feeling the mana pulse beneath the battlefield again — the next layer of traps waiting to answer his command.

“Hold the line! KEEP YOUR POSITIONS!”

Captain Darnell’s roar cut through the chaos like a blade. His spear flashed as he drove it through a berserker’s throat, yanked it free, and pivoted to slam the butt of it into another’s jaw. The soldiers around him were breathing hard, shields shaking from the impacts, but they held.

[Piercing Discipline + 10 XP]

[Piercing Discipline + 10 XP]

Every time one man fell, another stepped in to close the gap. Steel clashed, shields splintered, blood splattered across the packed earth—but the line stayed solid.

Above the walls, Ludger gritted his teeth. His fingers twitched with the urge to cast again, to drag the ground down beneath the next charge—but he could feel it, the weight pressing on his core. Too much, he realized. He couldn’t keep throwing mana into quicksand; the drain would hollow him out before the second wave hit.

He needed something smarter. Something that didn’t cost him everything.

Then, right on cue, the captain’s plan unfolded.

The hills on both sides of the northern field—plain and quiet up to now—suddenly came alive. Dozens of archers stepped into view, moving in tight, practiced lines. They carried quivers heavy enough to last long, bows already drawn to full tension.

“Loose!”

The word echoed twice—once from each flank—and then the sky darkened.

Arrows screamed down in waves, black lines cutting through the dawn. The first volley hit the barbarians hard, slamming into shoulders, necks, faces—wherever their crude armor left gaps. Dozens went down instantly. The second volley came before the survivors could even react.

From his vantage, Ludger saw it perfectly: the chaos spreading through the enemy ranks as they looked up in confusion, the frenzy twisting into panic for the first time.

It wasn’t luck. It was designed.

Those archers hadn’t come from nowhere. Ludger’s traps weren’t just quicksand and false breaches—he’d carved narrow crevices across the plains, then sealed them under a thin, solid crust. Overnight, Darnell had quietly moved two full squads through the hidden tunnels connecting the fortress to those points. They’d waited in the dark, silent, until the signal came.

Now, arrows poured from those hidden ridges like rain.

Each volley tore deeper into the advancing mob. Bodies fell in clusters, clogging the ground, turning the charge into a stumbling mess. The berserkers kept coming, but their momentum faltered. Some tripped over the fallen. Others tried to raise crude shields overhead, only to be pinned by the next wave of arrows.

From the wall, Ludger’s smirk returned, sharp and cold. That’s it. Keep them busy.

He extended his hand again, this time not to summon quicksand—but to twist the ground just ahead of the enemy line. Shallow cracks opened, narrow enough to trip, deep enough to trap a foot or a falling body. The barbarians blundered straight into them, cursing and shrieking as arrows continued to fall.

The battlefield had turned into a machine, each part feeding the next—Darnell’s soldiers holding the line, the hidden archers hammering the flanks, and Ludger manipulating the earth to bleed the enemy’s momentum dry.

And still, the captain’s voice cut through the storm, steady as an anchor:

“Hold! Let them choke on their own weight!”

The sky over the fortress was blue now, but the ground below was painted red.

The plan was working.

From the walls, Ludger could see it clearly — the enemy line was breaking apart. The quicksand pits had swallowed dozens; the hidden archers had carved holes into the rest. Every few seconds another wave of arrows hissed down, another cluster of barbarians fell, another cheer rose from the ramparts.

They were winning. Exactly as he’d planned.

And yet, as he watched bodies pile on the plains, that cold satisfaction didn’t last.

Blood smeared the mud, dark and thick, pooling in the cracks he’d carved himself. The air reeked of iron and sweat and smoke, and the screams — human, inhuman — all blended together until the sound was just a dull roar in his head.

Ludger’s fingers tightened against the stone wall. It wasn’t fear. It was disgust.

What a waste.

Every arrow that hit, every sword that cut deep — it all felt like throwing away time, strength, lives, for nothing that would last. He didn’t even know who led the enemy, this “Kharnek” the scouts had whispered about, but the man hadn’t shown himself once. No presence on the field, no rallying cry, nothing.

Hiding while your men tear each other apart, Ludger thought, a bitter edge rising in his chest. Not much different from the nobles sitting in their estates, sipping wine and counting bodies as profit.

He could picture it — the fat merchants and lords who’d complain about the cost of the campaign but wouldn’t hesitate to pocket the spoils once it was done. All while the soldiers bled in the dirt.

His jaw clenched. The smirk he wore so often was gone now, replaced by something sharper, colder.

Cowards in silk, he thought. They send others to die for their comfort, and call it duty.

Another explosion of arrows rained down on the horde below, and a section of the barbarian flank collapsed. The soldiers cheered, the captain barked orders, and the battle pushed forward — victory creeping closer with every passing second.

But Ludger just stood there, silent, eyes fixed on the carnage.

We’re winning, he thought grimly, but it’s still a damn waste.

Ludger lowered his gaze from the battlefield. His hands were trembling—not from fear, not even from exhaustion, but from something he couldn’t quite name.

The faint brown glow of mana still flickered around his fingers, fading in and out like dying embers. The same hands that had raised walls, built traps, reshaped the earth—had also buried men alive.

He stared at the dirt caked beneath his nails. These hands saved lives, he thought. And took them too.

Down below, the battle raged on, but the noise felt distant now—like it was happening somewhere far from him. The barbarians screamed as arrows tore through them, their bodies sinking into the same soil he’d hardened moments ago. He’d done that. Every one of them buried in the pits, every one of them crushed under the shifting earth—he had decided where they fell.

And for what?

He glanced toward the town behind him, where the walls stood strong, soldiers still shouting, still fighting to hold their ground. The people there—farmers, workers, mothers clutching their children in the shelters below—were safe because of what he’d done. That was the truth.

But so was the other side of it.

The barbarians had once called this place theirs. They’d slaughtered and burned when they took it, and when the empire struck back, they’d been butchered in turn. Now they were back again, fighting to reclaim the ashes of a home that no longer existed.

There were no saints here. Not on either side.

The realization twisted in his gut, hot and heavy, burning through the numbness that had settled in his chest.

His lips curled into something halfway between a grimace and a snarl. Both sides killing for land that’s already soaked in blood. For walls that’ll just fall again when someone new wants them.

He clenched his fists until his knuckles went white, nails biting into his palms.

And I’m part of it now.

The rage wasn’t at the barbarians. Not really. It wasn’t even at the empire. It was at the entire cycle—the way it kept spinning, grinding up people and spitting out corpses while the ones who started it all never got their hands dirty.

Ludger looked back to the horizon, where the smoke of battle blurred into the pale morning sky.

If this is how the world works, he thought, teeth gritting, then maybe it’s time someone changed the rules.

For a moment, Ludger just stood there, silent above the carnage. The noise below had dulled to a heavy hum in his ears — metal clashing, men shouting, the guttural roars of dying berserkers and soldiers. But inside, his thoughts were louder.

Maybe I’m thinking too highly of myself,

he admitted. Like I’m the only one who sees the pattern, the only one who gets it.

He had treated so many things like games before — family arguments, political nonsense, the whispered plots of nobles trying to outsmart one another. He’d always looked at them with detached amusement, like puzzles meant to be solved, not wars to be won. Even this battle, at first, had been another test — another chance to prove he could outthink the chaos.

But now, seeing what his traps and commands had done, that detached calm cracked.

You don’t forget this, he thought, staring at the twisted bodies in the mud. You don’t just wash it off and move on.

He needed to do something — anything — to keep his mind from turning this sight into another memory buried under sarcasm and smirks. Because if he started laughing it off now, like everything else, he’d lose something he couldn’t get back.

Then a shout broke the haze.

“Movement on the western flank!”

The tone in the soldier’s voice snapped Ludger back to reality. He turned sharply, scanning the distance. The first thing he saw was the glint of metal in the low sun — ranks of warriors emerging from the hills to the west.

Another army.

“Damn it,” he breathed.

Even from the wall, he could see the difference — these weren’t just berserkers. They moved slower, steadier, their steps synchronized beneath the command of unseen leaders. And behind them…

Ludger’s expression hardened.

A thick wave of gray smoke was rolling across the field, spreading low and heavy, like fog with a purpose. It crawled over the grass stretching toward the fortress.

The soldiers along the western rampart started shouting, pointing, some coughing already as the haze thickened.

Ludger’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not dust,” he muttered. “That’s smoke.”

He could feel it — faint spiritual interference prickling against his senses. Not random. Controlled.

“The shamans…” he said under his breath.

They were here. And they weren’t wasting time.

Their goal was clear — blind the defenders, smother visibility, break coordination before the new wave hit the walls.

He grabbed the stone edge of the battlement and felt the vibrations under his hand, reading the tremors spreading across the ground. The enemy wasn’t charging yet — they were setting the stage.

Smart. And as expected, very aggressive.

Ludger took a slow breath, forcing the flicker of frustration out of his tone. “So this is the real push, huh?”

Then, louder: “CAPTAIN! They’re trying to cut our sightlines!”

Even as he shouted, the smoke began to roll thicker, swallowing the sunlight in dirty waves.

The battle wasn’t over — it was just changing shape.

Ludger turned from the wall, the shouts from the western side growing louder with each heartbeat. The smoke was already crawling across the sky, thick and dark, curling like a living thing that wanted to choke the entire fortress.

He ducked into his tent, ripped open a small wooden crate beneath his desk, and grabbed every potion he’d been hoarding for this exact moment. Rows of glass bottles clinked together, half of them filled with Aronia’s clean blue mana restoratives, the rest with the bitter field-grade junk he’d received by the dozen. He shoved them into a satchel, slung it over his shoulder, and ran.

Outside, the camp was chaos. The captain was already shouting orders from horseback, his voice cracking through the haze.

“Form up! Western wall, move it! Mages, to the high ground! Don’t let the smoke box us in!”

Soldiers were peeling off from the northern fortifications in quick, disciplined units, shields raised against the shifting gray curtain. But it was clear the situation was bad. Visibility dropped by the second. The smoke clung to the ground, thick and heavy, making it impossible to tell where the next strike would come from.

Ludger reached the western wall and stared into the rolling mass below. He could barely make out shapes—just movement, flickers of fire, and the sound of heavy boots pounding closer. His mind raced, searching through his skill lists, looking for something that could clear the air or push it back.

Earth manipulation? No. Not enough precision. Stone Grip? Useless for gas. Maybe if I—

Then he froze.

There was a sound cutting through the chaos—footsteps, quick and heavy, echoing down the inner corridor of the fortress. Dozens of them. A rhythm he recognized instantly.

His smirk crept back before he even turned.

“About damn time,” he muttered.

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