The troll vaulted over the rampart and sailed toward Sadie. Most of its fur was gone, sacrificed at the altar of Kurik’s traps, and its torso bore the marks of a hundred fast-healing wounds. Sadie met its flight with Final Verdict. The blade bit deep into the creature’s exposed stomach, stopping only when it hit the troll’s rigid spine. She ripped the weapon free, splattering intestines across the wall walk.

It battered her with its iron-shod club, though she ignored the blows. She’d learned to trust her personal shield against these creatures, so she didn’t even flinch as she kicked the troll’s knee. It buckled, and the thing fell.

Right into a massive sword blade that erupted from the ground. It was followed by four more, all in quick succession. Each instance sliced through the creature’s thick skin, sending hunks of flesh flying in every direction. It was like it had fallen into a meat grinder.

But Sadie knew that even Righteous Storm, which was an upgrade over Blade of Judgement, wasn’t enough to finish it off. She leaped forward with an overhand slash that split it in two. Even then, it still lived, tendrils of flesh reaching out to intertwine with one another and pull its vertically bisected pieces together.

At least until Sadie lopped its head off.

That alone wasn’t enough to kill a troll, but when combined with all the rest of the damage, it overwhelmed its regeneration. It flopped to the ground like the pile of wet meat it had become.

Silence reigned.

She turned to the killing field, where the only movement came from Kurik’s vines. They slowly wilted, revealing masses of meat and blood that had once been trolls. His so-called traps, which more closely resembled short-lived flora, were the only reason they’d been able to defend the fortress, which featured something of a skeleton crew.

The rest of the army had split into a dozen squads meant to destroy the spawn points feeding the trolls into the fight. And judging by the lack of any new entrants from the various tunnels leading from the chamber, they had been successful.

It wasn’t the first time, though.

To date, they’d saved seven fortresses, all at the ill-advised insistence of their accompanying illythiri. Despite Sadie’s resolution to ignore her allies’ plight, she was not the sort to pass a besieged fortress and not try to help. It was an oft-lamented personal failing.

The first time, they’d celebrated. The second, that celebration had been a little more subdued. By the third, they could all see the writing on the wall. And by now? They all knew precisely how useless their efforts really were.

Sure, winning battles was important. Not only did they save lives, but with every kill, her army grew stronger. The problem came from their inability to be in more than one place at a time.

And they had tried.

A third of her army had fallen due to that strategy. The fact was that splitting up meant they weren’t strong enough for the job at hand. Maybe they could close a few spawn points, but, divided, they could never win a battle.

The trolls weren’t stupid, either. Sure, the footsoldiers like the one she’d just killed lacked functional intelligence. They were good at one thing – being nigh-unkillable machines of war – but that was as much due to the bloodlust as because of their nature. Once they were captured, they could communicate well enough.

They were fanatics, though. Hellbent on conquest. They didn’t know anything else.

The blood priests were different. They were as cunning a foe as any Sadie had ever seen. To date, her forces had only ever captured one, and that experience had been so chilling that even now, weeks later, Sadie had difficulty not thinking of the creature’s evil grin as it told her its intentions.

Conquest, with which she was intimately familiar, was part of it. Consumption was another. But there was an arrogance there, too. A surety of purpose and position that couldn’t be faked. That blood priest knew it was better than her, and it made no bones about making that clear.

Unfortunately, the interrogation only lasted an hour or two before the thing had died by its own hand. Watching it rip its own throat out was, in a word, horrifying. The smile it kept on its face as it did so made it even worse.

But its intelligence was the crux of the problem. When Sadie’s army defended one fortress, the trolls simply funneled more resources into attacking a different one, usually a hundred or more miles away. And when they did that, they could overwhelm the defenders in a matter of days – quickly enough that Sadie couldn’t respond in time.

“One step forward, two steps back,” she muttered as she saw the first squad emerge from one of the distant tunnels. That one was led by Ivin, who’d probably been the first to succeed in his mission. The others would have been much slower. For all their training, the surface-dwellers were not on the level of Eldrathûn’s elite.

They were getting closer, though. Particularly the additions from Svetogorsk, who fought with almost as much ferocity as the trolls themselves. Ironshore’s squad, which was far more organized, held its own, too. They were the lowest levels among the entire army, but due to their gear, training, and strict formations, they were more than capable of punching up. The rest of the army, comprised of people from various other settlements, were a mixed bag.

So long as the guilds could work in groups of five or six, they were extremely effective. But when they were asked to fight in an army? They definitely underperformed, and to the point where Sadie almost wished they’d just go back to the surface where they could focus on running towers.

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She couldn’t afford to turn down soldiers, though. It didn’t matter if they were good or bad, they were warm bodies. And that was all that really mattered.

Sadie continued to watch as the illythiri fighters marched across the killing field. Meanwhile, Kurik had descended from the walls to gather his traps. By the time the elves reached the fortress, he’d collected what he could. As the illythiri strode through the site of the massacre, they gave him a wide berth.

Everyone had learned not to get on Kurik’s bad side.

The dwarf’s power had skyrocketed, largely because he had the benefit of a high-rarity class and all the attributes that came with it. However, no small part of his effectiveness came from simple suitability for the task at hand. He was built to defend, after all.

He was still much lower level than her, but Sadie had no interest in ever making an enemy of the dwarf. The same could be said for only one other person in her army, though a few were close to reaching that designation.

But none were as frightening as Miguel. Sadie was confident that, if it ever came to it, she could defeat him, but that was as much because of her superior progression as anything else. If she started throwing miracles around, her victory would be assured.

However, with every level he gained, he became more and more dangerous. By the time he caught up, he would likely be a superior fighter – especially if he had Trevor with him. The two were an absolute nightmare on the battlefield. The stag could hold his own against just about any foe, but together, he and Miguel were deadly, mobile, and extremely skilled.

He was also dedicated to improvement, as evidenced by his constant training. Most afternoons saw him sparring with Sadie, and when she wasn’t available, he practiced with the elves. Or with Colt, who’d also grown by leaps and bounds since coming to the Hollow Depths.

His dedication to the sword was very different from Miguel’s, though. For the young man, it was a tool, no different than any other. With Colt, it was practically a religion. His practice was almost meditative in nature. The contrast was intriguing, and Sadie had spent quite a lot of time trying to incorporate both perspectives into her own training.

But with her other responsibilities, which included running the army, she didn’t have nearly as much time to practice as she would have liked. At times, she found herself worrying that her levels would soon outpace her bladework.

Or her cultivation, which had always been a point of frustration. Especially when she compared herself to Elijah, who seemed to reach a new tier every time he turned around. Sadie had made some progress, but she knew it paled in comparison to some others.

If only she had a little more time to herself, she might have found better results.

“You know this ain’t workin’,” said Kurik, who’d climbed atop the wall after gathering his traps.

“I know.”

“But what’re we gonna do ‘bout it?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

“You know the obvious answer, don’tcha?”

Again, she remained silent, though she knew precisely what Kurik was talking about. But still, Sadie hesitated. She didn’t want to go running to Elijah every single time she encountered a difficult problem. Especially after she’d sent him away. Doing so had been a mistake. Sadie recognized that now, though she was loathe to admit it.

Sadie knew that she needed to learn to overcome obstacles on her own. They all did. Earth wouldn’t survive if they were wholly dependent on him.

No one would ever grow if he continued to hover over them like a guardian angel.

“Don’t let pride get in the way of doin’ what’s necessary.”

“What?” Sadie asked, her ire rising. She was not prideful. She was thinking of everyone else. Of what the world would do without Elijah. After all, he wouldn’t always be there. Earth couldn’t contain someone like him. She knew it. Everyone else did, too, even if they refused to acknowledge it.

“You heard me,” Kurik said, idly toying with one of his seeds. Sadie could feel waves of ethera wafting off of it. “It’s pride. You probably convinced yourself it’s somethin’ else, right? What is it?”

“We need to prepare for when he’s gone.”

“Ah. So, that’s it.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded.

“You. And him. This ain’t about pride after all. Not entirely. This is about the two of you.”

“This is about saving the world, Kurik.”

“It ain’t. At least not entirely, and you know it,” he said, touching the key hanging around his neck. A nearly invisible portal, barely bigger than a cabinet door, opened beside him. He tossed the seed inside, and the portal winked out of existence. “But I ain’t here to argue. If you want me to keep killin’ trolls, I’ll keep on keepin’ on. You need to figure out what you want, though. You need to figure out what’s holdin’ you back. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck in limbo.”

He reached up to pat her on the shoulder. “You’re doin’ good. Just make sure you’re not standin’ in your own way.”

Then, he turned and headed toward the stairs leading down to the courtyard. Pointedly, anyone in his way stepped to the side. No one wanted to draw too much of his attention.

Once he’d disappeared into the mass of soldiers returning from their various missions, Sadie turned to face the killing field. Already, the trolls had begun to rot, and their low-quality equipment had started to rust. In only a few more hours, all evidence of the battle would be gone.

Except the levels everyone had gained.

Sadie barely saw any of that, though. Instead, she turned her thoughts to Kurik’s advice. Or rather, his assessment of what was holding her back. Was he right? Was it a mixture of pride and self-defense against the pain of Elijah’s eventual and seemingly inevitable abandonment of Earth?

She didn’t want to admit that there was some truth to that idea. Buried deep down, she always felt like Elijah was on the verge of moving on. From her. From Earth. From all the responsibilities that had been foisted upon him. Even at his best, he was not the sort to sit still. And at his worst? He actively fled from responsibility.

He probably didn’t even realize that was what he was doing.

So, what would that mean when his relationship with Sadie was included in those responsibilities? Would he step up? Or would he flee? He was already scheduled to go to the Empire of Scale – wherever that was – and Sadie suspected that that trip would not be short. And in the back of her mind, Sadie was forced to realize that it was a convenient excuse to leave his responsibilities behind.

But that wasn’t enough to keep her from doing what was necessary. No – the bulk of her reticence came from pride, even if she didn’t think of it in those terms. She didn’t want to ask for help. She didn’t want to need it. And going to Elijah was tantamount to admitting that she just wasn’t good enough. That she’d been wrong to send him away in the first place.

For a long time, she watched from the wall walk as the other squads returned. In the meantime, she considered the issue. She fought against her own weaknesses, and eventually, she came to a decision.

So, when Colt approached her, she already knew what she was going to do.

“This isn’t working,” she admitted to him.

“I might’ve noticed as much,” he drawled, leaning casually against the wall walk.

“I’m going back to Eldrathûn. We need help.”

“More soldiers?” he asked.

“Just one,” she answered with some conviction. “I just hope he’s in a position to respond.”