Miguel blocked a thrown dagger, slapping the blade aside as he charged forward. With a surge of speed, he rammed into the goblin-sized troll, slamming his sword through its chest. It erupted from the thing's back in a shower of gore that sprayed the next sapper in the narrow corridor. Miguel's momentum sent the first creature into the next, and his blade had little difficulty parting that second troll's flesh and obliterating its heart.

He ripped his sword free of both, using the gesture to do further damage. Then, he ducked, shouting, "Now!"

A blisteringly hot ball of purple fire rocketed past him, hitting the injured troll and washing over it like flaming water. The fireball didn't stop with one, either. It kept going, scorching its way through the next couple in line. It turned the relatively weak trolls to ash, leaving the tunnel smelling of charred flesh.

Idly, Miguel had to acknowledge that the aroma was unique. A little like burning venison, but with an almost peppery undercurrent that stung his nose. Of course, over everything was the overwhelming smell of blood, but that was just part of how things worked in the Red Marsh.

Upon arrival, they'd been surprised to find themselves in an ancient fortress. The thing was huge – at least as big as any castle had been pre-World Tree – and it was a truly impressive bastion. If they'd had any fewer people, they couldn't have manned the walls. And that would have spelled defeat.

Because it was a fortress under siege.

From the second day after they'd arrived, armies of trolls had begun to arrive. Thousands of them, dwarfing any force they'd seen in the Hollow Depths. There were more types, as well. Not only did they have the footsoldiers with which they were familiar, but the blood priests were there as well. Then, there were the cavalry, riding their mosquito mounts, the goblin-sized sappers like the ones Miguel and Isaak had just killed, and a half dozen other specialized trolls.

That first charge had every nearly killed them all. It was only through Sadie's quick decision-making and Miguel's mobility that they'd survived those overwhelming numbers. Upon that wave's retreat, the army of Earthlings had truly taken stock of their situation.

And it wasn't good.

The fortress, which they'd discovered through the initial notification, was called the Crimson Bastion, and it was surrounded on all sides by a dense swamp. According to the Explorers who'd ventured outside the walls, it was an extraordinarily inhospitable place. Like all swamps, it played host to disease-spreading insects, blood-sucking leeches, and a host of reptiles and amphibians, both large and deadly.

But the true issue was the wild trolls.

Those creatures, while normally solitary, were so numerous that one could not travel for more than a couple of hours without encountering one. And unless that person was equipped with a significantly powerful stealth ability, they wouldn't leave such an encounter intact. Even Sadie would have struggled to take one down on her own.

The only one who might stand a good chance was Isaak, and that was only because they were particularly vulnerable to soulfire. Even then, because he was a bit of a glass cannon, he'd need support if he wanted to survive.

Thankfully, the win condition for the Primal Realm didn't require them to venture out into the Red Marsh itself. Instead, they were only expected to defend the Crimson Bastion. Alternatively, they could set out through the swamp and exterminate the other force, but considering the dangers, the army's leadership had decided against that course of action. Perhaps that would have been an option if the Primal Realm hadn't been left to fester for so long, but in its current state, that had been deemed impossible.

Miguel agreed with that decision.

In the weeks since they'd arrived, they'd fended off two more major attacks, but it was only recently that they'd encountered the sappers. The smaller creatures were still trolls, as evidenced by their appearance, which included the same facial features and long, shaggy fur, but they were barely a quarter of the size of even the blood priests.

What they lacked in stature, they more than made up for with digging ability, as the defenders had discovered when a horde of the little things had erupted from the ground in the central courtyard. They were all covered in mud that plastered their long fur to their scrawny bodies, but like most trolls, they were quick to throw themselves at their perceived enemies. And they had the regeneration to keep them alive in the process.

They'd killed nearly a hundred people before the defenders had managed an appropriate response. And when the smoke of a hundred fireballs cleared, the remains of only thirty of the things remained.

Thirty trolls to kill a hundred defenders.

If they kept going like that, they would be dead well before the timer was up. And there was a timer. The notification made that clear. They only needed to hold for twelve months until the Primal Realm was considered complete. By contrast, they had the option of taking the treasure at the center of the main keep – a chest full of coins and gems – and try to escape the marsh.

Or the previously established tactic of taking the battle to the trolls.

Three options. None of them good. Even defending the fortress came with significant issues, not least because they were dealing with unfamiliar terrain, a superior enemy, and a general lack of support.

Thankfully, they'd brought along plenty of Tradesmen and even a few Scholars, and that group had already begun work to make the fortress even more defensible. With enough time, perhaps it could even live up to the standard suggested by its huge walls and heavy fortifications.

Until then, they would be vulnerable.

Miguel flicked the gore from his sword, then said, "Keep moving. Don't forget to place the charges. This tunnel can't stand."

Behind him, his squad shifted uncomfortably. But they all knew their work, so they didn't complain as they followed him along the uneven and snaking path. The walls were loose and moist, held together by a tightly woven system of roots. The ground was a slurry of mud and inch-deep water. Miguel could feel all sorts of things slithering through the muck.

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But he kept going.

Over the next hour, they encountered three other groups of sappers. The squad dealt with them the same way they'd fended off the first. Miguel charged, while Isaak started casting his spell. When that casting time was satisfied, Miguel got out of the way, and Isaak's magic did its work.

The other members of the team were Jana, who was a Healer, and Mark – their assigned Tradesman who was responsible for setting the charges. Jana made a show of being ready for anything, but Miguel's senses were sharp enough that he saw just how nervous she was. He needed no special senses to recognize Mark's anxiety. The man was a ball of nerves, and he seemed ready to flee at any given moment.

But he didn't.

It was a credit to him that he ignored his fear and did his job, adroitly setting the ethereal bombs, quickly and efficiently. Otherwise, they'd have had to be down there for much longer.

On a few occasions, Miguel was forced to crouch and move forward at a duck walk, and it was during one such occasion that they were attacked by more sappers. They didn't count on Miguel's immense strength, though. Or Nature's Charge, which was a newly evolved ability that let him push forward with vastly increased momentum. Normally, he used it in tandem with Trevor's similar ability, and under that influence, they could streak across a battlefield and harness truly terrifying momentum. With a proper lance, Miguel could do some serious damage.

But this time, it allowed him to push through the narrow part of the tunnel and into a more open area. The five troll sappers who'd attacked seemed very surprised at how easily they were moved. That lasted right up until Isaak buried them in soulfire.

From that moment on, they were a little more careful. Thankfully, they didn't need it, though, and they soon reached the other end of the tunnel. When Miguel poked his head out, he saw unaltered swamp. The exit – or entrance, from the trolls' perspective – was situated on a small island amidst the tepid water. Otherwise, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

So, after Mark set another series of charges, burying them deep and using some ability to conceal them, they retreated. Miguel guarded their rear, which proved necessary on three separate occasions. He fended off the trolls, though with so many charges already set, they didn't dare bake the tunnel with soulfire. Instead, Isaak's abilities needed to be more constrained. That meant killing each troll, one by one, which resulted in the trip back taking nearly four times as long as the initial subterranean journey.

It was not a pleasant trip, and not just because, when they finally emerged within the fortress, they were all covered in troll ash, blood, and no small amount of foul-smelling mud. It was also exhausting, and because the troll sappers weren't particularly high level, they didn't even have much progression to show for their efforts.

"Is it done?" asked one of the illythiri lieutenants.

Miguel nodded. "The charges are all set."

"Good," the elf acknowledged with the slightest of nods. For the reserved illythiri, that was as much as a hearty pat on the back.

Miguel ignored the show of appreciation, then led his people inside the keep where they could get cleaned up and snatch a bit of sleep. It wouldn't last long. Everyone knew that they couldn't afford much rest. The moment the trolls attacked, it would be an all-hands-on-deck situation. They couldn't defend the fortress otherwise.

But for now, they would get as much rest as they could.

Or that had been the plan right up until Miguel was lying in his cot, staring at the ceiling, entirely incapable of falling asleep. Glancing over to the other side of the room, where Isaak had set up his own cot, he saw that his friend was already fast asleep. Soon enough, the young man was snoring.

Miguel tried for another thirty minutes or so to fall asleep, but he soon realized that he was fighting a losing battle. No matter what he wanted, his body wasn't onboard with the notion of rest. So, he rose, dressed as silently as he could, then left the room behind.

The interior of the keep was entirely bare, giving the confines a skeletal appearance that made him want to be just about anywhere else. Thankfully, he quickly navigated the maze of corridors to find himself outside.

Plenty of people were still up and about, and he eventually meandered to the area set aside for the crafters. There, he found his mother shouting orders.

She'd discarded her armor, opting instead for something more comfortable. In this case, that meant a sleeveless shirt and a pair of blue jeans, paired with sturdy boots. They were all the product of high-level Tailors – probably Mari back in Ironshore – which meant they were at least Simple-grade. Maybe even Complex, if the materials had come from the grove, which was likely.

In any case, the aura of ethera surrounding her clothes served to support his mother's commanding presence. Everyone there knew she was one of, if not the highest level Tradesman in the world. And as such, they didn't question her orders. For her part, she took their obedience as a given.

That was just the sort of person she was.

"What are you doing up? I thought you were supposed to be resting," she remarked without even glancing in his direction. "Don't tell me you volunteered for an extra shift."

Miguel massaged his neck.

"Don't do that."

"What?" he asked.

"The neck-rub thing. It reminds me of Elijah. You don't need to pick up any more of his bad habits," his mother stated. "Now, answer the question young man."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Try harder."

"I don't think that's how it works. Anyway, I can't sleep. Not with everything going on," he admitted. He'd been through sieges before, but he'd always known they were going to end soon. In this case, he recognized that they'd be defending for an entire year, and the anticipation of the toll that would take had already begun to wear on him. He didn't admit as much, though. Instead, he just said something about adrenaline.

His mother responded with a snort of disbelief, but she didn't press the issue. It wouldn't do any good.

"What are you working on?" he asked.

"Right now? Siege engines. Or rather, fasteners for siege engines," she said. "We'll have to venture out into the swamp for wood. Saving that for later."

Then, she went on to describe all the other plans. The trolls weren't the only threat. Indeed, disease was going to be a problem, and the crafters had already started a project meant to provide clean drinking water. The Explorers and Rangers were working on plans for hunting, and the lone Farmer in the army had begun tilling soil to start a small farm.

Because even if they managed to survive the trolls, starvation and dehydration were still issues. So was disease, which would sap the Healer's ethera. And a thousand other issues that Miguel couldn't even begin to think of.

"This is going to suck, isn't it?" he asked.

"What did you expect? A walk in the park?"

He shrugged. "Elijah did one of these alone," he answered. "And another, he conquered with just Oscar and the dogs."

"Elijah isn't normal. Neither is Oscar, by the way. Nor those dogs. They've been defending an entire wall on their own," his mother explained. "Don't take those people as an example. We live down here in the real world. No special cores. No insane cultivation. Doesn't mean we can't win. It just means we've got to be smarter. Remember that."

"What? To be smart?"

"To use your head. Use the tools at your disposal. That's the only way any of us are going to survive."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now go get some food and some rest. There'll be another attack soon."

"Yes, ma'am."

Then, Miguel did exactly as his mother had ordered. Food came first, and then, when he returned to his cot, he fell asleep accompanied by the sound of his roommate's snoring.

What felt like only a moment later, he jerked awake at the sound of a deep, subterranean thump. It was followed by two more. Miguel recognized it as the charges going off, collapsing the tunnels. That wouldn't have happened unless more sappers had emerged. Hopefully, the trap would have claimed at least a few of their lives.

More importantly, it signaled the start of another attack. So, Miguel quickly roused his roommate, shouting, "Isaak! Get up!"

"Ugh…"

Miguel threw a discarded boot at his friend. That roused the young man, and he shot up with a snarl. That faded once he realized what was going on, and together, they dressed and raced to the walls, where a new battle had already commenced.