CHAPTER 303: THE CIRCLE OF FIRE

Arachnids are ambush predators. They dwell in shadowed canopies and web-shrouded lairs, striking from darkness without warning. Their most chilling trait is their cunning; they are not mere beasts, but strategic hunters who use their human-like hands to wield crude weapons or fire incredibly strong, adhesive webs to ensnare prey. The faint clicking of their legs on stone is often the last sound a victim hears before being dragged into the dark.

Each Arachnid commander controls thousands of soldier spiders that attack without the slightest regard for their own lives. The soldiers obey only their respective commander; if an Arachnid falls, its underlings become independent and may join any other surviving leader.

Soldier spiders prefer to live collectively in caves. They despise light while resting; despite having night vision, they sleep through the night. Arachnids, however, are different. No light hinders them. They are evolved from ordinary spiders, shedding weaknesses and gaining formidable strengths. They favour solitude, living in private caves or tents apart from their soldiers.

There were eleven Arachnid commanders leading the assault on the Werewolf Kingdom. As the final bastion standing against the Darkside forces, the kingdom’s fall was only a matter of time. Their queen had sent them rather than coming herself... the task was simply to conquer the forestland adjacent to their realm.

Earlier that night, the commanders had met and decided to advance at dawn. Their scouts reported that the kingdom’s army had marched toward the Troll Army with nearly all their forces, leaving no resistance in the east. They ordered their troops to rest fully in preparation for the coming conquest. Within the next week, they intended to seize their targeted territory... including the capital itself.

They were confident of victory, given the current state of affairs. The Troll Army and the kingdom’s forces were evenly matched; whichever side emerged would be too weakened to repel the Spider Army’s advance.

They had made camp on a hill ringed by towering trees. Strategically, the elevation offered an excellent vantage point over the surrounding forest. The kingdom’s border lay no more than two hundred feet away, marked by a narrow stream flowing downhill. The soldier spiders had carved temporary burrows beneath the earth, while the Arachnid commanders slept in tents above.

With no threat expected from the kingdom, the Spider Army was at ease. No one noticed the shadowy figure slipping soundlessly through the camp, phasing through tents and killing the commanders as they slept.

Eleanor used Illusory Phantom to exploit the blind spots of the lax, weary guards, moving without a whisper. Speed Phantom allowed her to slip through the gaps in their patrol routes, and Internal Feasting Phantom, paired with her daggers, severed the commanders’ heads before they could even stir. By the time the Arachnids sensed anything, death had already reached them. None managed a sound. Their private tents, isolated from the soldiers, only helped Eleanor keep the massacre hidden.

Once every inhabitant of the tents lay dead, Eleanor slipped back into the forest. The patrolling guards wandered the camp in the same tired fashion as before, unaware their leaders had already been butchered.

Keeping downwind of the camp, Eleanor moved with quiet steps. At a safe distance, she used tiny sparks of lightning to ignite the resinous sap leaking from the pine and fir trees around the hill. Moving from tree to tree, she left behind faint flames that slowly grew. Before long, the creeping firelines joined into a single arc... then a wall of flame. The ring tightened, encircling the camp and leaving only a narrow gap opposite the Werewolf Kingdom.

At first, the patrolling soldiers failed to notice the growing fire, distracted by their fatigue and the creeping light of dawn. By the time they recognised the blaze, the forest was already beyond saving. They rushed to alert their commanders about the approaching circle of fire... only to discover that, under their very watch, the commanders had been assassinated.

From her hidden position, Eleanor turned her gaze to the centre of the enemy camp. After a brief moment of channelling, a devastating bolt of natural lightning tore down from the sky and struck a large pine tree she had chosen earlier... the one weeping the heaviest sap. The tree burst into flames almost instantly.

The highly flammable spider webs woven throughout the branches ignited and spread the fire with terrifying speed, creating a roiling firestorm above the camp. Though the initial blaze caused few casualties, the loss of their commanders plunged the entire army into chaos.

Panic seized the soldier spiders. Instinct drove them downhill, the only escape not swallowed by the encircling inferno. Blinded by smoke and maddened by fear, they ignored the low-ranking officers who tried desperately to restore order. They surged away from the blazing centre, flooding into the single unburnt stretch of land.

With the spiders funnelled into one tight space, Eleanor launched a concentrated volley of lightning projectiles into their midst... a final judgement hammering them against the fiery anvil she had created. The forest fire she had started earlier closed the last gaps in the ring, ensuring nothing could escape the burning clearing.

Calling down another devastating bolt upon the densest cluster of fleeing spiders, Eleanor turned away. Leaving behind the wails and frantic screeching of the panic-stricken Spider Army, she sped north under the shelter of the eastern forest.

***

The Werewolf Kingdom’s army was a gathering of many races. Though werewolves made up the majority, Vampires, Merfolk, Werecats, and other surviving races stood in significant numbers beside them. Each race had its own generals and officers to command their troops. Despite the diversity, they all shared the same grim understanding of their fate. They were cornered, outnumbered, and surrounded. With the king dead, the only paths left were to die in battle or be devoured by monsters in the slow collapse that would follow.

Neva Starling did everything she could to keep morale from crumbling. Under her guidance, the kingdom’s forces marched towards the northern border after a single night of rest. They travelled for the entire day, reaching their destination just as the sun dipped below the horizon.

They set up camp within the kingdom’s border on an open stretch of ground, exactly as Eleanor had instructed Neva before departing. Unlike the Spider Army, the Troll Army was composed of both trolls and goblins. The two races lived harmoniously under the rule of the stronger trolls, but goblins were notoriously sneaky. To avoid a night-time ambush, the kingdom’s army stayed clear of the forest even though it meant revealing their exact position.

In her tent, after instructing the generals to hold their ground and not provoke the Troll Army, Neva knelt and prayed to the unseen gods for a miracle. Without outside intervention, she saw no chance of survival. All they could do was wait for the troll attack and defend as the Queen had commanded.

After hours of sleeplessness, exhaustion finally dragged her into an uneasy slumber. She did not rest long. The blare of the kingdom’s war horn tore through the night, yanking her awake. She sprang from her bed and rushed out of her tent with her sword in hand. It took no time at all; she had slept in her battle uniform.

It turned out the Troll Army had launched their assault at the break of dawn. After seeing the kingdom’s forces camped just inside the border, they had not been able to remain still. With no king left to defend the land, the border had become nothing more than an invisible line of the past. Their own soldiers had grown restless after lingering too long in camp; keeping them waiting while the enemy sat plainly in sight was an insult to discipline.

At first light, the Troll King ordered the attack. Their army was strong, their morale high, and victory all but assured. Striking before the kingdom’s forces were fully rested was the logical choice.

The first rays of the morning sun crept over the horizon, casting a faint glow across a strangely quiet land. No birds sang. The air felt unnaturally calm, too still to be natural. That silence shattered as the Troll Army surged forward, crossing the northern river and charging towards the kingdom’s camp with terrifying speed.

The kingdom’s forces were ready. With steeled resolve, they repelled the first waves of goblins. Yet the battlefield soon became a mire of bodies, rivers of blood winding between fallen comrades. Stomachs churned at the sight of their own dead scattered across the field. And still, the Troll Army had not even unleashed its full strength. Even so, the defenders held their ground, ready to fight to the last breath.

Then came the deep, resonant blast of the trolls’ war horn. Giant trolls marched forward, each step shaking the ground. The towering figures loomed over the battlefield, their shadows stretching like a herald of doom. Faces in the kingdom’s ranks grew ashen at the sight. Some closed their eyes, prepared to meet death. Others stared ahead, unblinking, their resolve hardening for the final stand.