CHAPTER 40: THE BATTLE OF INVICTUS (4)

The fighting had begun, and an hour had already passed since the Enforcers had taken cover behind a defensive block.

They had held their ground, even when more than 7,000 Initiates had swarmed their formation all at once. It was proof of their strength—especially in the face of such overwhelming numerical disadvantage. The attackers were ten times more numerous, more ferocious, more determined... but the Enforcers were more balanced.

Where their enemies had only rage, they were professionals, hardened in battle. After overcoming the initial shock, they regained their efficiency.

Although the number of troops present in the fortress had been drastically reduced due to the general staff’s decisions,

the major had made sure to keep his best elements, prioritizing the transfer of the less competent soldiers.

The quality of the remaining troops was such that they would not have been disgraced even among the elite of the Order.

Had they not been ordered to avoid killing their attackers, they might have stood a chance of winning after a bloody battle.

But alas, Captain Bernard had insisted: immobilize, neutralize, push back... but no killing.

That order was a real handicap—deeply unfair—especially when the other side didn’t hesitate to use everything at their disposal to kill. Some went so far as to bite the Enforcers, throwing themselves by the dozens at a single target to bring them down.

Yet despite the harshness of the order, they complied. Insubordination was a grave sin.

And so, over time, fatigue began to catch up with them. It was physical, psychological, and energetic exhaustion.

Soon, they would run out of ether and become unable to use their Resonances.

It was only a matter of time before cracks began to appear in the formation.

And when that happened, the attackers didn’t hesitate for a second to take advantage of it.

The breaches in the formation multiplied, forcing Captain Bernard to personally coordinate adjustments.

His watchful eye kept the rhythm, allowing each soldier to retreat before being broken.

After sending back an Enforcer who had been bitten in the thigh to be treated, a foul sensation twisted Bernard’s stomach.

It was as if the meal he had eaten threatened to crawl back up his throat, giving him a nausea with no vomit.

At that moment, he had to admit to himself:

"Ho ho ho... I underestimated them."

That knot in his gut, that discomfort... It wasn’t new. He had felt it before. And it could mean only one thing: his instincts were warning him.

After many hard-fought battles and years of blood and iron, a warrior’s instinct sometimes sharpens—almost as if it takes form, becoming his most loyal companion on the battlefield.

Some called it "the forest of needles."

The phrase came from the idea that, in a fight where life and death are at stake, every movement can be decisive.

You must find the best path through an infinity of possibilities, like a thread passing through the eyes of countless needles to reach a favorable outcome.

Bernard had seen his fair share of battles. Over the years, his instinct had become so honed it could now tell him: they were in trouble.

His mind began racing, trying to pinpoint when exactly they had made the wrong move.

After using another carpet roll maneuver to buy time, he took the opportunity to organize his thoughts.

"The enemy we need to take down... isn’t the one we’re facing, but the one pulling the strings from the shadows," he thought, remembering the conversation he’d had with the major and the plan they had devised.

"To win, we first have to lure him out of his den. But I know this kind of enemy... He won’t show himself unless victory is certain. In other words, we have to be on the brink of defeat for him to appear and devour his prey."

That’s how they had deduced the true nature of their enemy: a scavenger.

That’s what Bernard thought of the one behind the scenes—someone lurking in the shadows, waiting for their prey to fall before swooping in to devour the remains.

"But if the enemy is a scavenger, then two can play that game."

The plan devised with the major was simple: fight while minimizing losses on both sides, which doomed them to lose.

And when everything would fall apart, the scavenger would show himself, thinking his meal was served.

At that moment, the major—who would have pretended to leave in search of the enemy—would strike from the shadows to eliminate him.

A simple but effective plan.

"Then why does this unease persist? It’s like I’m sinking into a swamp..." wondered Captain Bernard.

He had ended up on the front line, no longer content to just coordinate.

The attackers had begun leaping over the formation using their Resonances to fly or glide. Bernard personally intercepted them.

After stopping yet another attempt, a spark lit up in his mind—everything began to align.

A thread appeared. And then, he saw it.

"Our numbers have dropped... We’re fewer than when we started."

He blocked an incoming strike and realized:

"At least a quarter of our troops have been pulled back for treatment... We should have been overwhelmed by now. The formation should’ve collapsed. So why hasn’t it?"

He launched himself into the air, propelled by a pillar of rock that emerged from the ground, intercepting an attacker. From up high, he got a full view... and made a discovery.

"The number of attackers hasn’t decreased... They’re still as wild... but... no..."

His eyes widened.

"At first, they fought like a disorganized mob, no cohesion... But little by little..."

Then it hit him:

"They changed tactics..."

He landed from his jump, drew his sword—a slender rapier—and parried a blow from an Initiate that would’ve severed an Enforcer’s arm. He returned the blade to its sheath, then realized:

"Wait... That attack was aimed at his arm... That’s not right."

Until now, the attackers’ strikes were meant to kill. Aiming at an arm when you could decapitate? It could have gone unnoticed. But his instincts urged him to dig deeper.

Then he saw something else.

"Again... This is no coincidence."

An Enforcer on the ground was overwhelmed by several enemies... but he wasn’t dead. Badly injured, he was still breathing. A few seconds later, a comrade retrieved him to bring him to the infirmary.

What was once a hypothesis became certainty in Bernard’s mind:

"They’re no longer trying to kill—but just to injure enough to take us out of the fight..."

At that moment, he made the connection between the decreasing number of fighters and the number of injured being pulled back. Then an image came back to him: during his jump, the Initiates hadn’t decreased in number... but they were more scattered outside the walls.

"They’re cooking something up... This is too precise... As if, from the very beginning, a clever strategist had been using their madness to position his pieces."

He growled:

"It’s frustrating... I hate fighting this kind of enemy."

He knew it: he was one step away from understanding. One more detail, and the discomfort would vanish.

But he had to act before the net closed in. The longer he waited, the more lives would be lost.

He raised his sword to the sky and ordered:

"Full retreat! Get inside the building—run!"

His voice carried, and immediately, the Enforcers abandoned their formation and began falling back toward the buildings.

Bernard was about to follow when something stopped him.

The lights went out for an instant, plunging the battlefield into darkness—only the moon remained to light them.

A second later, the lights came back on.

Captain Bernard then understood: he had hesitated too long.

The fortress’s massive cannons came to life with a mechanical rumble... before unleashing their full power.

"Take cover!" he shouted.

But it was too late.

The cannons roared, and the fortress’s immense walls exploded into a deafening crash.

The great gates and ramparts—supposedly strong enough to withstand a Marquis-level assault (equivalent to a Master)—collapsed.

They had never been shaken before. But those walls had a weakness few knew about: strong on the outside, fragile from within.

If an attack had come from outside, it would’ve left only a crack. But from the inside... it had reduced them to rubble.

The walls no longer acting as a barrier, the assailants flooded the Enforcers’ ranks from all sides in an instant.

"Faster!" shouted Captain Bernard to his men.

Surrounded on all sides, the defensive block he had maintained would be their undoing, their flanks now fully exposed.

Then, as he turned around, the truth hit him like a wave. A chill ran down his spine, distorting his face with horror, and a question crossed his mind:

"Who activated the channels?"

After all, he knew of only one way to trigger them: from the command room, where a secret code was required by the computing unit. A password known to only three people in the entire fortress.

"It wasn’t me, I’m out here... Certainly not the Major... Which means there’s only one person left..."

At that moment, he thought he understood the source of the unease he had been feeling—unaware that it was only the tip of the iceberg.

When the first Enforcers reached the building, despair gripped them.

All those who had retreated earlier, wounded, began to attack them. Their faces and expressions mirrored those of the parasitized initiates.

Caught in a crossfire, they found themselves surrounded—on one side by parasitized initiates, and on the other by their own comrades, now also under the same control.

Captain Bernard nearly gave up, unable to comprehend:

"How is this possible?"