Ophelia stood at the edge of the cliff, her gaze fixed on the scene unfolding below in the canyon. The sun had just risen, casting its pale light across the battleground. She watched as the beastmen and Holy Knights leaped down from the cliff edge into the canyon. She noted each warrior's descent, creating a well-coordinated ambush that had been planned to the last detail.
The layout of the canyon flashed through her mind, and she went over the information she had memorized meticulously. The canyon spanned about 100 meters in length and 150 meters in width, its walls steep and enclosing, creating a natural battlefield that funneled movement. Two winding paths led out—one to the south toward the beastmen village and another to the west, heading toward a large lake. These exits were critical to protect the bandits from escaping.
"Once again. Nobody must escape," She muttered.
Her eyes shifted to the southern edge of the canyon, where the bandits were clustered in a loose formation, their numbers somewhere around 100. They had gathered to leave, just beginning to rally and equip themselves. Positioned between the southern and western exits, they seemed unaware of the force now descending upon them, preoccupied with gearing up for a raid. She measured the distance from the eastern wall, where she and her allies had gathered, to the enemy. Forty meters separated the front line of the Holy Knights and the outer shell of the bandit army.
Ophelia let out a quiet breath, steadying herself as a literal map of the battlefield and her desired outcome painted itself within her mind.
"Now, shall we get this started?" She lightly smirked.
Ophelia straightened, stepping forward to the very edge of the cliff, her figure blotting out the morning sky as her voice filled with a fierce and unwavering resolve. Raising her head, she activated [War Rallying Cry]. Her voice amplified, projecting powerfully across the canyon with a tone that sent a jolt of vigor through every beastman and Holy Knight assembled below.
"FRONT LINE—HOLY KNIGHTS—FORWARD! CRUSH THEIR CENTER!" Her command rang out, carrying a rawness that left no room for hesitation. And at this beckon and call, the knights' faces steeled with battle-hardened focus, leaped ahead as Captain Edwin spearheaded the team, leading them in a swift, direct assault to break through the middle of the bandit ranks.
Ophelia's eyes swept to the chief and his wife, catching their attention with a sharp motion. "CHIEF! FLANK LEFT! CHIEFTESS! FLANK RIGHT!" Her orders spurred the pair into motion, and their respective followers, a divided force of nearly ninety beastmen, began to peel off to each side, ready to trap the bandits from both directions. This maneuver would close off the ground around the enemy, sealing their fate inside the canyon.
Ophelia's mind flashed to memories of past enemies, of those who had once seemed insignificant yet returned to threaten her plans—or worse, to grow into monstrous dangers that shook even the foundations of nations. She would allow no such escape here. "DO NOT LET EVEN ONE ESCAPE! SHOW THEM NO MERCY!"
Below, the Holy Knights tore into the bandits' center, Captain Edwin leading the charge like a storm through dry reeds. Their strike shattered what little formation the bandits had managed, and cries of terror began to ripple through their ranks as the knights advanced.
Following Ophelia's orders with precision, the beastmen surged from either side, bolstered by the chief's rallying roars and the chieftess's fierce command. Together, they moved to surround the increasingly disorganized bandits, cutting off any route of retreat and driving them into a tightening ring of steel and fury. This part of the plan was to reduce as many casualties on the beastmen side due to their lacking numbers, letting the Holy Knights take care of the actual battle.
"What a bunch of overpowered pawns I have…" Ophelia grinned. "Holy Knights truly are a cheat in low-level battles like these."
…
(Beastman Chief POV)
My eyes darted back to her again, and there she was, as steady and watchful as ever. Ophelia stood high above the battlefield, locked in unblinking eye contact with me, her gaze calm and almost uninterested. However, somehow, that look of hers held more weight than any command she could shout.
Not once did she look away, not even as the battle roared around her. She didn't flinch, didn't blink, her eyes piercing through the haze of battle and meeting mine across the distance. And then, in a single sweeping movement, she finally broke her gaze, scanning the battlefield as if measuring every move of the chaos below her. But only a heartbeat later, she looked back and gave me a nod—barely a motion, but to me, it told me more than enough.
It was all I needed to see.
"RAHHH!"
With a roar ripping from my throat, I leaped up, my thick muscles coiled like steel springs. My feet left the ground, and I soared through the air, every fiber in me drilled on my target. I hurtled down like a boulder from the heavens, pouncing toward the bandit leader himself. He was already embroiled in a losing struggle against Captain Edwin, struggling under the relentless assault of the Holy Knight.
But he saw me, his blood-red eyes widening as I descended, and with surprising agility, he bolted away, breaking free from Edwin's assault and tearing through the inner ranks of his own men. The Holy Knights stayed close, cleaving their way forward as they worked together to funnel him back into my path.
Soon, the bodies had cleared, and I found myself standing alone with him, a crude ring of packed dirt forming around us in the middle of the carnage. There we stood, sizing each other up.
The bandit leader towered, every inch of him built like a fortress. Yet even with his height and stature, I knew I had the muscle on him. He shifted his grip on his greatsword, the worn leather hilt clearly familiar in his hand, and soon raised it up.
The fight began the instant I lunged forward, claws bared and instincts screaming. My first swipe was a sweeping arc aimed at his midsection. The bandit leader managed to pivot, barely escaping my claws, but his counterattack—a downward swing of his greatsword—met empty air as I sidestepped, my movements quick despite my bulk.
I felt the anger boiling in me, raw and untamed, and it only grew with each passing second. Every time I struck, the faces of my injured kin flashed in my mind: those who had lost their limbs, their tails, their lives forever changed. That fury drove me forward.
I advanced again, this time closing the gap entirely. My claws slammed into his raised blade with enough force to loosen his grip. Taking advantage of his momentary imbalance, I drove a knee into his gut, the force lifting him off his feet slightly. Before he could recover, I followed up with a spinning kick that caught him square in the abdomen, sending him skidding across the dirt.
He was up fast, spitting blood, his eyes burning with fury. He charged, his greatsword sweeping in a wide, horizontal slash meant to cleave me in half. I ducked low, feeling the rush of air above me, and surged upward, driving my shoulder into his chest. His chest plate, which seemed to be recently fitted to him, dented under the impact, and he staggered back.
Yet he didn't go down. Instead, he roared, channeling some magic into his blade, which began to shimmer with a faint, malevolent glow. He swung again, and this time, I couldn't avoid the blade entirely. It grazed my arm, drawing a shallow but stinging wound. Pain flared, but it only fueled my fury.
I lashed out with both claws, locking his blade in a cross-like grip and forcing it downward. The muscles in my arms screamed with exertion as I pushed against him, but his eyes widened in shock as I suddenly shifted my weight. With a calculated twist, I flung the sword aside and barreled into him, pinning him to the ground.
He snarled and brought his fists up, punching at my sides. I absorbed the blows, feeling them like distant echoes against the wall of my rage. My claws raked across his chest, tearing into the metal and revealing flesh underneath. He bellowed, and with a surge of strength, threw me off.
We circled each other now, both breathing heavily. My claws dripped blood—his blood—and he clutched his side, where crimson soaked through his armor. His stance wavered, but he still radiated defiance.
With a sharp inhale, I lunged again. He quickly picked back up his great sword and swung his sword upward, but I anticipated the move, grabbing his wrist mid-swing. Twisting it sharply, I forced the weapon from his grasp. He tried to conjure magic, a burst of fire flaring in his palm, but I stomped down hard on his foot, breaking his focus. His grunt of pain was all the opening I needed.
My fists flew like hammers, each punch sending shockwaves through his body. Left, right, another knee to his stomach, then a final uppercut that snapped his head back. He stumbled but didn't fall, so I pressed the attack, my claws raking through his chest plate once more, leaving deep gouges in his flesh.
"ARGHHHHH!" He cried out, however, his cry almost seemed to fade into something else…
The battlefield melted into chaos around me, revealing the battlefield from last night. Screams. Screams from the battle just hours ago, stayed sharp and clear. The cries of my kin reached me over the noise of clashing blades and war cries, twisting into sounds I would never forget.
"CHIEF!" a voice screamed. I turned in time to see her—one of our best—clutching at where her tail once swayed, the jagged stump spilling blood as her knees buckled. "MY TAIL! OHHH!" Her voice broke, and the fight left her.
Another cry cut through the air, followed by the sound of my own breathing, harsh and uneven. "MY EAR! IT'S GONE!" He wailed like a child lost in the dark, hands trembling over a face streaked with dirt and blood.
The Holy Knights pressed forward, their glinting armor in the moonlight reflecting the despair they left in their wake. They fought like machines, disciplined and efficient, but the numbers—there were too many. We weren't ready. I wasn't ready.
But we lived.
By some stroke of fortune—or perhaps just stubborn pride—there were no deaths among us. Yet, as I stood amid the aftermath, that small mercy felt hollow. For my people, their tails and ears were not mere appendages. They were pride, identity, and honor.
The battlefield shifted, and I found myself standing in the infirmary, the faint scent of herbs barely masking the coppery tang of blood. The Chieftess stood at my side, her silence heavy as the wooden walls seemed to press in on us.
Around us, the wounded were carried in and out, each arrival accompanied by the familiar sound of despair. But the worst cries weren't of pain—they were of loss.
"I… I can't… not like this. Not without my tail…" one voice sobbed as I crouched beside him. His eyes, once fierce, now swam with tears. His shaking hand reached for me, and I clasped it firmly.
"It'll be alright," I murmured, even as my voice wavered. My grip on his hand tightened, desperate to anchor him, to anchor myself. "You're still here. That's what matters."
He nodded, but his gaze was hollow.
Another cried out nearby, her hands covering the bandaged remains of her ear. "It's gone… It's gone… They'll never respect me again…" Her words tumbled out, a fractured echo of her pride.
I turned to her, clasping her shoulders. "You're more than that," I said, the words almost bitter on my tongue. "We'll rebuild. Together."
But in the back of my mind, anger swelled like a storm. It clawed at my chest, rising with every sob, every tear, every defeated gaze. My fists clenched at my sides, claws digging into my palms as the rage pulsed in time with my heartbeat.
They'll pay for this. Every last one of those bandits bastards.
Then, my vision snapped back to the battle currently at hand.
"ARGHHHHHH! ARGHH! ARGHHHH! ARGHHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as I beat down the bandit leader below me.
He scrambled to try and reverse me who held the top mount, straddling his chest as I punched over and over again. Ending him by slashing through his face was too good for him. For all the suffering he caused. For all the anguish. For all the despair he had inflicted on my people.
I grabbed his swollen face, nearly popping his head in my hands as I brought my face so close that my jagged breath almost seemed to pierce holes in his nostrils and eyes.
"You will suffer, you bastard."