The early morning light filtered through the trees as Ryan made his way through the forest, pulling his wagon behind him. The path he had cleared days ago was still unfinished, the dense underbrush and fallen logs forcing him to maneuver carefully. The wagon, though not overly heavy, was cumbersome to pull through the uneven terrain.
Ryan paused for a break, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. He leaned against a tree, wiping the sweat from his brow. "This is really hard," he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. "Even though the weight is only slightly heavier than an empty wagon, it's still a pain to pull without a horse. Now I know how a horse feels like."
He reached into his inventory and pulled out a water pouch, taking a small sip. "I have to economize my water," he reminded himself, his voice firm. "No wasting it."
Ryan glanced up at the mountain through the gaps in the trees. Its peak loomed in the distance, still far away. "That's still at least three days away, I guess," he said, his tone resigned. "But I can't make an exact estimation. For now, let's just keep moving."
The large canyon stretched endlessly, its dry, cracked earth and withered vegetation a stark contrast to the shimmering shield dome that loomed overhead. The dome, a massive barrier reaching into the sky, was marred by a small hexagonal gap—a hole that served as a weak point in the otherwise impenetrable defense. Beyond the hole, the landscape was a desolate wasteland, the air thick with an ominous smoke.
Outside the shield, a massive metal wall stood like a dam, its surface bristling with cannons and magic-powered weaponry. At the top of the wall, officers barked orders, their voices carrying over the din of soldiers preparing for battle. Below, the ground level of the wall was a hive of activity as knights and soldiers poured out of a small metal door, forming defensive lines with swords and shields at the ready.
A mage ran up to the captain, a man in his 50s with a weathered face and a commanding presence. "Captain!" the mage shouted, his voice urgent. "Another wave of Horned Wraiths is approaching! I see some with two horns!"
The captain's eyes narrowed as he peered through the hole in the shield. In the distance, a dark cloud of smoke billowed, the screeching of the Horned Wraiths growing louder as they slithered closer. The creatures were a terrifying sight—legless humanoids with serpentine tails and arms, their dark, matte skin absorbing light to make them appear as living shadows. Their featureless faces and wide, fanged mouths emitted guttural sounds that sent chills down the spines of even the most seasoned soldiers.
The Horned Wraiths moved with unnatural speed, their powerful tails propelling them forward as their razor-sharp claws scraped against the ground. Their two horns, twisted and jagged, marked them as more dangerous than their single-horned counterparts. The creatures' eerie screeches echoed through the canyon, a haunting prelude to the battle ahead.
The captain raised his voice, his command cutting through the chaos. "Get ready!" he shouted, leaning over the edge of the wall to ensure his voice carried to the lower floors. "Get ready! Aim your weapons!"
Below, soldiers with magic rifles lined up, their weapons glowing faintly as they loaded them with magic crystals. The crystals hummed with energy, their light reflecting off the soldiers' determined faces. On the lower floors, dwarves manned massive cannons, their hands moving swiftly as they powered up the weapons with arcane particles. Sparks flew as they smashed the butts of their cannons, their gruff voices shouting orders.
"Reload your weapons, you drunk bastards!" a larger dwarf bellowed in a thick Irish accent. "Aim towards the hole!"
On the lowest floor, more dwarves worked tirelessly, their hammers striking metal with rhythmic precision. "Smash those hammers, lads!" one shouted, his voice booming. As they worked, another section of the metal wall rose from the ground, extending upward to add an additional 10 feet to the already formidable barrier.
The Horned Wraiths reached the hole in the shield, their screeches growing deafening as they poured through. The soldiers and dwarves braced themselves, their weapons aimed and ready.
"Fire!" the captain roared, his voice echoing across the wall.
The magic rifles and cannons erupted in a symphony of light and sound, their projectiles tearing through the air and slamming into the advancing wraiths. The creatures screeched in agony as they were struck, their dark forms disintegrating under the barrage. But for every wraith that fell, another seemed to take its place, their relentless advance unyielding.
The battlefield was a chaotic frenzy of light, sound, and motion. As some of the Horned Wraiths slipped through the blind firing angles of the magic rifles and cannons, the knights and warriors on the ground engaged them in close combat. Swords clashed against claws, and shields splintered under the relentless assault of the wraiths. The creatures' razor-sharp claws tore through metal shields and armor as if they were butter, their guttural screeches filling the air.
Despite the overwhelming ferocity of the wraiths, the infantry held their ground, their training and determination shining through. Knights swung their blades with precision, cutting down the advancing wraiths, while warriors coordinated their attacks to eliminate the stragglers. The battlefield was a gruesome dance of survival, each strike and parry a testament to the defenders' resolve.
Amidst the chaos, a man in his late 30s emerged from a doorway on the wall. He stretched his neck, cracking it with a sigh, and hefted a massive, intricately designed double-edged greatsword that glowed with a faint, otherworldly energy. His expression was one of mild annoyance, as if the battle were an inconvenience rather than a life-or-death struggle.
"Haaah," he sighed, his voice carrying a tone of exasperation. "I just got to sleep. These ugly bastards don't give me time to rest."
As he stepped onto the battlefield, his figure blurred, disappearing in a flash of movement. The next moment, he reappeared amidst the advancing wraiths, his greatsword slicing through the air with devastating force. Energy waves erupted from each swing, cutting through the wraiths like a hot knife through butter. The two-horned wraiths, even more dangerous than their single-horned counterparts, were no match for his skill and power. Their heads rolled to the ground as he moved through the battlefield with effortless grace.
The arrival of the greatsword warrior turned the tide of the battle. His presence alone was enough to bolster the morale of the defenders, their cheers rising above the din of combat. The knights and warriors fought with renewed vigor, their attacks more coordinated and precise.
The warrior's movements were a blur, his greatsword a whirlwind of energy and steel. Each strike released waves of energy that tore through the wraiths, their dark forms disintegrating under the onslaught. The two-horned wraiths, once a terrifying threat, were now being systematically eliminated.
As the last Horned Wraith fell, the battlefield fell into an eerie silence, the air thick with the scent of blood and scorched earth. The warriors moved swiftly, butchering the wraiths and extracting glowing crystals from their bodies. These crystals, pulsating with faint energy, were tossed into crates, their purpose unclear but undoubtedly valuable.
The peace was short-lived, however. A roar echoed from the distance, inside the shield dome. Two dragons—one black, one red—streaked across the sky, their forms ridden by elven rangers. Behind them, four Umbrawings pursued, their claws slashing through the air as they screeched in fury. The dragons weaved and dodged, but the Umbrawings were relentless, their attacks narrowly missing their marks.
A captain on the wall shouted, raising his arm to signal the defenders. But the greatsword warrior merely smiled, his expression calm and confident. "No need," he said, his voice carrying a tone of quiet authority.
In an instant, his figure blurred, disappearing from the wall and reappearing inside the shield dome. He moved with inhuman speed, leaping from one side of the canyon walls to the other, his greatsword glowing with energy. With a powerful leap, he positioned himself between the dragons and the Umbrawings, his blade slicing through the creatures with devastating precision. The Umbrawings screeched as they were cut in two, their forms disintegrating into dark mist.
The warrior landed gracefully, his greatsword resting on his shoulder as he surveyed the battlefield. The dragons, now free from their pursuers, descended toward the wall, their massive wings beating the air as they landed with a heavy thud.
The Arrival of the Elves and Dragons:
The knights and soldiers rushed to assist the elves as they dismounted from the dragons. The black dragon transformed into a butler, his shoulder bleeding heavily and his clothes tattered from claw injuries. The red dragon shifted into Princess Carmina, her form battered and her clothes torn, barely covering her. A female knight quickly stepped forward, draping a cloak over Carmina and assisting her inside the wall.
The greatsword warrior approached, his expression serious as he assessed the situation. "What's got you so badly injured?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with concern.
The butler, clutching his wounded shoulder, answered weakly. "We were chased by a King-Tier Umbrawing. Princess Carmina and I engaged it. We succeeded in defeating it, but not without sustaining heavy injuries."
The warrior's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Carmina, her face pale and her breathing labored. "Prioritize Princess Carmina," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Captain Illshura and the elves need immediate attention as well. They sustained heavy injuries during the fight."