As the bells rang throughout the settlement, every man and woman rushed to their designated positions. Although no walls had been built or houses improved, this didn't mean the settlement was defenseless. Over the past days, improvised wooden bunkers covered with dirt and branches had been erected to provide cover and camouflage. These bunkers were strategically distributed across the area, allowing for easy entry and exit in case of retreat or emergency.
The torsion ballistae, the most imposing pieces of the defensive arsenal, were positioned at key points in the settlement, their massive bolts aimed at the horizon. Each one covered a strategic area, ensuring no point was left unguarded. Meanwhile, the automatic ballistae were divided into small groups and placed around the torsion ballistae to offer additional support and coverage. The soldiers assigned to these weapons were ready, their hands steady on the triggers.
1765 took command of one of the three torsion ballistae. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the shadows of the approaching enemies grew larger. He didn't need to give too many orders. Over the past days, every inhabitant had practiced defensive maneuvers to exhaustion, so each person knew exactly what to do. Their hearts beat rapidly, but there was no chaos, only a tense calm that preceded the storm.
1765's real concern wasn't with the settlement's preparation but with the nature of the approaching enemies. According to Silas's readings, there weren't just one or two—there were thirty. Thirty. If they were thirty magical beasts as powerful as the one that attacked days earlier, there was no way they could emerge victorious. However, as he studied the shadows in the distance, he noticed something: not all the figures shared the same characteristics.
Silas confirmed the information with cold, precise data.
"Only one of the detected signatures matches the creature from the previous attack. The others appear smaller and have less mass. Probability of different species: high."
1765 frowned. Smaller or not, thirty enemies posed a significant threat. The beast from two nights ago had been powerful enough to destroy several houses and over seventy golems. Now they faced a much larger number, and any mistake could be catastrophic.
"How fast are they approaching?" he asked quietly, more to himself than to Silas.
"Estimated arrival in five minutes."
1765 nodded and raised his voice to address the others.
"Get ready! We have five minutes before they arrive. Stay calm and remember what we've practiced. Now's not the time to panic."
The team around him nodded with determination and prepared for the confrontation.
Time seemed to pass slowly as the entire settlement remained in complete silence. In the distance, the shadows of the enemies became increasingly clear until they could finally be distinguished with the naked eye. At the center of the formation was the imposing winged lion that had attacked the settlement earlier. Surrounding it were 29 flying creatures.
These new creatures were terrifying in their own right. With their massive wings spread wide, they were slightly larger than an average adult. Their sharp talons seemed capable of tearing through wood with ease, and their long, curved beaks glinted menacingly under the sunlight. Their dark plumage shimmered faintly in the sunlight, and their glowing red eyes radiated a dangerous intelligence. Though not as colossal or intimidating as the winged lion, they were still deadly adversaries.
From his position at the torsion ballista, 1765 carefully observed every movement. He adjusted the ballista's sight, aiming directly at the center of the enemy formation, where the winged lion advanced with majestic confidence. He carefully manipulated the levers, aligning the massive bolt with his primary target. His breathing was steady, but the sweat running down his brow betrayed the tension of the moment.
The entire settlement held its breath. Every inhabitant, armed with crossbows and hidden behind the improvised bunkers, watched the horizon nervously. Not a single sound was heard, but the tension in the air was palpable. Everyone knew the decisive moment was near.
The creatures continued their advance, their figures now fully visible. The winged lion led with predatory calm, while the 29 flying beasts flanked it in a pattern that seemed calculated. The enemy formation was perfect for avoiding encirclement—a testament to the intelligence of these creatures.
When the distance between the enemies and the settlement had narrowed enough, 1765 finally raised his voice. His shout echoed through the area like thunder, breaking the silence.
"Fire!"
The sound of torsion ropes releasing filled the air, followed by the sharp whistle of a massive bolt slicing through the sky. The projectile flew straight toward the winged lion, leaving a trail of tension in its wake.
At the same time, the automatic ballistae began firing in coordinated sequence. Hundreds of bolts were launched toward the smaller creatures, aiming to reduce their numbers before they could reach the settlement. The sky filled with projectiles, creating a deafening sound as the bolts cut through the air.
The winged lion reacted with impressive agility for its colossal size. It moved swiftly, dodging the massive bolt fired from the torsion ballista. The projectile flew through the space it had occupied moments before, but one of the flying creatures flanking it wasn't as fortunate. The bolt struck it directly, piercing its body completely. The beast was thrown back several meters in the air before crashing to the ground, either dead or dying.
The ensuing rain of bolts was intense. Though the winged lion was prepared to dodge and defend itself, the other creatures seemed unsure of how to react. The smaller bolts weren't powerful enough to kill them instantly, but they were annoying enough to keep them at bay and prevent them from getting too close. Meanwhile, the torsion ballistae proved devastating—each shot turned one of the flying beasts into a mere corpse plummeting from the sky.
As the winged lion saw its minions falling one after another, it roared furiously. Its fur began to glow with an intense reddish hue, creating a fiery aura around it. This blazing mantle increased its speed as it headed straight for the settlement. The remaining creatures followed closely, using the trail of heat to shield themselves from the arrows.
But as they drew closer, the rain of projectiles no longer came from just one direction. The defense teams had carefully prepared their positions, and now arrows poured down from multiple angles. The flying creatures, unable to dodge so many projectiles simultaneously, began to fall rapidly.
Both the automatic and manual ballistae joined the fray. At close range, their power increased significantly, and the arrows were able to penetrate the creatures' defenses. Before long, the winged lion's minions had been turned into literal pincushions by the relentless rain of projectiles. The cries of wounded beasts and the sound of their bodies hitting the ground filled the air.
Meanwhile, the torsion ballistae kept firing. Each shot required 20 seconds to reload, and after six shots, the magazine had to be replaced, which took a full minute. Despite this relative slowness, every shot was devastating. Although they had yet to hit the colossal winged lion, the ballistae had proven deadly against its minions.
Finally, the winged lion landed, its roar echoing across the settlement. It paused briefly, turning its head to survey the graveyard of its own creatures. Its eyes burned with uncontrollable fury upon seeing that the humans had eliminated its companions before they could cause any significant damage.
With a deafening roar, the beast struck the ground with its claws, as if challenging the defenders. However, at that very moment, a new wave of pain surged through its body. A bolt from one of the torsion ballistae had pierced its front leg, leaving a bloody wound.
Without warning, another bolt struck the beast's side, causing immense pain that elicited a visceral roar. This time, its roar was filled with desperation, a clear sign that its patience had reached its limit. In its rage and frustration, it attempted to activate the powers it had relied on its entire life—the same powers that had made it a hegemonic force on one of the peaks of the mountain range. But for the first time, those powers did not respond.
Confusion mingled with fear. The creature, accustomed to dominating with its fiery aura, realized something was wrong. The blazing mantle it had used so often to assert its dominance was not reacting as usual. As it observed the bolt embedded in its side, the beast understood that these human weapons were not mere projectiles; they appeared to have properties that interfered with its natural abilities.
With this realization, the winged lion felt vulnerable for the first time. It knew it was in trouble and, without hesitation, spread its massive wings to take flight. Time was against it, but it also played to its advantage: the torsion ballistae were in the process of reloading, and while the rain of arrows continued, they were not powerful enough to stop its escape.
With a powerful flap of its wings, the creature ascended into the sky, leaving the settlement behind. Its massive wings created a gust of wind that stirred up dust and leaves from the nearby trees. The settlers, though tense, watched with relief as the winged lion retreated. For now, the attack had been thwarted, and the defenders could celebrate their victory, though they knew the threat had not been completely eliminated.
1765 climbed down from the ballista, breathing deeply as he tried to process what had happened. He looked around, seeing the settlers beginning to gather to assess the damage and count the survivors. While the victory was bittersweet, the fact that everyone had survived and the winged lion had fled was reason enough for the tension to dissipate, if only for a moment.
But deep down, 1765 knew this victory was not final. The lion was still alive, and although they might have scared it enough to prevent it from returning soon, he couldn't afford to be complacent.
After ensuring that the attackers had retreated, the settlers began to emerge from their defensive positions. They had managed to win this battle, but now it was time to face reality: clearing the battlefield and assessing the damage.
As they collected the bodies of the creatures, many wondered whether the winged beasts were edible. Perhaps the rain of arrows hadn't ruined their meat too much, and that was something they would find out during the evening bonfire.
Meanwhile, high on one of the peaks of the mountain range, a winged lion with two bolts embedded in its body returned to its lair. Its landing was clumsy, leaving a trail of blood that marked its path into a dark cave. Upon entering, the lion roared—a guttural, rage-filled sound that echoed off the cave walls.
Shortly after, a creature similar to the ones it had brought along in the attack arrived swiftly. This one was slightly larger and appeared older, with worn feathers that testified to its experience in countless battles.
Though magical beasts were known throughout the continent, little was truly understood about them. Generally, it was believed that they preferred to live in remote places, claiming territories where they imposed their own laws. However, the Beast Mountain Range was different. Here, hundreds of thousands of creatures coexisted in a complex ecosystem where only the strongest could claim the coveted peaks as their domains. The winged lion had managed to establish itself on one of these peaks, though it wasn't among the tallest or most prestigious. Despite this, its position was constantly envied by other beasts.
Thanks to his dominion, he had managed to subjugate many creatures under his command. However, there were still beasts more powerful than him. Few knew, but the Beast Mountain Range operated almost like a country, with unwritten agreements and laws that governed its chaotic society. There were even certain understandings with human kingdoms. For instance, magical beasts had agreed not to attack the Human Empire directly, a pact that avoided devastating conflicts for both sides.
However, not all beasts agreed with these treaties. To many, humans were nothing more than a delicious source of food. In the case of the winged lion, his hatred toward humans was deeply personal. For generations, several members of his species had been captured and used as mounts—a humiliating fate for a creature as proud as he was. Not only were they captured, but they were bred as if they were mere animals. This fact had profoundly scarred the lion, who saw every human as an enemy deserving of destruction.
Magical beasts, especially the highly intelligent ones like the winged lion, were capable of communicating with other creatures of their kind, and even speaking with humanoid species. With a stern gaze and a low growl, he ordered the bird that had just arrived to remove the arrows embedded in his body. Without hesitation, the bird obeyed. Using its sharp beak, it began to work carefully, ensuring it did not cause the proud lion any more pain.
When the first arrow was removed, the winged lion felt immediate relief but also something else: the reconnection with his magical energy. This alarmed him deeply. The arrows had not only caused physical pain; they had also blocked his primary advantage—his magic. When the second arrow was removed and his powers fully returned, the lion stared at the weapons with rage. These arrows were dangerous, a threat to creatures like him and likely to many other magical beasts.
The bird, a creature similar to those the lion had brought in his attack but larger and with dark plumage, bowed its head after finishing its task and quickly retreated. The winged lion was left alone, with the arrows lying before him. He knew these weapons were something that needed to be reported to the higher-ranking beasts of the mountain range, especially since they could threaten the balance between magical beasts and humans. But he also knew what that would entail: questions.
If he reported the arrows, he would have to admit that he had broken the agreement with humans by invading their territory. Worse still, he would have to confess that he had been humiliated—not once, but twice. In the culture of magical beasts, pride was sacred. Losing it was worse than death. And he, a winged lion, had lost more than his pride; he had lost confidence in his invulnerability.
The valley in question was known to be avoided by both humans and magical beasts. Its proximity to the dreaded Silent Forest made it a place of bad omens, even for powerful creatures like him. However, the ruminant creatures grazing in its meadows were a delicacy. The lion had passed through the valley many times to hunt, believing the place to be uninhabited or, at most, occupied by bandits or insignificant small human groups. Finding a settlement had been a surprise, but also an opportunity he thought he could exploit.
The first time he attacked, he expected an easy feast. Instead, he left with nothing but a scaled horse and his pride shattered. He had returned with reinforcements, confident he could erase that humiliation. But the result was even worse. He had lost all his subordinates and returned injured.
He looked at the arrows again, this time with a mix of hatred and determination. He decided he would not share what had happened with the higher-ranking beasts or anyone in the mountain range. He would keep this information to himself. If he revealed the existence of the settlement, his humiliation would be exposed. But that didn't mean he would let things rest. There were other ways to trouble those pesky humans without compromising his pride.
The winged lion lay down inside his cave, staring toward the entrance. He still had much to think about, but one thing was certain: those humans wouldn't get rid of him so easily.