An entire month had passed since the magical beast attacked the settlement with its minions. In the following days, vigilance in the settlement intensified. The residents' free time dwindled significantly. Between guard shifts, continuous training, and trips to the forest to collect silent fruits, there was barely any time for rest. The demand for these fruits continued to increase as the golems multiplied and their energy needs grew.
Meanwhile, the construction of the new dwelling was in full swing. The golems worked tirelessly, but it would still take another month to complete the main structure. Additionally, a new project had been added that consumed resources and energy: a tunnel. This tunnel, which would connect the Silent Forest to the new settlement, had a strategic purpose. The underground route would protect gatherers from potential attacks and serve as a safe escape route should the settlement be compromised in the future.
Inside his makeshift workshop, 1765 sighed as he fine-tuned the latest defensive modifications. He had spent several nights contemplating ways to improve their response capabilities against another attack. Although they had come out relatively unscathed in the last battle, it was evident they relied heavily on the creatures' lack of knowledge about their defenses. But what if the winged lion could reason? What if it returned with a more sophisticated strategy or brought more enemies?
These thoughts forced 1765 to come up with a new defense mechanism. This time, he designed a type of projectile capable of attacking large groups simultaneously. It was a hollow arrow, more like a slender bamboo-like shaft, made from a material similar to bamboo. Its interior was filled with an archaic version of gunpowder that he had managed to synthesize with available resources. Additionally, it was packed with shrapnel composed of splinters from silent trees coated in metal. The idea was that upon exploding, the shrapnel would scatter and cause massive damage.
Each arrow carried a small rune at its base, connected to a rudimentary initiator that used a drop of fuel to generate a spark. The system was complex and required precision, so 1765 had spent entire days building them personally.
As he carefully poured the black powder into one of the arrows, he couldn't help but curse under his breath.
"Damn it, this powder smells horrible," he muttered, then sighed, placing the arrow on the table and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Silas, when do you think we'll be able to make what they call ice cream? Or pizza? They look so delicious, and I'm sure they smell way better than stuffing arrows with gunpowder."
As usual, Silas responded without delay.
"Ice cream and pizza, as they were known in my civilization, are the final products of a long chain of technological and industrial processes. For ice cream, we would need electricity to power freezers, tools for processing ingredients, and a reliable supply chain for milk, cream, sugar, and flavorings. Each of these elements requires infrastructure that we currently lack."
1765 smiled wryly as he listened to the explanation. He knew the answer wouldn't be simple.
"As for pizza," Silas continued, "we would need advanced agricultural systems to produce wheat, tomatoes, and herbs. Then, efficient processing to create flour, sauce, and cheese. Even something as simple as the proper oven for cooking it is currently unattainable. For now, our priority remains survival. However, if we manage to stabilize and expand this settlement, these goals could become achievable in the future."
"However," Silas added, "there are archaic methods we could adapt to approximate these products. For ice cream, we could use a mixture of milk, sugar, and flavorings placed in a metal container surrounded by salt and ice to lower the temperature and solidify it slowly. Ice would be a limited resource, but with a rudimentary storage system, we could maintain it for a while."
"For pizza," he continued, "we could make a base using basic flour mixed with water and natural yeast, allowing it to ferment. The tomato sauce could be replaced with a reduction of local fruits or even mashed roots with spices, while cheese could be substituted with a simple dairy derivative. Cooking it in a clay oven built from available resources would let us create something similar. Although rustic, it could satisfy your culinary curiosity. Shall we begin experimenting with any of these ideas?"
1765 let out a slight laugh and shook his head. He already knew these answers. After all, one of his simplest and most personal goals was to someday enjoy ice cream and pizza. However, the problem was that he wasn't even sure if half the ingredients for those products existed in this world. He didn't even know if the cows here could be milked. The "cows" in this world were enormous and dangerous, more akin to wild beasts than docile farm animals. Even if they managed to extract milk, it might taste and feel very different from what Silas remembered.
Although this world had many similarities to the one Silas knew, he couldn't deny there were significant differences. Magic was one of them, and it gave rise to many other factors that complicated understanding this environment. Even magical beasts, like the winged lion that attacked them, had no precedent in Silas's extensive records.
But these were topics that, for now, lacked immediate relevance. The most important thing at the moment was to establish and fortify a secure zone enough to survive and thrive. Becoming nomadic might be an option, but it would mean giving up many of the advancements they sought, including the ability to develop technology and establish a basic infrastructure that ensured long-term survival. This was not a luxury they could afford to forego in their current situation.
1765 continued his work when Silas spoke in his head. Although Silas's words were direct and logical, they carried an unsettling weight due to their implications:
"Initial analysis complete. Multiple living beings detected rapidly approaching the settlement. They do not match known human signatures. High probability of threat. Estimated total: three hundred individuals. Electromagnetic footprint unknown. Offensive capability and type: indeterminate. Recommendation: activate emergency protocol and prepare for imminent combat."
1765 put down what he was working on and stood up, his exterior calm masking the gravity of the situation.
—Sound the bell, —he said firmly as he rushed outside.
This was the third attack in less than two months. The alarm bell rang throughout the settlement, and the inhabitants moved with the discipline they had acquired through constant training. Each took their position in the improvised trenches, while the automatic and torsion ballistas were activated and adjusted for combat. Three of the automatic ballistas were loaded with the new explosive arrows designed by 1765, experimental ammunition that promised to change the course of the battle.
1765 headed to one of the automatic ballistas equipped with explosive arrows. He looked up at the sky, where hundreds of shadows were rapidly approaching. From a distance, they seemed small, but their number and speed were alarming.
As the figures drew closer, their details became clearer. They were grotesque creatures, the size of small children, with massive wings that doubled the length of their bodies, reminiscent of bat wings, in an ashen gray. They had faces that blended humanoid and bat-like features, black eyes gleaming with hunger and aggression, and thin, angular bodies covered in wrinkled, repulsive skin. From their shoulders emerged two thin arms ending in sharp claws, while their hind legs resembled those of a raptor, equally lethal. Their screeches were the most terrifying: a sharp, discordant sound like nails on a chalkboard, resonating through the air and setting nerves on edge.
Despite their repulsive appearance, the creatures flew with terrifying coordination, forming a dark, chaotic cloud that rapidly approached the settlement.
1765 knew he couldn't allow these things to get too close. He made a quick decision and shouted:
—Fire!
The automatic ballistas fired the first arrows. One flew swiftly, rising into the sky and cutting through the swarm of creatures. At the center of the group, the arrow exploded. A rune inside it glowed briefly, igniting the gunpowder within. The detonation was immediate, releasing a shockwave that destabilized nearby creatures and scattered shrapnel in all directions.
The shrapnel, made of metal fragments and splinters of silent wood, pierced the beasts closest to the explosion. Some lost their wings and plummeted to the ground, others were completely torn apart, leaving a macabre rain of blood and remains in the air. Even creatures further away were affected, destabilized by the impact.
The swarm ignored the initial explosions and continued advancing toward the human settlement like an impending cloud of destruction. These creatures weren't particularly intelligent but had enough capacity to receive and execute orders. Their mission was simple: destroy this small human settlement. The desperation in their attack came not only from their obedience to orders but also from the tempting smell of fresh meat, guiding them as a primal, unstoppable force.
However, the human defenses did not falter. Within minutes, 60 explosive arrows were fired into the swarm's center. The creatures fell like flies before the shrapnel that spread in all directions with each detonation. The explosions themselves weren't particularly powerful, but the shrapnel, designed with fragments of silent wood coated in metal, was devastating, tearing through wings, bodies, and dozens of enemies with each impact.
1765 watched the scene intently from his command post, manning one of the ballistas. A faint smile crossed his face as he observed the effectiveness of the anti-air weapon he had designed. Until recently, they had no effective method to deal with large swarms of enemies. The torsion ballistas were lethal against large, strong targets but would have been insufficient against swarms like this. Now, thanks to the new explosive arrows, they had leveled the battlefield.
As the creatures dwindled in number, 1765 let out a faint sigh of relief. They had managed to prevail this time, but he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn't decided to create those new arrows. A disaster might have unfolded in the settlement.
When the creatures were less than 100 meters from the settlement, the manual crossbows operated from the trenches joined the attack. Although fewer than 100 creatures remained, they were still a dangerous threat. However, the combination of automatic ballistas, explosive arrows, and constant fire from the manual crossbows neutralized the swarm before they could even touch the ground.
The attack had been successfully contained. This time, casualties in the settlement were minimal, and the enemies didn't even get close enough to cause significant damage. The only inconvenience was the sheer number of corpses scattered across the area, creating an arduous task for the inhabitants who now had to clean up the battlefield.
However, the bodies were not entirely useless. Magical beasts had always proven to be a valuable resource. Their hides, meat, feathers, and bones were invaluable raw materials. The blood of these creatures, for example, had interesting properties. When properly processed, it could act as a nutritional supplement similar to the juice of the silent fruit. Though less potent, it also significantly improved the flavor of food, becoming a valuable additive for future meals in the settlement. With the remains collected from the previous attack, they had already accumulated enough blood for several months, and now there was more than enough to extend that supply.
The creatures' feathers also had practical uses. After the previous attack, they had been collected and used to improve the settlement's clothing. The garments, reinforced with these feathers, were now much warmer—crucial as winter approached and temperatures in the valley began to drop.
The bones and cartilage were also valuable resources. The bones could be crushed to reinforce materials or used as tools and weapons. The cartilaginous parts, flexible and durable, were ideal for making ropes or reinforcing the structures of the ballistas. Every usable part of these creatures would be maximized, especially now with 300 new bodies to process.
Time passed slowly, and with each minute, the tension grew. It had been a month since the winged lion-like beast had attacked the settlement with its minions. Over those days, the attacks continued intermittently, every three or four days. With each attack, the number of enemies seemed to increase—initially three hundred, now reaching seven hundred per wave.
Life in the settlement had become an exhausting cycle of vigilance, training, and preparation. No one had been able to rest adequately during this time. Each attack was a trial that pushed the defenses and morale of the inhabitants to the limit. While they managed to emerge victorious, the constant incursions had plunged the settlement into an aura of stress and tension. Even 1765, who tried to maintain composure and lead with firmness, was beginning to feel the effects of sleepless nights.
The construction of the new dwelling had continued thanks to the tireless work of the golems. The castle that would serve as the new fortress was nearly complete. Only a few finishing touches remained, but it was already habitable and far more defensible than the simple wooden cabins that made up the current settlement. Moreover, the tunnel had also been completed. The terrain above was filled with rocks, making tunnel construction relatively easy. While wooden reinforcements were necessary, the tunnel was finally finished.
That morning, the camp was more active than ever. Despite their evident exhaustion, the inhabitants worked quickly to pack everything and prepare for the move. Carts were being loaded with provisions, tools, and materials. The scaled horses were ready, and the golems were assisting in loading the heaviest items. Everyone knew time was of the essence. Although the winged creatures' attacks typically occurred at midday or in the afternoon, they wanted to leave the current settlement before it happened again.
However, as is often the case in critical moments, things did not go as planned. Just as they were finishing their packing, the alarm bells began to ring again.
"Alert! Alert!" Silas's voice echoed in 1765's mind and, through amplification crystals, resounded throughout the camp. "Multiple enemies detected approaching rapidly. Estimated number: 600. Electromagnetic signature consistent with bat-like beasts, no assigned name, detected. High probability of immediate threat. Recommendation: enter combat mode."
The news was like a cold bucket of water, jolting 1765 out of his stupor. Six hundred was the highest number they had faced yet, and the problem was that they hadn't expected an attack this early. While they could fight, the horses were exposed, the carts were vulnerable, and all the materials they had gathered for their new home were at risk. Simply hiding and fighting would jeopardize all of it.
This time, 1765 did not give the usual order to prepare for combat or occupy defensive positions. Instead, his voice rang out urgently, cutting through the morning air:
"Everyone, get on the carts! We're leaving this place. Now!"
There were no questions or doubts. The people moved quickly, driven by both their trust in 1765 and the terror of the alarm bells announcing the imminent attack. The golems also acted efficiently, helping to load the last belongings and secure the carts quickly. The piercing screeches of the winged beasts could already be heard in the distance, signaling that time was short.
According to Silas's estimates, the enemies would reach the settlement in less than five minutes. This left little margin for escape, but 1765 had a clear plan: head straight to the fortress they had been building over the past month. It was a reasonable distance away, but the real challenge was whether the scaled horses could maintain enough speed to get there before the swarm caught up.
With a firm pull on the reins, the horses began to gallop, pulling the carts with impressive force. The golems, not needed for combat, were strategically deployed around the convoy. Some pushed the carts to increase their speed, while others positioned themselves on the flanks and rear to act as living shields if the beasts managed to reach them.
The valley's landscape sped past them. The carts' wheels kicked up clouds of dust as the scaled horses, trained to withstand extreme conditions, demonstrated their endurance. However, despite their efforts, the screeches of the winged creatures grew louder, drawing closer with each passing moment. The swarm moved rapidly, a dark cloud threatening to engulf them at any moment.
1765, riding in one of the leading carts, constantly glanced back, trying to calculate how much time they had before the swarm reached them. Silas, ever vigilant, confirmed his worst fears:
"The enemies are approaching at high speed. Estimated time to contact: two minutes."
"Damn it!" 1765 cursed, slamming his hand against the edge of the cart. He then turned to the occupants of the nearest cart.
"Load the automatic ballistas and prepare to fire!"
The group obeyed immediately. The automatic ballistas, equipped with explosive arrows, were their only hope of keeping the swarm at bay. Meanwhile, others armed themselves with handheld crossbows, ready to fire if the creatures got too close.
The roar of wings beating against the air grew louder, and soon the first shadows of the creatures appeared on the horizon. These beasts were similar to those they had faced before: small, with bat-like wings and semi-humanoid bodies. Their high-pitched screeches pierced the air, sending chills through the cart occupants.
The first wave of the swarm was about to reach them. 1765 didn't wait any longer:
"Fire the automatic ballistas! Concentrate fire on the center of the swarm!"
The first explosive arrows were launched, tracing arcs through the sky before detonating in the middle of the swarm. Shards of shrapnel flew in all directions, drawing shrieks of pain and terror from the creatures closest to the explosions. Some plummeted to the ground, dismembered or incapacitated, while others, wounded but alive, wobbled in the air before falling.
However, the swarm was massive, and the destruction caused by the explosive arrows barely dented their numbers. The surviving creatures quickly regrouped and continued their advance toward the convoy.
At the rear, the golems formed a defensive line, ready to intercept any creatures that got too close. While their sacrifice was inevitable, their presence was crucial for buying time.
1765 shouted again:
"Reload the ballistas! Keep firing!"
The convoy moved with desperation, drawing closer to the fortress with each passing second. Arrows continued to fly, inflicting constant casualties among the creatures, but they seemed endless. Some cart occupants began to pray softly, while others gritted their teeth and kept their focus on the weapons.
Finally, the silhouette of the fortress appeared on the horizon. It was an imposing structure, its reinforced concrete walls rising like a beacon of hope. At the sight of it, a collective sigh of relief swept through the convoy.
"We're almost there!" 1765 shouted, trying to rally the group. "Don't stop, keep firing!"
The scaled horses, exhausted but determined, quickened their pace as if they, too, understood the importance of reaching the fortress's safety. Meanwhile, the creatures of the swarm seemed to redouble their efforts, closing the distance between themselves and the convoy.