Chapter 11

A Night of War

Roars rang out like thunder during a stormy night; carnage unfolded like a tapestry, weaving a perfect set of circumstances that led Sylas to experience something that, even at his worst point in life he never did: a proper war.

Boulders the size of cars were repeatedly flung over the walls, crashing into the ghoulish army that numbly and persistently clawed forward. The forest facing the castle began to topple over, the tall trees that looked like swords now lay bent and broken, unrecognizable. Ever so often, the symphony of strings being pulled together at a loud "READY!!" and then let go as the arrows whizzed through the barely-lit skyline caused all other sounds to temporarily be drowned out.

Ghouls quickly began falling by the hundreds, their corpses piling up into molehills. Despite this, however, the morale kept dropping; neither the boulders nor the arrows nor the barrels of flammable tar were infinite, and the castle was burning through them like a candle through the wax. No matter how many they killed, it seemed, just as many appeared from the canopy of the trees, ready to take the fallen's place.

The two young boys standing beside Sylas were further joined by a squadron of ten archers; the two boys and Sylas acted like eyes and relays, though Sylas mostly just sat and stood in a daze, uncomfortable. This wasn't what he expected to happen. The castle was usually overrun rather quickly so he never got to see the true number of ghouls. He'd just assumed that, even at the worst, it wouldn't cross a thousand. But… he was wrong. He was terribly wrong.

Some part of him wanted to jump from the tower and restart the day. Now that he knew he could convince the Prince with his shabby performance, he'd be able to provide a more detailed account of what would transpire. But… he didn't. He couldn't. Looking around, he saw over a hundred souls facing their darkest fears with the courage bounding realms, facing evil itself… and standing. He couldn't deny them that. He could always restart the day if all other options were exhausted. But some part of him didn't want to deny these soldiers their courage and their hearts.

It was perhaps rather dullard of a move, and he had no doubt in his heart that most other souls, those far cleverer and more insidious than him, would mock at his choices and actions, but he didn’t care. He was awed at the sight—and he wanted to continue seeing it.

It was evident within two hours of the battle that it wouldn’t end any time soon. By then, there were no more boulders to throw, so the ordinary men and women of the castle, smiths, cooks, maids, and so on, began bringing anything that was even remotely heavy—some even ripped some loose bricks from their homes and brought them over. The guards would then pile a number of them on top and toss them over, hoping for the best.

It wasn’t long after that the arrows were running dry and that all the tar was expended and burned. The flatland lying below the walls was either burning in bright coral or lay ashen and charred beyond recognition. Furthermore, pungent odor began permeating the walls, though nobody had much energy to pay attention to it. Well, nobody except Sylas. Perhaps, of all the people manning the walls and all the people praying behind them, he had the least worries—no, he had no worries, really. To him, victory or defeat was relative. And… it scared him, the way his mind began working.

At a three-hour mark, when it was clear to everyone that the arrows were gone and that every remotely heavy object was gone and that the last of the surprisingly flammable tar was burned… Prince Valen clutched the tiny draft of paper against his breast. It was his last weapon, the last line of defense… and he wasn't even certain it would work.

"No," he mumbled into his jaw. "The God spoke truth about the Ghouls. If He didn't warn me… we'd all be dead by now. I must have faith in Him. He didn't abandon Us in our time of need… and we can't abandon our Faith in him. Commander," he turned toward the Commander of the Castle, a role mostly adorned by a fancy title and little else. The man in charge was a forty-something, ball-bellied and bald man of fairly short stature. He watched most of the proceedings in abject horror, as even the last thirty-forty 'invasions' combined didn't stack up to what he was witnessing.

"Yes, Bo—I mean, Your Highness?" he quickly corrected himself, having finally remembered another bewildering factor of tonight's events—the Sixth Prince, long-rumored to have been killed, appeared here. He had his personal insignia with him as well as the Royal Seal, making his identity indisputable. Commander Ardan didn't care, however; after all, it was thanks to the Prince that they were even warned of their impending doom.

“Order a full retreat,” the Prince’s words, however, shocked him. “Pull all men into the inner walls.”

"Y-Your Highness? I… I understand our chances are low, but if we abandon the walls—"

“I have a plan,” Valen spoke sternly and with confidence. “We did not defend this castle deep into the night just to give it over in the end. Order the full retreat and have faith. He told me what to do.”

"H-he? Ah, yes!" God, Ardan mused. Such an alien concept, especially this far away into the middle of nowhere. In fact, there wasn't a church anywhere for hundreds of miles around, as even the Holy Men disdained to consecrate the lands they dubbed 'the Lands of the Unclean'. "Please, retreat first, Your Highness. Leave the rest to me!"

Valen listened and, as he gained some distance toward the inner castle, he heard the loud and commanding shouts of the short man. Despite his stature, Valen had to assent that the man, at least, had some experience and ability; he quickly, and orderly, had the commands relayed from one tower to the next and from one portion of the wall to the other. Within ten minutes, a full-on retreat was in progress. The walls were abandoned, as were the trebuchets, as everyone made their way into the inner sanctum, Sylas among them.

He didn’t say much—in fact, he said nothing, just obediently followed the crowd. He was going to blow up the wall, Sylas realized. If he was doing that, he must have run out of all other options. The last resort. It was unlikely to kill the remaining Ghouls, at least from what Sylas observed. That meant… the battle would continue in melee. Sylas sighed.

Despite everything, especially how hurried it seemed, the current defense they put up was likely the best the castle can muster within a couple of hours. That meant that even if Sylas restarted the day anew, he'd only be able to see marginal improvements that wouldn't truly account for much. The only way he could make a greater change is based on him and him alone—but, individually… he couldn't do a damn thing. He was just a normal human, the ability of rebirth notwithstanding. In fact, he was likely even worse since he didn't even have basic military training. This was it. As good as it gets.

Before dawn, Sylas knew, many would die. The best he could do was simply ensure that Valen wasn’t among them. Something inside of him stung, and it pulled and pulled until it was heavy. He didn’t know any of the men and women around him. In fact, he hardly had good experiences since coming here. But, all the same, he didn’t want to see them die. And so, he waited.

Valen clutched the talisman as tightly as he could without breaking the lines on it. This was it, he realized. Everything depends on whether the talisman works. He took a deep breath of preparation when he saw the first Ghoul ascend the wall. Then, he pooled what little magic he could, the most basic mantra he was taught as a babe, and poured it into the paper. It was barely enough, he realized when he saw the lines light up like lanterns with the last drop of magic he injected in them.

It was instantaneous, afterward; as soon as the lines lit up, a blinding flash of light turned the night into a day, and following the moment of peaceful confusion, all hell broke loose as the earth began to quake and the sound of the explosion blew open many ears and caused them to bleed. Panic, naturally, ensued.

Sylas used that panic to sneak away; expecting the explosion, he’d already closed his eyes and looked away. As such, he could clearly see the aftermath—the stone was on fire. Large chunks were strewn across the outer courtyard, blazing. A massive, gaping hole appeared in the wall, the size of a house, the edges on fire, though the path through was actually fire-free. There were no Ghouls, however—at least no alive ones and at least not yet. Sylas wasn’t going to wait for the results.

He hurried off and hid within Valen's library. Every so often, exceptionally loud shouts and roars would reach him but he ignored them. He felt awful, truly, for hiding in here… but what was the alternative? Watch others die gnarly deaths and risk his own life? Try to be a hero and save someone only to utterly fail and likely kill the both of them in the process? He was not a soldier, not a hero. If anything, he was a coward. Even as an immortal, he was cowardly.

Hours passed, hours during which he sat, empty-headed. This was the longest he lasted. It was the longest the castle lasted. Since it didn’t fall even after such a long time… they had won. Still, Sylas wasn’t even able to force himself to celebrate. Just how many had died? He didn’t dare leave and see. Instead, he remained seated, waiting for something. That something came unexpectedly and it came in the form of a new pop-up window informing him of the success.

Congratulations.

You have completed a task: Save Boy

Reward: you have unlocked a new Save Point.

…

Congratulations.

You have completed a task: Savior of the Stone

Reward: you have unlocked a Sword Mastery Tome—Heartseeker

Would you like to initialize a new Save Point?

YES / NO