Eric wasted only moments lost in a rapturous daze as he came to grips with all the ways he had grown in both body and mind. Now when he moved, it was with such exquisite precision that the Eric of just a year would have been absolutely slack-jawed. He knew he could walk almost effortlessly across two buildings with only the thinnest wire for support. More than walk, he was pretty sure he could do backflips across any hypothetical wire, so in tune did he feel with his body at that moment. He knew it was absurd, had to be, but even he was impressed by how effortless it was for him to summon a tiny copper coin from storage and flick it for a nearby brick, striking exactly where he willed. Not just hitting the brick itself, but on the fly that had been darting about just seconds before.

Eric shook his head with a rueful chuckle, feeling a profound sense of attunement with himself that he doubted any Interface sheet, or at least any Interfaced sheet available to humnaity, could truly capture or quantify. Because as wondrously grand as boosted Strength or Quickness might be, there was something indescribably exhilarating about ever-growing mastery over his own body, being able to project the maximum amount of power that his Strength would allow in each and every perfectly coordinated movement. He was dead certain that his blows could now readily compensate for weaving and shifting opponents, striking exactly where he wished, every other opponent he had ever faced now clumsy, awkward, and painfully predictable in comparison, at least in his memory's vault. Because if a gold medal gymnast or dancer had achieved a phenomenal 19 in Finesse, perhaps even 20, what did it say about him, after his latest skill evolution and Title boon had pushed his Finesse all the way up to 39?

So too, with his Perception now just a few points below his Finesse, his senses were so shockingly acute that he could spot the telltale twitch of eyes and muscles, that single bead of sweat giving so much away before an opponent struck. He sensed it would prove a wondrous boon in battle as it helped him to better read his opponents. Perhaps it would boost his Find Weakness skill checks as well.

Of course, there were downsides, he thought, fighting not to hurl as his nose was bombarded with a good dozen distinct orcish scents among the melange of ruptured bodies now assaulting his nose.

He flashed a fierce smile even as he bit back the urge to vomit, more eager than ever for his next fight, to see just how far his heightened senses and coordination would take him.

But not until he did what needed doing, as efficiently and quickly as possible.

Because more than one clock was ticking, and Eric was almost positive that the Sylvan Alliance had no idea of just how deadly a card the all too easy to underestimate orcs had been holding in reserve.

He raced back up the stairs, shield and saber at the ready as he leaped and rolled through the door to a night so bright it was almost day, nose immediately flooded with the scents of charcoal, saltpeter, sulfur, and the ripe coppery tang of blood and offal coating his throat as he left soft squashy footsteps upon a rooftop absolutely covered in shredded pork products.

His sudden lurching anxiety faded to a soft chuckle as he realized it was his heightened Perception, not the ever later hour, that had allowed him to see in starlight almost as well as daylight.

Regardless, not even the sound of gunfire from the fort several hundred yards away could completely disguise the desperately quiet breathing of the small ragged handful of survivors amidst the slaughterhouse of blood and gore.

Desperate breaths that turned to startled whimpers when they felt deadly cold steel prick their throats, allowed time only for a single imploring gaze upon eyes red as the sunset of their lives, and as pitiless and cold as the void to come, before a savage yank brought them the only mercy Eric would ever grant them, fresh pleas cut off by sprays of pink frothy blood.

One gushing fountain after another, and the final survivor actually had time to shriek for mercy.

Doom Slice!

A cry cut off as the startled head screamed silently for words that would never come as it spun lazily through the air, before exploding on impact with the ground, far below.

And for just a second, Eric caught sight of once-handsome features twisted into a vicious demonic caricature of a man, lips stretched far too wide, fiery-red eyes ablaze with vindictive hate and glee.

Eric didn’t hesitate to draw his blade and strike in the blink of an eye, knowing sadistic madness when he saw it… only to gaze with horror upon a foe whose blade, and look of dismay, perfectly mirrored his own.

Hands now trembling despite his absurdly high Finesse, Eric whimpered as he was forced to confront his most fearsome foe.

The reflection of his soul as he gazed into the silvered mirror that had no business being there, bolted to one of the merlons, yet for some reason was.

For just a heartbeat, his heart quailed in memory of that unguarded expression. The face that had so clearly savored the orcs’ final moments as he cut them down, one by one.

The face of a savage.

The face of a killer.

The face that was his own.

“I don’t care!” He screamed, glaring at his own reflection. “These monsters invaded my world, destroyed my cities, slaughtered my people! These fuckers threw my own sister into their fucking fire pits, laughing as she screamed for mercy that would never come! Never come from anyone but me! The only one taking the fight to these bastards! The only one doing a thing besides waiting to make a quick score on the sidelines, or cowering for hope of help that might never come! So yes, I will be the savage killer, I will be the bloodthirsty monster you fear to see! So the hell with your goddamned fragile bullshit 21st-century sensibilities, Eric, and to hell with anyone else who would dare pass judgment on me!"

He curled his trembling fist in front of the silvered mirror, purposely stretching his lips wide and fierce, forcing himself to look his own madness in the eye.

"I'm going to kill every goddamned orc that ever dared to step foot in my world, and I will laugh at their screams, and I will savor their pain, and if anyone dares to judge me, I will laugh in their face unless I see the scars of abuse scored upon their flesh. Unless I can visit the graves of everyone they ever loved who has fallen to those bastards! And that's a promise, Eric! I will purge this world of all its foes, and I will burn to ash anyone who gets in my way!"

Eric laughed then, laughed as he turned away and gazed out at the nearby tower from which the flash of gunpowder and the crack of discharges could be heard.

Laughed as he drew his enchanted bone bow, trembling with the essence of Wrath coursing through it and his limbs as well as he lined his shot and released, the air cracking as the white-hot arrowhead streaked through the air before plunging through the skull of the figure roaring orders and pointing to frantically scurrying elves below. A commander that could only be the orc shaman.

The monster collapsed with a surprised expression before abruptly exploding in flames as its own retributive strike sent a good dozen nearby orcs crashing to the ground, many never to rise, and those that did found relief short-lived as their skulls were pierced by bone arrows streaking through the air nearly as fast as bullets.

Too fast to see, but not too fast to kill, as Eric switched to arrows that were not kissed with the essence of flame to give his foes no chance to pin him with weak eyes blinded by their own torches as arrows streaked through the air, exploding through chests and skulls and causing ever greater panic and confusion in the darkness.

Even as he lost himself in the heady joy of slaughtering his enemies under cover of superior position and the cloak of night, Eric felt himself slip into a trance of timing, motion, and flawless execution, as one panicked orc after another collapsed in death, Eric not even bothering triggering the explosives now clearly in line of sight.

Not when he had the opportunity to wrack up so many kills for which he would get full experience, only a handful needed to fill his level 9 meter once more, the rest infusing his core and skill pool as he strove for at least one additional goal that night.

To earn a hundred kills with his bow, one way or another, before the first ray of dawn caressed his form.

Somehow, he sensed that was the threshold he must aspire to.

And when he stumbled back off the crenelations, abruptly dizzy when his soul reserves had plummeted to near-empty after several dozen perfect kills, he grumbled and shook his head, crouching down to meditate for as long as it took to get back up to full, more than slightly frustrated to find that when he next looked, the keep's battlements were entirely empty.

Archery is now Rank 17!

Find Weakness is now Rank 11!

Burst of Strength is now Rank 13!

You have achieved 53% of your goal!

He flashed a fierce, toothy smile.

Apparently he had killed even more than he had thought while in trance, the memories both exquisitely clear and already fading to dream, having done all he could not only to push his bow and Burst of Strength skill to the limit, but to test his archery skills as well, releasing the moment he could snipe multiple throats at once, or pierce one throat and a second head or chest.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime slaughterfest opportunity, and he had been more than happy to take advantage.

Because even now, he sensed the tides of battle shifting, 36 Perception making out all too clearly the sound of dozens upon dozens of orc soldiers entering this very fortress, no doubt having finally pinpointed the source of sniping death, more than eager to put Eric in the ground.

Eric chuckled softly, quickly summoning his conjoined bulwark of lizard hide and bronze.

So that when dozens of orcs abruptly burst forth upon the rooftop with shouts and gunfire, they were met by roars of multiple cannons fired at once, several dozen crowded orcs abruptly transformed to crimson paste.

"Come and stay, bastards, and make yourself at home! There's a hell of a lot more where that came from!" Eric laughed like the madman he had once feared becoming, now embracing his twisted role to the hilt, exquisite hearing picking up the sound of orcs racing back the way they had come.

And Eric leaped upon the battlements in delicious anticipation, lips curling wide when he saw dozens of musketeers fleeing down the wide boulevard… only to collapse to the ground, one by one.

You have achieved 63% of your goal!

……

You have achieved 75% of your goal!

You have cleared two fortresses! You have successfully plugged both fortresses with refuse!

Psychological warfare skillcheck made!

Eric couldn’t help chuckling at the last message, glaring with a certain amount of dark pride at his own handiwork. Since manipulating the shapes of the greater lizards eternally stored away in his mind’s eye had become as easy as shaping play-dough, only much, much quicker, he had wondered if he could do the same thing to all the orcs he had made mincemeat out of.

As it turned out, he could.

Making a massive dumbell like plug bulging at both sides he had 4-D slipped in both fortress door frames to block easy access to the orcs had gone off without a hitch. For all that, normally, it would only take a pair of determined orcs some axes and time to clear away the obstruction.

But this plug was far more Halloween sheik, comprised of dozens of clawing arms and heads locked and fused together in their final screams, such that it looked as if an ungodly monstrous amalgamation of undead orcs was struggling through the double gates. And somehow, Eric was dead certain that no orc would even think of approaching the abominations sealing those two forts any time soon, let alone be bringing axes to hack apart the flesh plugs.

Congratulations! You have made a true masterwork of the macabre!

Flesh Sculptor is now Rank 19!

It was all he could do to hold back the giddy laughter threatening to well up within him as he embraced the shadows and gloom all around. Savoring the panicked squeals of bloated monstrosities that had for so long savored the tears and sobs of countless humans they had collared, enslaved, and eaten alive.

And Eric was now happy to pay them back in spades.

You have critically struck seven fleeing orcs!

100% fatality rate achieved!

You have achieved 82% of your goal!

Maybe it was the way death exploded from the darkness, when proud-looking tusked countenances holding torches up high, roaring for orcs to rally around their banner abruptly exploded in mist and flame. Maybe it was just the rumors now running through night air thick with the scents of smoke and blood of shadowy demons that had torched two keeps and assassinated their chieftain, or just the rumors of vile necromancers and elven assassins Eric was happy to let flood the night without striking those doomsday messengers. Yet whatever the ultimate catalyst, all traces of the bellicose titans of sloth and destruction that had haunted so many of Eric’s nightmares were replaced by cowering pigs filled with fear.

A terror Eric could now taste in the air, a wicked part of him absolutely delighting in his enemy’s horror.

He could barely hold back the manic grin caressing his features when three massive orcs attempted to hide themselves in a pile of refuse and filth, one of many such piles that had built up under the pig’s neglect.

Filth that might have saved them, had they been in the sights of anyone other than Eric, taking a moment just to savor the thrill of the hunt, almost impressed that his prey had sensed that they truly were being hunted, and that death was just a whisper away.

Before a cold shiver of apprehension froze him in his steps.

Since when the hell had orcs been savvy enough to hide in a refuse pit? Utterly silent? And here he was, so hungry for fresh kills that he had allowed himself to be lured by four bright targets flaring in his mind’s eye along a deserted alley?

Quickness check made!

Thoughts flickering in his mind while his body was already moving as Quickness only slightly above human norms had him leaping back just in time to avoid being gutted by a pilum shimmering with power as Eric caught sight of a pock-marked man glaring coldly him, using the weapons of a Javelineer. Yet his armor of plate and leather painted matte black was nothing like the tribal-looking warriors recently left for Freetown.

Eric felt a frisson of fear mixed with exhilaration as he beheld the true threat in the darkness. And if his Quickness had barely let him survive death coming, his Finesse was more than enough to allow him to aim and fire his already fully extended, essence-infused bow, earning a surprised blink as hunter instantly became the hunted.

And before his would-be hunter could do more than shift his shield… he was sent flying back in an explosion of bone and flame.

In any other circumstances, Eric might have paused in his assault, touched by the surprised disbelief he sensed in his enemy’s eyes. A flicker of humanity that could so easily become a lifeline of gratitude and compassion and breaking past the cold bitter bonds that had so many humans now acting like little more than beasts. The potential for true friendship and brotherhood, just a single choice away.

Instead, Eric extended his bow to max draw and fired, the air cracking with sharp reports echoing through the alley as he hit the now screaming man, begging for mercy, again.

And again.

And a fourth time, until desperate screams cut off with a final wheeze, and Eric was awarded with the sweet rush of yet another kill, flooding into his soul. Even if he hadn't been awarded any more juice than if he had speared a rat, the potency was so very sweet.

You have successfully slain Level 11 Assassin! (CSA Affiliation)

A part of him almost wanted to thank Mayor Stibbs for having taught him so well the bitter price of an idealist’s mercy, extending an olive branch to assholes who would eagerly tear free that branch to knock you off balance, right before stabbing a knife in your gut.

Then happily gazing into your agonized face and smiling as they twisted the knife deep, before tearing it free.

Because if anyone was going to do the butchering, Eric would far rather it be him.

His foe was dead.

He had clearly won, savoring the sweet taste of his enemy’s potential.

Nothing would be more satisfying at that moment than walking away, head held high, the victor of yet another life and death battle.

Willpower check made!

He froze, after taking just three steps, spinning right back around.

"Now why the hell would I want to leave before I finished looting you?" Eric said, his bow at max draw once more.

Giving his opponent exactly three seconds to respond.

“Last chance.”

Nothing.

Eric chuckled softly, shaking his head.

Why the hell was he talking to a corpse?

He smirked and turned around, jogging back to the alleyway entrance. Because a little manic spree-killing glee was well and good, now that all orcs were red to him, but it was high time to stop playing the fool, needing just 17 more kills to achieve what he truly hoped would be a kickass title.

And then to get serious about things once more.

Then he froze, taking a good hard look at his interface.

It hadn’t budged at all, no matter the surge of experience his latest ‘kill’ had garnered him.

You have achieved 82 percent of your goal!

And why the fuck had he left 4 easy kills, shivering in their own muck, behind him?

A thought he let hang in the air as he turned around and fired, catching the slinking assassin wielding a brace of obsidian daggers crackling with a sickly green light, now racing right for Eric, his swarthy face twisted in a feral grin… right before a fiery arrow caught him in the mouth, the assassin’s head erupting in gore and flame.

You have critically struck your target!

Level 22 Assassin (CSA Affiliation) has perished to your blows! Experience Earned!

You have achieved Rank 18 with all bows

You have achieved 83 percent of your goal!

Eric smirked down at the headless corpse spurting blood on the ground. "Now that is a damned neat trick. Some variant of Feign Death, I take it? And I'm guessing you had it ranked up at least a bit, to award me actual experience. And you got at least two chances to hook me under its influence, with you completely aware, and able to snap right into action, the moment I turned my back.”

“Note to self!” he said, shouting up at the starry night sky. "Any asshole rogue or assassin I bring down, I don't stop until his head's a ruptured cantaloupe and his body is in storage. Because there are some sneaky ass motherfuckers floating around, and I have no desire to be a notch in any other asshole's belt!"

Then for good measure, he put a flame arrow in the fallen assassin's torso, more unnerved than he cared to admit, not even approaching the corpse until the assassin was nothing more than a charred corpse spitting flame.

And if all the assassin's valuables had been destroyed? At that point, Eric didn't give two shits, feeling nothing but relief when the body obediently popped right into storage, and he went darting back for the pile of garbage with a handful orcs slowly emerging, eyes blinking in the gloom.

“You killed him, yeah?” said the baritone voice of the closest orc, clearly blind in the dim alley, lit by nothing at all, stars above providing just enough light to know that there were heavens above.

A second and third emerged, hacking up great gobs of snot and flicking pieces of filth, refuge, and dung out of their fur and armor. “You owe us a gold each, right? And you’re still helping us out of here, yeah?” said another.

Eric flashed a shit-eating grin in the dark from 30 feet away. “Yup. I most certainly killed him. I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass on that gold, though. But don't worry, I can certainly help free you. In fact, I guaran-fucking-tee that I won’t rest until you’re all free of this city for all time.”

The closest orc furrowed massive brows. "Hey, you don't sound like—“

The twisted amalgamation of porcine and human features exploded in bone and brain as Eric's arrow cracked through the air at supersonic speed.

The second and third arrow were fired quick and dirty, at typical longbow speeds and no faster, still more than enough to pierce throat and eye, sending two more orcs crashing to the ground, spasming in their death throws.

But one desperate orc that had kept himself hidden behind the others was at least wise enough to know that his only hope wasn’t to cower, but to squeal and charge for all he was worth, swinging his axe blindly through the air.

Finesse check made!

Scraping nothing but old kiln-fired bricks exploding under the impact of its steel axe head as Eric twisted and spun under the blow, the massive orc squealing with rage and terror in equal measure as its furious charge became a desperate race for freedom, howling about ghosts in the dark.

Before its cries abruptly cut off as a ghostly white bone arrow erupted from the darkness, sending it stumbling to the ground, sightless eyes staring at the asphalt that had shattered tusks and nose.

Pain the creature would never feel, thanks to the arrow that had torn through its brain.

You have achieved 87% of your personal goal!

Eric chuckled softly, humming a discordant little tune.

He never could sing, not even in the shower.

Didn't stop him from trying to whistle, completely unsuccessfully, as he sauntered out of the alley, taking a deep breath of the chaos and terror he sensed all around him. He refused to let his gaze linger over the very rare human slave too numb with shock and horror to stay inside where it was at least somewhat safer, having eyes only for the massive giants caught between racing toward bells now going off in the southwest corner of the city, or head towards the final northwestern keep still engaged with the elves, all of them seemingly terrified of encountering whatever horror was now stalking the city, leaving nothing but dead orcs in its wake.

And of the occasional confused orc that seemed caught between terror and duty, Eric was happy to gift them all with a final option, his bow thrumming with the release of arrow after arrow cracking forth at what was coming closer and closer to twice the speed of sound, a truth Eric could feel as Flesh Sculptor grew ever closer to Adept Tier as one confused orc head after another exploded in the darkness, until Eric was just 5 kills away from his goal and his soul thrummed with a sudden surge of power.

Congratulations! You have achieved Adept Tier in Flesh Sculptor!

You have gained +6 to Soul Reserves, +2 to Willpower and +1 to Scholarship as mastery over the inner workings of the body becomes further mastery over oneself!

You may now use your Enchanted Bone Bow to unleash arrows at Mach 2! (Note. Successful Flesh Sculptor and Burst of Strength skill checks will be needed to maintain bow integrity! Accuracy penalties will apply! Specialized arrows may be needed.

You may now pick an Adept Path of Specialization! (This sub-specialization may be deferred... You have chosen to defer specialization at this time!)

It was all he could do not to howl with manic delight, feeling all but invincible in the gloom after all his kills as sweet, sweet power caressed his soul. But he held his silence, even as the rich red tang of salty blood filled his mouth, determined to silently savor his epiphany, lest there be any other assassins in the dark like the one he had killed just minutes ago, eager to hunt him down just as avidly as he was hunting prey of his own.

He did spend a few quiet moments just savoring the added sense of clarity, focus, and resolve he felt, enjoying occupying a mind whose thoughts were just a tiny bit more orderly, his internal musings just a spec sharper than they had been before his latest skill evolution. It made sense, he supposed, with Flesh Sculptor having so much in common with structural anatomy, understanding the placement and function of bones, ligaments, and organs, which was the hallmark of any aspiring health professional. So why wouldn’t his intellect, or at least his ability to memorize, grow just a sliver as he hit Adept status along a path of knowledge forever stereotyped as the province of the most scholarly and well-studied of unorthodox magic users?

He took a steadying breath, his plan of action firmly in mind as he cautiously approached the third and final fortified wall tower he had planted so many bombs within, surprised at the powerful, gravelly voice echoing through the city street like a drill sergeant's call, beckoning scattered orcs to rally under his banner.

And the surge of excitement flowing through his veins instantly stilled when he gazed upon the front of a very well-lit keep, with not one or two, but a full dozen trash-can fires blazing merrily away, crackling light reflecting off the well-polished steel plate armor and shields equipped by a good half dozen bruisers who looked nothing like the musket-wielding orcs he had hunted with such predatory avarice.

These crack troops radiated a hard-eyed competency that immediately left Eric feeling every one of his nine puny levels as hard porcine eyes glared into the darkness.

Eric felt chills as their cold hard eyes passed over where he crouched in gloom.

It didn’t matter that he knew they couldn’t see him.

It didn’t even matter that he always made it a point to claim every blazing trash can, torch, and lamp he came across in storage, effectively putting them all out as he passed.

He felt the weight of their iron-hard regard. And whether it was a class skill or not, he had serious reservations against taking on those elite troops who were at least level 20, and at least a couple of them had gained Advanced classes, at least for a few levels. He was as certain of that as he was that one wrong move right now could cost him absolutely everything.

Arcane Perception Check successful!

Eric winced, somehow not surprised to find that the guardian’s steel shields radiated magic as well as high-quality metal, wondering, for the first time, if his arrows had met their match as the largest among them, carefully sheltering behind the half dozen shield bearers, continued to roar out to the stragglers darting desperately toward the keep in ones and twos.

“Third west keep, ya yellow-bellied bastards! The elves took two, but they’ll never take the third! The former chieftan’s elite bodyguards have our back, and we will forge ourselves stronger than ever with the crimson banner of a new clan chief!”

“Who’s the new big boss?” asked one shivering orc, looking like a child before the monstrous steel-covered guardians who nonetheless didn’t hesitate to let him pass.

The giant among even them stretched his tusked lips wide. “You’re looking at him, pipsqueak! Big Boss Black Tooth! Elf bane and scourge of the Sylvan alliance! The elven assassins got lucky, catching my sire with his pants down, and I'm here to tell you their luck has just ran out!" he declared, clapping the steel-covered shoulders of the closest guardian who didn't break formation for even an instant. "So get yer silly ass up to the rooftop, grab a musket, and prepare to give these invading elves a lesson they'll never forget!"

Black Tooth then raised high a banner of an ebony fang on a red background, showing off the fine silvered armor of plate and steel the would-be chieftan was wearing.

Eric felt a sudden surge of exhilaration. Almost the equal to the roiling anxiety in his gut.

Of course, he wasn't stupid.

The roaring voice heightened by what he was certain was a shaman’s spell as the most elite warriors Eric had seen out of the entire tribe suddenly made an appearance, and a part of Eric had to wonder if maybe there was a reason why they hadn’t shown their faces before this moment.

Suddenly wondering if maybe he had played right into this young, would-be king's hands as a restrictive father was conveniently removed, an unwanted piece chucked from the board, as the lion's true fangs were finally revealed.

Fangs that would be all too happy to tear out the throat of any upstart elves, just as the cannons above, aided by equilibrators, recoil system, and a shaman's magics, shot out surprisingly accurate cannonballs and grapeshot with enough momentum to blast through even a high level champion’s defenses.

Eric flashed a cold smile at how brilliant a play it would truly be…

if he hadn’t already claimed the cannons and booby-trapped the top of the tower.

Before a chilling thought immediately wiped the smug sense of satisfaction he felt.

What if he was wrong?

What if the shaman had already spotted his essence-infused traps? What if no commotion was made about the cannons because they had already been replaced?

Eric felt a shiver of anxiety race down his spine… wondering just how clever, and ruthless, these bastards were.

Would they truly let him take out two fortresses filled with orc musketeers in the hopes of drawing out the Sylvan champions as they marched towards what Eric had been sure would be an easy victory?

He winced and shook his head.

Of course they would.

Knowing just how ruthless and savage these bastards were…

Of course they would.

Because the troopers at both Northwestern towers had been nothing special. Standard musket men, a single Shaman whose wards he had too-easily pierced, and nothing else. Regular orcs kitted with weapons that might beat the hell out of most gear used by low level adventurers, but would earn close to zero experience from their kills. Which, of course, didn’t matter if you couldn’t level anyway.

So why the hell wouldn't an up and coming chieftain consider hundreds of civilian-equivalent grunts worthy of sacrifice on the pyres of his own rise to power? Especially if he could snag the glory and prestige that would come from taking out perhaps multiple enemy champions.

Eric shook his head, barely holding back an admiring whistle.

4-D chess for sure.

If Eric’s worst fears were true.

If his bombs really had been disarmed, and the cannons really had been replaced, and in remarkably short order, at that. And maybe it wasn't even as absurd an idea is it sounded. Assuming territory leaders had a true sense of the defenses of their micro-realms, they might know immediately when weaponry was 'offline,' perhaps even be savvy enough to deduce what it signified, and how useful it would be not to let your enemy know you were on to them.

Eric gave an angry shake of his head.

Because he was more certain than ever that the high level tanks before him were the perfect counter to his bow. Or at least, his standard arrows.

He might get one lucky shot before the rest linked up and charged down the road straight for him. But one shot was all he would get before everything went to chaos. And if there was a shaman at the helm of restored guns enchanting a cannonball to come right for him…

He swallowed the awful lump in his throat, glaring down at suddenly sweaty hands, absolutely hating the cold tingle of dread shivering down his spine.

Because the fact was, he didn’t know.

Until he could actually get his eyes on the keep battlements, scan the rooftop for himself, he wouldn’t know.

But one thing was for certain.

Before he dared suggest that Lady Valorn commence her invasion in earnest, beyond a couple of sorties being used to distract the enemy, this tower had to go down.

And he was the one who had to do it.

Fortunately, he still had a couple trump cards.

And they were definite doozies.