Book 8: Chapter 23: Last Stand I

Book 8: Chapter 23: Last Stand I

Trinity of Magic

Leo pressed his back against the rough bark, drawing a deep, exhausted breath as he watched the once-distant fires creep closer. So much for this sanctuary—this supposed bastion of freedom. It hadn’t even lasted a few months before succumbing to the flames.

The smoke was already thick enough to taste. The ground beneath his boots trembled—not from thunder, but from something far worse.

He knew what that meant. The Ehrenlegion had come in force.

Through breaks in the haze, fleeting shapes darted between the burning trees—shadows moving with purpose.

A figure burst through the smoke ten paces to his left. His hand went to his sword by instinct. The leather hilt was slick with dew and sweat. Only when he caught sight of her faintly pointed ears did he ease his grip.

She was young, blood running down her temple. Her leather armor hung in tatters, one sleeve gone entirely. She stumbled, caught herself against a trunk, and kept going. Her mouth moved, forming words Leo couldn’t hear over the roar of the fire.

She reached him and seized his shoulder with blood-slick fingers. Leo let her, though his eyes followed her every move.

“You have to come!” she gasped, voice cracking. “The elders are in chaos!”

Leo yanked her down just as an explosion rocked the ground. Bark and splinters rained around them. The air itself vibrated, thick with mana, far more than any one place should ever hold.

The bombardment had begun. That meant the ground troops weren’t far behind either.

“The outer rings?” he asked, though the smoke on the horizon already told him the answer.

“Gone!” She wiped at the blood in her eyes, only smearing it worse. “The earthworks rose before we could—”

A scream cut her off. Human or elf, Leo couldn’t tell. The voice held too much pain to sound like anything. It ended abruptly. The silence that followed was somehow worse.

The half-elf beside him gasped for breath. “The captain said to find you. Said you’d know what to do…”

Leo almost laughed.

Him

? Know what to do? He commanded a handful of Chimeroi who’d survived the arenas and twice that many half-elves who’d barely learned to hold a sword. Against the Ehrenlegion, they were children throwing stones at a mountain.

“…How many made it back with you?” He kept his voice steady. She needed to believe someone had control. They all did. Even if he didn’t.

“I don’t—maybe half? The Flyers dropped from above before we even saw them. Keral tried to raise a fence, but the flames just—” She shook her head, eyes wide. “It’s like they weren’t even trying before...”

The ground shuddered again, closer this time. Through the smoke, Leo saw an orange glow spreading along the northern perimeter. Not wildfire—too precise, too deliberate.

“Let’s move.”

The command hut stood between two ancient oaks—or what was left of them. Half the roof had caved when a burning branch fell. Maps on bark and stretched hide covered the tables, pinned by stones and daggers.

An elderly man hovered over a trembling scout. The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve summers; his pointed ears still held the softness of youth. A dark stain ran down his trousers.

“You went for water.” The man’s voice carried accusation, not a question. “You left the path. You led them back to us.”

“I didn’t—the stream was—” The boy’s words tumbled out. “I was careful! I doubled back, I watched for—”

“You killed us all!”

Leo’s frown deepened with each wasted second. Did it matter who had led the Empire here? They were here now, and every moment cost them survival. He’d seen this before: ineffective leaders making ineffective decisions, wasting time when time was the most precious commodity.

He didn’t blame them, not really. The half-elves had only recently become soldiers—many against their will. Still, that didn’t mean he would let this continue.

The elder’s hand drifted toward his blade. Leo stepped forward before it could come free.

“…Don’t.”

The man turned, his weathered face twisted with grief. “This whelp led them straight to us. My daughter is dead because—”

“—because the Empire wants us dead.” Leo moved between them, forcing the elder to meet his eyes. “Killing the boy won’t bring her back. It won’t change what’s coming.”

“Someone must answer for this.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer it be the Empire.” Leo glanced at the maps—charcoal marks for supply caches and fallback points, now meaningless. “But first we need to survive long enough to make them pay for it.”

Raze, the largest of the Chimeroi, ducked through the doorway. The tiger-blood's orange and black striped skin was painted with soot. Hopefully, he brought good news.

"Earthworks rising to the west. Boxing us in all neat like."

The others filed in behind him. Ripper, cleaning blood from beneath her claws with mechanical precision. Maul, the bear-blood, favoring his left leg because an arrow had punched through his thigh two days ago. Hook, Fang, and Slash—what remained of his unit. Each bore fresh wounds to add to their collection.

"How long until they close the circle?" Leo asked, though the answer was written in the smoke thickening around them.

"Hour, maybe less." Raze showed his fangs in what might have been a smile or snarl. "Reminds me of the arenas, watching them work. Driving the condemned to center stage for the crowd."

An old man spat. "We're not animals to be caged."

"No?" Ripper's voice held no emotion. "Then why do they hunt you like you are?"

The elder had no answer for that. None of them did.

Leo studied the maps again, his mind racing through possibilities only to discard each one just as fast. Every escape route led straight into killing fields. Every defensive line left them open to fire from above. The Ehrenlegion had turned the forest itself into a trap.

“The sanctuary has held since the beginning,” Someone said, as if saying it aloud could make it true. “The forest will not abandon us.”

Through the gaps in the collapsed roof, Leo watched smoke rise in perfect, vertical columns. No wind stirred it. Even the air obeyed the Empire’s will.

“The forest can’t stop what’s coming.” He folded the most detailed map and tucked it inside his shirt. “We should gather everyone who can still hold a weapon and make for the caves.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“The caves are blocked.”

“Then we—”

The world exploded before he could finish.

Fire erupted from the forest floor, fountains of flame turning trees into torches in an instant. Leo dove down as the heat washed over him, scorching his skin and singeing his eyebrows from ten paces away. Through the haze, he saw them advancing through their own inferno—warriors in crimson robes, hands wreathed in flames that didn’t burn them.

“Flamecallers!” someone shouted, though everyone could already see.

An archer drew and loosed in one motion. The arrow disintegrated to ash three feet from its mark. The Flamecaller didn’t even glance his way before sending a lance of flame that punched through the archer’s chest. The elf collapsed wordlessly, a smoking hole where his heart had been.

Movement above caught Leo’s eye. Shapes flickered between branches, moving faster than any human could. One landed lightly on a branch, perfectly balanced, the hood slipping just enough to reveal a lean face before the figure leapt again, carried by unseen currents.

“They’re—”

Too late.

An arrow sprouted from Maul’s shoulder. Another pierced his chest. The bear-blood looked down at them in disbelief before his legs buckled.

Leo swallowed hard, forcing down the pit in his stomach as he’d done too many times before. There was no room for grief.

“Up!” he shouted, grabbing a young half-elf frozen in panic and shoving him toward cover. “Eyes on the skies!”

Even as he barked orders, he knew it was pointless. How did you fight an enemy that controlled the air you breathed? That turned the very ground beneath your feet into a weapon?

A few dozen steps ahead, the earth swelled and split. Stone and packed dirt rose into a perfect wall many times Leo’s height, sealing off their northern retreat. Similar rumbles echoed from the east and south…

They were closing the box.

Leo saw the Flamecallers advance in the distance in flawless formation, their pace steady, their steps measured. Behind them came a flood of figures clad in gray—elite troops, moving across the battlefield like an oncoming tide.

Without hesitation, he turned and ran west, the only direction left to them. Others broke away from his group, scattering into the smoke to try their luck alone. They wouldn’t find it, but Leo didn’t begrudge them the attempt. Every man deserved the right to choose his own death.

A faint tremor rippled beneath his boots, only detectable through his [Tremorsense]. Footsteps. Leo raised a hand, signaling his troop to take cover.

From behind a fallen log, he watched with Ripper pressed close at his side as nine soldiers moved through the burning forest in eerie synchronization. When their leader raised a fist, all nine froze in the same instant. When he pointed left, three peeled away without a sound. They flowed around obstacles like water, each one anticipating the others’ movements.

“Now,” Leo whispered.

They struck from three sides. Ripper tore out a man’s throat before he could scream. Slash hamstrung another. Leo’s blade slid between helmet and breastplate, driving deep. But not deep enough. He followed it up with a burst of flame, searing his opponents’ insides.

The remaining six enemies reacted before the bodies even hit the ground. No panic. No hesitation. Their swords cleared their sheaths in perfect unison as they formed a defensive circle.

Too fast. Too disciplined.

Leo parried a thrust aimed at the one gap in his guard. Another blade swept for his legs; he jumped and twisted, barely avoiding both. A third soldier already moved to where he would land, sword ready to run him through.

Ripper’s claws tore across the soldier’s back, buying Leo a heartbeat. He used it to land safely, transitioning into another strike before his opponent could recover—but his blade met only air.

Leo cursed the Ehrenlegion under his breath. Even their regular foot soldiers, without a trace of magic, were dangerous enough to make him sweat. His fingers twitched, instinct urging him to draw on his Mana—but he resisted. That was exactly what they wanted: to wear him down.

He drove his sword through another soldier’s chest, feeling the resistance of whatever augmentation made their bodies hard as oak.

Finally, the last of them fell.

“They shouldn’t have found us,” one of the half-elf scouts muttered, staring at the corpses. “We were downwind, made no sound—”

“

They

didn’t,” Leo said. “But someone did…”

He’d heard the rumors and now knew them true. Mind Mages who could link thoughts across distance, who could see through a hundred eyes at once.

It seemed they’d drawn the attention of someone very dangerous.

Somewhere, maybe miles away, their commander had felt those deaths through the network—had seen Leo’s face through dying eyes. Even now, that mind was analyzing, adjusting, and sending reinforcements.

“Move,” Leo ordered. “They know where we are.”

They ran through smoke and burning debris, past the bodies of friends and foes. Behind them came the measured tread of boots. The Legion followed without hurry.

Leo dropped to the ground and pressed his ear to the dirt. A faint trickle of Mana leaked from his Core into the soil—a small trick he’d learned along the way.

Then he began drawing patterns in the dirt with a broken arrow shaft, marking positions and movement, searching for a flaw in the enemy formation. Surely, nothing could be perfect. There had to be gaps, human errors to exploit.

"…Each unit pushes from a different angle," Leo muttered, drawing curved lines to show the fire’s spread. "Forces defenders toward these positions." He marked the spots where the earthworks had risen. "That’s where the Earthshapers have built their kill zones."

Raze crouched beside him, blood seeping through the bandage on his arm. "…Flyers?"

"…Can’t pin them down," Leo said, adding random dots above his crude map. "But they never engage when we’re near the earthworks. They don’t risk friendly fire."

"So?" Ripper asked, cleaning gore from her claws. "We just die neat and orderly?"

Leo stared at the map. Every move the Legion made supported another. The Flamecallers drove prey into earthwork traps. Wind mages provided real-time intelligence. Earthshapers controlled the terrain, funneling everything into perfect kill zones.

It was a machine—each part serving its purpose, the whole greater than the sum.

"They’re not just trying to win this time," Leo said, the realization sitting cold in his gut. "They’re here to wipe us out. This must have been planned for—"

A laugh cut him off.

Leo looked up to see three half-elves dragging a Legion officer through the underbrush. The man’s helmet was gone, revealing a scarred face framed by gray hair. Blood dripped from his nose, but his eyes—brown, human, untainted—burned with satisfaction.

"Clever brat…" the officer rasped, spitting blood. "Every savage in this forest will burn. Every bit of resistance will be stomped out. The Empire’s will is—"

Ripper’s claws slit his throat before he could finish. He died smiling, as if his death meant nothing beside the certainty of their destruction.

"…They’re inhuman," one of the half-elves whispered.

"No," Leo said quietly. "That's exactly what they are."

Just then, the ground trembled. Not from uncontrolled explosions this time—these were steady, rhythmic impacts, like titanic footsteps. Through the smoke, Leo felt a presence that made his chest tighten.

"…Siegebreaker," Ripper breathed, looking in the same direction.

Leo nodded. He had seen one in action once, from a distance. The memory still woke him some nights—watching a hillside simply cease to exist, transformed to glass and vapor by will alone.

"They brought an Archmage for us?" Slash's voice cracked. "We're nothing—refugees and slaves. Why would they—"

"…Because they can." Leo turned from the approaching doom. "Let’s move. We have no time to waste."

Another scout found them as he organized their retreat.

"…No paths left that way." The man’s face was streaked with soot and tears. "Went south myself—wall of stone thirty feet high. Korran tried the river—they’ve diverted it, turned the bed to mud and stakes. Even the deer paths are blocked."

Leo recalled his map one last time. Every mark meant death: positions held and lost, friends burned or crushed or shot from above.

"Then we make this the place they stop."

Ripper tilted her head. "We die here?"

"Yes."

"Good." Raze bared his fangs. "Was getting tired of running anyway."

The remaining Chimeroi gathered close: Hook and Fang, twins who'd survived the arena by fighting as one; Slash, barely past his eighteenth winter but aged by what he'd seen. The few half-elves left stood at the edges, understanding dawning in hollow eyes.

Leo handed out the last supplies: a syringe of life elixir to each fighter, whetstones for blades that would never need sharpening again. He moved among them with steady hands, checking straps, adjusting buckles—the mundane work of a commander preparing for battle, as if this were any other fight.

He found the youngest half-elf, the boy the elder had wanted to kill, huddled behind a log. It seemed he had followed them.

"You know how to hold a sword?" Leo asked.

The boy nodded, hands shaking.

"Good. Stay with Fang. Do what she does."

"I'm sorry," the boy whispered. "About the water. I didn't mean—"

Leo’s jaw tightened. Maul’s dying expression flashed in his mind, sharp and searing—then, just as quickly, he forced it away.

"It doesn't matter." Leo gripped the boy’s shoulder, forcing him to his feet. "What matters is what you do from now on."

Suddenly, he remembered words Zeke had spoken what felt like a lifetime ago. Before the war. Before any of them knew what was coming. "…Until death, every mistake is just another lesson. Make sure to learn it well."

Leo drew his sword. The blade was notched from a dozen desperate fights, the edge stained with blood that wouldn't clean off anymore. It would serve. For one last fight.

"Ranks!" he shouted, surprised his voice didn’t shake. Ripper stood at his right, Raze at his left. Through the haze and shifting shadows, he could already make out the silhouettes of figures approaching.

"Don’t sell your lives cheap.” He yelled. Then, quieter, just for himself, he added the words of his house, now more fitting than ever. “Glory… or death."