The scream tore through the night like a blade.
"BANDITS! THEY'RE HERE!"
I jolted awake, heart hammering in my chest, as the scout burst into the camp, face streaked with blood and mud. "They're charging straight down the pass!" he shrieked, "We've been surrounded—!"
Then came the horns.
Deep, guttural roars made from bone and wood echoed from the cliffs above, followed by a thunder of feet—bare, booted, clawed—it didn't matter. They were coming.
Herrick's voice rang out seconds later. "TO POSITIONS! DEFENSIVE FORMATION! GUARDS TO THE FRONT!"
Men scrambled, half-dressed, grabbing spears and grimoires, some tripping over their own cloaks in panic. Sparks flickered in the darkness as mages lit torches with trembling fingers.
And then they appeared.
From the mist, a swarm of shapes emerged—hulking, ragged, howling like animals.
Barbarians.
Not just bandits—no. These were war tribes. Skins draped over their backs, weapons forged from bone and rusted steel, eyes filled with bloodlust.
The one at their front, a towering man with a horned helm and arms like tree trunks, raised a chipped cleaver and bellowed, "Noble filth! You'll rot in the dirt tonight!"
The clash was instant.
Swords and axes met steel. Fire and ice danced across the battlefield as mages unleashed whatever spells they could muster. Screams echoed, metal rang, and blood sprayed the stone.
I—
I couldn't move.
My body froze behind a tent, knees tucked to my chest, heart screaming in my ears. The air was thick with smoke and sweat and fear. I pressed my back against the canvas, gripping the earth with my bare hands.
Then—
"Brenn!"
A shout nearby.
I peeked past the tent's edge just in time to see him.
Brenn stood tall, eyes wide with fury, his grimoire open and burning with mana. "FLAME GOUT!"
A river of fire exploded from his palms, slamming into three charging barbarians. They howled as their bodies were engulfed in flame, staggering before collapsing in ash and smoke.
"Protect the supplies!" he shouted, wheeling around to blast another enemy. His robe was already torn, and a fresh gash dripped down his cheek, but he didn't stop.
He fought like a man with everything to lose.
Around him, chaos reigned. Malric was nowhere to be seen. Aylen hid behind a shattered crate, trembling. Herrick battled two brutes at once, his sword glowing with magic—but even he was being pushed back, slowly.
I swallowed hard.
What was I doing?
Why was I hiding?
My hands trembled as I looked down at my grimoire—still untouched. Still closed.
I didn't know how to help. I didn't even know what kind of magic I had.
But if I stayed here…
Someone would die.
Maybe Brenn.
Maybe me.
Maybe worse.
Another scream ripped the air—this one closer, sharper.
I clenched my fists and pushed off the ground.
The fear didn't leave.
But I stood anyway.
Herrick twisted in place, his cloak torn and blood-slicked, teeth gritted as he thrust his hand forward. His grimoire floated beside him, glowing with emerald light.
"Wind Magic: Dual Crescent Slash!"
Twin blades of compressed air howled through the night, cutting the cries and clamor with a shriek of death. The two barbarians before him barely had time to scream before their heads rolled clean off, their bodies collapsing in a spray of red mist.
He exhaled, hard. Then he turned his head, face pale with fury, eyes locking onto the barbarian leader—still cleaving through our soldiers like cattle.
Three bodies already lay broken at the giant's feet.
"Damn beast…" Herrick muttered. He started forward, raising his sword—
—and I, meanwhile, trembled behind a bush, body curled low to the ground.
Every sound around me was death: steel crashing, men screaming, spells erupting into fire and lightning. But I couldn't look away from the monster lumbering in my direction.
Not the leader.
Just one of them.
A raider, grinning ear to ear, iron spikes adorning his forearms and a cruel axe swinging loosely from his fingers. His eyes glinted when he saw me.
"Found one," he growled, voice thick with bloodlust.
I tried to scramble backward. My hand reached for a stone—anything—but my fingers slipped uselessly on the wet grass.
He raised his axe.
I couldn't scream. I couldn't even blink.
The edge came down.
"NO!"
A body crashed into me.
A searing flash of pain cut the air—Brenn's arm.
He'd thrown himself into the blow.
Steel tore through his flesh like parchment. His scream shook me more than the weapon did.
He didn't fall.
Somehow, even as blood poured from the stump where his left hand used to be, he remained standing between me and death, eyes wide with fury, teeth clenched in agony.
"You don't… touch him!" Brenn bellowed, flames bursting from his right palm as he shoved it forward.
"Inferno Arc!"
A wave of fire erupted, catching the barbarian square in the chest. He howled as the blaze consumed him, the impact sending him tumbling backward, burning and thrashing until his cries vanished.
I stared—numb, cold, and useless.
Brenn fell to one knee beside me, clutching the wound where his hand had been. His breathing was ragged.
"I told you…" he gasped, trying to grin despite the pain. "You can't… just freeze like that, noble or not…"
"Why…?" I whispered. "Why did you…?"
He shook his head, chuckling bitterly. "Because if I didn't, you'd be in pieces. And someone's gotta keep your royal ass alive."
Blood pooled beneath him.
The battle still raged around us, but for a moment, it all went silent.
It wasn't just pain I felt.
It was shame.
I hadn't raised a hand. I hadn't tried. Again.
And someone else paid for it.
Again.