Enemy Attack

A red flare signaling an enemy attack rose into the sky, and Green immediately accompanied Cyrabelle to the camp's northern wall.

Beyond the wall of logs and rammed earth, Cyrabelle saw that another layer of ice over a meter thick had been added. She nodded to herself and thought more highly of Green. He had found a way to strengthen the camp's defenses with what was available. At the very least, he was doing a competent job as its temporary commander.

At almost the same moment, a figure came racing from the direction of the flare. It was an Assassin dressed entirely in white. He ran across the snow as fast as a leopard, seemingly unhindered by its half-meter depth. But he was in poor shape. A bullet had torn straight through his left shoulder, leaving a mangled wound. Blood soaked his white clothes, making the injury impossible to miss.

Two faster Transcendents were pursuing him.

The gunshot wound had slowed the Assassin, and the gap was steadily closing. At this rate, they would catch him when he was about fifty meters from the camp wall.

"What should we do, ma'am?" Green asked. Having seen the situation clearly, he chose not to act on his own and looked to Cyrabelle.

Cyrabelle waved a hand. "You're the commander here. Exercise your authority. Don't worry about me."

"Yes, ma'am!" Green nodded, then turned a grave gaze on the wounded Assassin.

The camp sent out plenty of scouts and hidden sentries like him every day, from ordinary reconnaissance cavalry to Assassin-type Transcendents, all to guard against a sudden attack by the northern Rebels.

Now only one wounded Assassin had returned with an attack signal. The others had likely all been killed.

The Rebels were brazen, too. Though they had entered the Vanguard Camp's