The Boss Descends

After a day of rest, the second night arrived on schedule.

Dark red moonlight settled over Blackpine Fief's faltering defensive line like a heavy fog.

The Battlefield Meat Grinder was ready again, and Kyle and his comrades returned to the gap.

The two-meter-wide Tactical Gap had been reinforced with wooden strips, stones, and iron fittings.

But those things could not stop a real monster. They could only slow the Rat Tide. Holding the gap would come down to the people defending it.

The Rat Tide arrived on time, a black wave crashing against the wagon barricade.

As they had the night before, the defenders moved with mechanical repetition: leveling their spears, thrusting, pulling back, then thrusting again.

But every thrust tore out flesh and splintered bone. Bodies piled higher outside the gap, while the air inside the defenses grew heavier. The stench of blood mingled with rot, making every breath catch in their throats.

The defenders rotated slowly. After holding the front for a while, the first line was pulled back and the second took its place.

The soldiers who had just come off the line sat against wagon wheels or piles of stone, gasping for air, their hands still trembling without them realizing it.

But rotation could only buy time. It could not take away their exhaustion.

The Rat Tide had no end. Every so often, another black wave surged out of the Blood Mist and filled the gap again.

The soldiers who had barely caught their breath had no choice but to get up and return to the front.

Their strength drained away bit by bit, while time crawled.

Shien stood on high ground, looking over the entire camp.

According to the feedback from Basic Battlefield Awareness, the whole defensive line was now like a bowstring drawn to its limit. Every point along it was flashing a warning.

The line's rhythm was slowing. The Spearmen were thrusting nearly thirty percent less often than they had at nightfall.

The Ironbound Oak Shields of the heavy infantry up front had once been braced firmly in the gap. Now they were starting to sag, inch by inch.

It was a sign that the fighters' strength was failing, but there was nothing else to do. They had to hold on.

At the front, Kyle glanced down at the sword in his hand. The Fine-Steel Longsword now felt as heavy as a lump of iron.

The skin between his thumb and forefinger had split long ago. Blood ran down the hilt, mixing with the entrails splashed from the rats' corpses and making his grip slick.

One more swing. One more swing... Kyle told himself over and over. Just hold on a little longer. Just a little longer...

A muscle in his leg suddenly spasmed. Kyle gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay upright. He knew his strength was nearly gone.

A young soldier beside him asked hoarsely, "Kyle... what time is it?"

"Almost midnight," Kyle said between breaths. "Another half a night. If we can make it through tonight... we can light the Sacred Flame."

The young man froze for a moment, then gave him a crooked smile.

"Then let's hold on a little longer."

"Just one night."

"We only have to make it till dawn."

No one argued. Several soldiers nearby murmured their agreement, as though trying to give one another courage.

Kyle tightened his grip on the hilt, stared at the dark shapes pouring toward the gap, and swung again...

Just then, the shrill squeaks and scratching that had set everyone's teeth on edge vanished without warning, as if an invisible hand had clamped down on them.

Dead silence fell.

Everyone in the defenses froze for an instant.

Kyle stopped mid-swing without thinking. His sword still hung in the air as he stared into the darkness beyond the gap, too stunned at first to understand what had happened.

The Corrupt Rats that had been packed together moments before, pushing forward with red eyes, had all gone rigid.

The next moment, the swarm stirred again. Whole masses of Corrupt Rats seemed to recoil from something terrifying. Instead of charging forward, they shoved desperately to either side, trampling one another.

They retreated in layers like an ebbing tide, opening an ever-widening path between the mountains of corpses.

At the edge of the raised platform, Shien stared at the front of the defensive line.

The malice that had weighed on everyone since the previous night had finally appeared.

Thud... thud!

Heavy footsteps came from deep within the Blood Mist.

Each sounded like a hammer striking the earth, making the ruins of Blackpine Fief tremble.

Even the Portable Sacred Flame in the center of the square, barely maintaining its two-hundred-meter halo, gave off a faint hiss.

The platinum-colored flames wavered under the pressure of the higher-tier presence, and their light visibly dimmed.

A foul gale swept through. The Blood Mist straight ahead was torn apart, and a massive figure emerged.

It was a Third-Tier Bloodthirsty Mutant Giant Rat, almost as large as an adult heavy-armored rhinoceros. Barbed bone spurs jutted from beneath its rotting hide.

Its two enormous eyes glowed like blood-red lamps, shifting beneath the Blood Moon as it stared coldly at the hundreds of humans.

Worse still was what sat on its back.

A thick, rusted iron chain had been driven deep into the giant rat's flesh. Fastened to its end was a crude Bone Throne.

The throne was piled from human skulls, and a Third-Tier Ghoul sat upon it.

Blackened burial wrappings covered almost its entire body. Its flesh was shriveled, like a corpse dried in the sun.

Its gaunt claws dragged a War Scythe twice a man's height. Rust mottled the blade, and black blood dripped from its edge.

The battlefield went silent.

The Composite Demonic Beast swept its gaze across the defenses. It did not even look at the four Tactical Gaps Shien had arranged. Instead, it fixed on the most crowded stretch of wagon barricade, the section built highest with scrap wagon frames and logs.

The Ghoul on the Bone Throne yanked the chain taut. A piercing shriek burst from its throat.

The Bloodthirsty Giant Rat lunged at the same time. Its thick limbs slammed into the frozen ground, and its massive body hurtled straight at the wagon barricade like a fired cannonball.

Boom—!!

The crash drowned out every other sound on the battlefield.

The wagon barricade that had once given the recruits a little reassurance meant almost nothing against that impact.

Iron wagon bodies and thick wooden beams shattered, along with the stones packed inside them. The defensive line tore open as easily as paper.

Dozens of nearby fighters and Convicts were thrown into the air before they could react.

Some were pierced by splintered wood. Others were struck by entire wagon frames. Some bodies even burst apart in midair. Most never had time to scream.

Broken wood, bloody mist, and mud churned through the air as the Third-Tier Giant Rat stepped over severed limbs and entered the Defense Zone.

The thickest section of the wagon barricade was gone. A breach more than ten meters wide lay open to the night wind.

Behind the giant rat, the Blood Mist churned again.

The rats that had been forced back gathered once more like a rising tide. A black wave surged toward the breach.

Squeeeak—!

The piercing shrieks erupted again.

Tens of thousands of Corrupt Rats poured over the wreckage and through the torn-open breach, flooding into the defenses.