Chapter 26 Verr
VERR
The ground gives under my step, the damp earth shifting beneath my boot.
The river has pulled back and left the bank soft and unreliable.
I adjust without thinking, angling my weight, testing before committing, because anything that unstable is either a liability or an advantage depending on who understands it first.
The line ahead of me doesn’t have that luxury.
Wood splinters under the next impact before the sound fully registers, the east barricade bowing inward as a cluster of orcs drives into it with brute force.
The rhythm is wrong, though. Not the clean surge of a committed charge, not the chaotic scatter of something undisciplined.
It’s staggered, uneven, like something heavier is pacing behind it, waiting for the opening to widen before it commits.
I feel it before I see it.
The vibration rolls through the ground in a low, steady pulse, not sharp enough to be a sprint, too heavy to be anything light-footed. It moves with intention, and my grip tightens slightly on my blade as I shift my stance to meet what’s coming.
“Hold that line,” I snap, stepping forward as an orc breaks through the splintered gap, its weapon swinging wide and unrefined. I catch the edge of it and shove it off-line, turning the force back into its own body hard enough to send it crashing into the one behind it. “Don’t chase—hold!”
A soldier to my left lunges anyway, instinct overriding instruction, and I catch him by the shoulder before he can step too far past the line. His armor jerks under my grip as I haul him back into place.
“Stay in formation,” I growl close to his ear, forcing his attention back to me for half a second. “You step out, you don’t come back.”
His breathing is already uneven, panic sitting too close to the surface, but he nods, resetting his stance with a stiffness that tells me he heard the warning even if he didn’t fully process it.
Behind the broken barricade, the second shape emerges.
The minotaur doesn’t rush. It pushes through the debris like it expects the world to move for it, splintered wood catching along its horns and dragging free as it steps into the open. Its shoulders roll once, testing the space, and then it looks at us—not wildly, not blindly—just measuring.
That’s worse.
“Kareth,” I call, not taking my eyes off it.
He’s there before I finish the word, stepping into position at my right, his blade angled slightly forward, weight already shifting in anticipation. “I see it.”
“Don’t meet it head-on,” I say, sliding my foot back half a step, adjusting for the slope behind me. “Pull it left. Toward the bank.”
His gaze flicks once toward the uneven ground, then back to the approaching shape, understanding settling fast enough that he doesn’t waste time questioning it. “Unstable footing.”
“Yes.”
“And if it ignores us?”
I let out a short breath. “Then we make it care.”
The minotaur roars, the sound tearing through the air with enough force to rattle the ribs, and then it moves—faster than something that size should be, closing distance in heavy, controlled strides that chew up the ground beneath it.
“Move,” I bark, stepping back just enough to avoid the initial collision as it slams into the line, the impact driving two villagers off their feet. One disappears under the sheer force of it. The other scrambles, hands clawing at the ground as he tries to find his footing again.
“Up,” I snap, catching him by the back of his collar and hauling him upright before he can freeze. His eyes are wide, unfocused, breath tearing out of him too fast. “Move or die. Pick one.”
He stumbles back into the line, barely holding himself together, but he moves.
That’s enough.
The minotaur turns again, slower now, adjusting its stance, hooves sinking slightly into the softer edge of the bank where the ground starts to give.
Good.
I step forward, not striking to kill, just dragging the edge of my blade along its side hard enough to draw its attention. The movement earns me exactly what I want—its head snapping toward me, its weight shifting to follow.
“Left,” I shout, already moving.
Kareth picks it up instantly, his voice cutting across the line as he signals the shift. Two soldiers break from the edge of formation, not clean, not perfect, but coordinated enough, driving their spears low as the creature’s footing falters for just a fraction of a second.
The ground slips.
Not enough to drop it.
Enough to break its balance.
That’s all we need.
“Push,” I snap.
This time they move together, pressing the advantage, forcing it further onto unstable ground where every step works against it. The minotaur’s movements lose some of their precision, its strength turning clumsy as it tries to correct.
It roars again, louder, angrier, the control slipping.
Better.
Anger is predictable.
A sharp hiss cuts through the clash of steel, too smooth, too deliberate to be anything from the front line. I turn on instinct, catching movement along the tree line—low, coiling, weaving between bodies instead of breaking through them.
“Nagas,” I call, pivoting hard as one slips past the edge of the formation, its body flowing through gaps like water.
A villager in its path freezes, spear half-raised, eyes locked on it in a way that tells me he’s already lost.
“Move,” I snap.
He doesn’t.
The naga strikes, fast enough that the air seems to bend around it, knocking his weapon aside and driving him to the ground in one fluid motion.
I close the distance before it can finish, intercepting its follow-up strike, the impact running sharp through my arm as its scaled body twists, trying to wrap, to pull me off balance.
I step into it instead.
Force space.
Break the rhythm.
“Keep distance,” I bark over my shoulder, shifting my stance to keep it in front of me. “They close, you lose—don’t let them coil.”
One of the soldiers nearest me adjusts immediately, stepping back instead of forward, his blade staying between him and the next strike.
Good.
Learning.
The pressure doesn’t hit in one place.
It spreads.
Orcs hammering the weakened barricades, minotaurs forcing structural breaks, nagas slipping through anything that isn’t perfectly sealed. It isn’t chaos—it’s layered, deliberate, designed to pull at every weakness at once.
Krago isn’t testing anymore.
He’s dismantling.
I step back just enough to widen my view, forcing my focus beyond the immediate clash, tracking the shifts, the fractures, the points where the line thins too far.
“Kareth,” I call.
He turns toward me, breath controlled despite the strain.
“East holds,” he says before I ask, his voice tight. “Barely.”
“Supplies?” I ask, already moving.
A younger officer stumbles toward me from the rear, mud streaked across his face, one sleeve torn.
“Low,” he says, forcing the word out between breaths. “Food, water—both.”
“How long?” I ask.
He hesitates.
That’s enough of an answer.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say before he can speak. “We hold.”
He nods, swallowing hard, then moves to relay what he can.
I turn back toward the line.
The structure is still there.
But it’s thinning.
Not from force.
From strain.
A woman grips her spear too tightly, her knuckles white, her shoulders trembling just enough that it throws off her balance.
“We’re not—” she starts, her voice catching.
I step into her space, close enough that she has to look at me instead of what’s in front of her.
“You’re still here,” I say, my voice lower now, cutting through the noise just enough to reach her. “That’s what matters.”
Her breathing stutters.
“You don’t need perfect,” I continue. “You need one more step than they expect.”
She nods.
Not steady.
But enough.
I move along the line, not stopping, not lingering, adjusting where I need to, correcting without breaking momentum.
“Closer,” I tell two soldiers, pressing them inward with a firm shove to close the gap between them.
“You rotate,” I snap to another group, pointing toward the rear. “Now. Not when you fall.”
They hesitate.
“Move,” I repeat, sharper.
This time they go.
Good.
The structure tightens again.
Not strong.
But holding.
Skot appears at my side like he always does, silent until he isn’t, his presence cutting through the chaos without adding to it.
“They’re probing for collapse,” he says, his tone steady despite the noise.
“They’ll find it if we give it to them,” I reply, deflecting another strike without looking at him.
“And if they don’t need help?”
I glance at him briefly.
“Then we make it harder.”
He watches the line shift, his gaze tracking movement faster than most could follow.
“This won’t last.”
“It doesn’t have to,” I say.
His brow lifts slightly.
“How long?”
I don’t answer immediately, my attention snapping back to the line as another push hits, forcing a partial collapse near the road.
Kareth is already there, dragging two soldiers back into position, his voice cutting sharp through the noise.
“Reform! Now—move!”
They respond.
Not perfectly.
But they respond.
“Long enough,” I say finally, my voice quieter.
“For what?” Skot asks.
I don’t look at him.
“For them to stop expecting us to break,” I reply.
Another impact hits.
Harder.
Closer.
The line bends again, but this time it doesn’t collapse.
It holds.
Barely.
I exhale slowly, steadying my breathing as the pressure settles into something constant instead of overwhelming.
We’re not winning.