Chapter 78: The Killing Ground
"Don’t let them close the gate! Get inside!"
The desperate screams of Count Thorn’s vanguard officers echoed through the damp canyon fog, completely misinterpreting the battlefield. To them, Lady Luna’s sudden withdrawal was a sign of exhaustion and flagging stamina—a frantic attempt by House Bluemoon to scramble back behind their stone walls before the rest of House Thorn’s army could overwhelm them.
"Don’t let them close the entrance!" an enemy captain bellowed, his face splattered with mud and blood as he waved his sword forward. "Push! Drive them into the courtyard!"
A ragged, chaotic cheer erupted from hundreds of surviving vanguard soldiers. Blinded by adrenaline and terror, they broke what little formation they had left and surged forward in a dense, desperate wave. Boots slammed against the blood-soaked cobblestones, iron shields clattered, and horses kicked up sparks against the rocks as Thorn’s vanguard rushed straight up the narrow incline toward the Eastern Fortress Gate.
Ahead of them, the Bluemoon heavy cavalry moved with terrifying precision.
Commander Valen led his knights smoothly through the open threshold of the fortress gate, their warhorses entering the inner courtyard without a single rider faltering. Just a few paces behind the cavalry, Teresa led the infantry while helping the injured soldiers of House Bluemoon.
"Keep moving! Clear the threshold! Don’t look back!" Teresa’s booming voice echoed inside the stone archway as the last of the cavalry cleared the entryway.
The enemy vanguard was only thirty paces behind, their forward soldiers reaching out with spears, expecting to wedge themselves beneath the iron portcullis before it could drop.
Then, the gear teeth caught.
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!
The massive iron winches atop the gatehouse released. With a deafening, metallic roar, the heavy, iron-spiked portcullis dropped like a guillotine.
BOOOOM!
The ground shook violently as the solid iron bars slammed into the stone threshold, sinking six inches into the rock and sealing the Eastern Fortress Gate completely shut.
The forward line of enemy soldiers skidded to a halt, their gauntlets banging futilely against the cold iron bars.
"Open it! Break the chains!" a squad leader screamed, raising his warhammer to strike the iron.
He didn’t realize that they weren’t being locked out.
They had just been locked in.
A low, deep vibration began to hum through the canyon walls—a sound so heavy it vibrated directly inside the soldiers’ chests, drowning out their panicked shouts.
"What is that...?" a spearman whispered, his eyes wide as small pebbles began dancing on the stone path beneath his boots.
"Up there!" a knight yelled, pointing a gauntleted hand upward into the fog. "LOOK UP!"
High above the narrow incline, perched along the razor-thin ridges of the canyon walls, dozens of Bluemoon infantrymen held long wooden levers pressed against massive, carved granite boulders.
A single whistle pierced the air from the gatehouse wall.
"RELEASE!" Commander Justin’s voice echoed in the ears of the soldiers.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Massive, multi-ton granite boulders—meticulously placed a day ago as part of Ethan’s defensive architecture—were levered off the cliffs. They plummeted into the narrow canyon pass, picking up terrifying momentum as they bounced off the steep rock walls.
The narrow incline offered zero room for evasion.
"MOVE!" a captain shrieked, turning to run, only to slam directly into the chest plates of three soldiers behind him. "BACK UP! MOVE!"
"THERE’S NOWHERE TO GO! STOP PUSHING FROM THE REAR!"
CRUSH!
The first boulder struck the center of the column.
The impact was catastrophic.
Dozens of soldiers disappeared beneath the granite in an instant. Shields shattered. Armor folded inward. A warhorse screamed as the boulder caught it across the ribs and hurled its armored rider beneath the feet of the men behind him.
"AAAAAH!"
"MOVE! MOVE!"
"GET OUT OF THE WAY!"
The boulder bounced once against the canyon wall, changed direction, and rolled straight back through another cluster of soldiers. Men were thrown aside like broken dolls, some crushed beneath the stone while others were trampled by their own panicked comrades.
Then another boulder came.
BOOM!
It smashed into the rear of the formation, sending bodies and shattered shields tumbling down the incline.
The ranks that had looked so imposing minutes earlier were now just bodies packed too close to move, fighting each other for space that wasn’t there.
A few Great Knights reacted almost instantly. Their auras erupted as they swung their weapons toward the approaching granite, attempting to shatter the boulders before they reached the formation.
BOOM!
One massive stone cracked under an aura-infused strike—but it didn’t stop.
The Great Knight’s strike hadn’t been enough, and he knew it a half-second too late to matter.
The boulder slammed into him and swallowed his entire body beneath several tons of granite.
His aura vanished instantly.
Before the chaos could even settle, a sharp, commanding voice cut across the top of the fortress wall.
"Archers... LOOSE!"
TWANG-TWANG-TWANG-TWANG!
Hundreds of bowstrings released at once.
A black cloud of iron-tipped arrows climbed into the night sky before plunging into the trapped formation.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
One soldier raised his shield too late. An arrow punched through the gap beneath his arm and drove him backward into the man behind him.
Another soldier looked upward, tracking the black cloud as it fell toward him, and had just enough time to realize he was standing in the wrong spot.
Three arrows struck him almost simultaneously.
Around him, men desperately pressed themselves against the canyon walls, climbed over fallen bodies, or shoved their own comrades aside in a futile attempt to escape the storm.
Whatever formation had survived the boulders was gone now, along with any officer left to give an order. What remained was noise—screaming men trapped between stone, iron, and death.
The rest of Thorn’s vanguard who survived the first assault are being slaughtered.
High atop the wall, a young Bluemoon archer pulled another arrow from his quiver, his hands trembling as he looked down at the destruction unfolding below.
Just hours ago, he had been certain Count Thorn’s army would breach the gates and slaughter them all.
Now, watching the remaining soliders trapped and systematically dismantled in the bottleneck, a sudden, overwhelming chill ran down his spine.
We... we actually have a chance, the young archer realized, his chest swelling with a wild, unprecedented spark of hope.
He notched another arrow, pulled the bowstring back to his ear, and let it fly.
---
Far back at the rear of the mountain pass, atop the high rocky ridge, Count Greyson Thorn’s aura sense recoiled violently as the last flickers of his vanguard’s presence winked out one by one.
The color had completely drained from his face.
Through the shifting fog, he watched as his fifteen-hundred-man vanguard—the spine of his forward force—was crushed by boulders and turned into pincushions outside the iron gate.
"My Lord..." a war horn officer stammered, his face white. "The vanguard... they’re trapped outside the portcullis. They’re being wiped out!"
"I have eyes, you fool!" Thorn roared, his heavy aura flaring in a wild, uncontrolled burst that knocked the officer back two steps.
"Damn it!"
His fist slammed against the pommel of his sword.
Fifteen hundred men—gone before they had even touched the fortress walls.
This was exactly what Thorn had spent years trying to prevent.
Blackstone Ravine was House Bluemoon’s greatest defensive advantage. If he could seize the fortress from within before the battle began, House Bluemoon would be stripped of its walls, its choke points, and every advantage the terrain provided.
He had planned to destroy them before they could even mount a proper defense.
Instead, the very fortress he had intended to capture from within had become a killing ground for his army.
Beside him, Peter remained silent, his scarred face unreadable as his eyes moved across the battlefield—the retreat, the perfectly timed gate, the boulders, the archers on the walls. Every movement had led directly to this moment.
His narrow eyes hardened.
From the beginning... none of this had been improvised.
His gaze shifted toward the fortress walls.
Lady Luna?
He had heard of the young Countess before, but nothing he knew about her suggested this level of battlefield control.
His eyes eventually settled on the dark figure standing near the fortress entrance.
Ethan.
Or is it that youth?
Peter’s hand shifted faintly on the reins.
Whoever was directing House Bluemoon tonight understood exactly how to turn the terrain into a weapon.
"The formation is gone," Peter said flatly. "There is nothing left to command."
Thorn exhaled slowly through his nose, reeling in the temper that wanted badly to lash out. His voice was tight, clipped.
"We still have enough men to crush them."
He raised a gauntleted hand.
The remaining soldiers under his command immediately straightened, veteran officers stepping forward to await orders.
His eyes stayed fixed on the ravine. "I will not retreat before completely annihilating them—a desperate, half-broken house and whatever scraps of an army they’ve managed to scrape together."
He rounded on the two nobles beside him.
"Randal! Kyle! Take your reserve regiments and push into the pass! Clear the rocks and force that gate!"
Count Randal Vane shrank back into his saddle, his eyes darting frantically toward the wreckage below. Back in Thornhold’s war room, he had comfortably sneered beside Thorn, assuring everyone that House Bluemoon wouldn’t survive the first night.
Now, faced with the reality of the choke point, his composure had entirely deserted him.
"M-My Lord..." Randal stuttered. "The pass is a death trap. My remaining soldiers are infantry—if we send them into that gorge now, they’ll be slaughtered the same way. We’ve already lost nearly a third of our men in the vanguard. I cannot afford to lose more."
"Are you defying me?!" Thorn roared, his aura pressuring Randal’s horse until its legs buckled.
"N-No, my Lord!" Kyle stammered, his eyes darting toward the ravine. "My men have already suffered heavy losses. If we send them into that gorge now, we may lose the entire regiment!"
He swallowed hard.
"There has to be another way."
Thorn stared at both of them with open, undisguised contempt.
Cowards. Every last one of them.
Randal, who had murdered his own brothers in cold blood to sit in his current seat with the help of Count Thorn, now suddenly precious about the lives of common soldiers. Kyle, who had spent the war council salivating over Bluewind’s warehouses, now unwilling to risk a single man to actually take them.
Bastards—had it not been for me, you wouldn’t even be alive today. His heart raged with fury along with damaged pride.
Thorn’s jaw tightened.
They were bold enough when victory seemed certain.
Thorn turned away from both nobles, his gaze shifting toward the surviving soldiers gathered near the ravine’s mouth.
"Then it falls to those who still remember their oaths."
"Clear the boulders. Reinforce the breach," Thorn commanded.
The surviving soldiers immediately began moving toward the ravine, gathering tools and shields as they prepared to clear the bloodied path.
Thorn didn’t follow.
He remained on the ridge, his eyes fixed on the fortress beyond the fog.
There was no need for a him to personally enter the chaos yet.
At least, that was what he told himself.
His gaze shifted toward the last figure still waiting in silence—the man he had saved for when brute force alone was no longer enough.
"Sir Peter." His voice now didn’t contain the disgust he showed a few hours prior.
Peter’s eyes flicked toward him.
"Take your mercenaries along with my army and breach that fortress."
For a long moment, Peter said nothing, his gaze drifting toward the ravine.
"You’re certain that’s wise?" Peter asked quietly.
"I’m not asking your opinion." Thorn’s voice hardened. "I’m reminding you of our arrangement."
Peter’s jaw shifted, just once, and settled again.
A faint throb pulsed beneath his ribs, the same one that always found him right before a fight.
His expression gave nothing away.
Thorn had promised him something in return for this battle.
Peter had heard enough promises in his life to know that words meant little until they were fulfilled.
Still, he had come this far.
He wasn’t about to turn back now.
Without another word to the Count, Peter dismounted and strode toward the smoking canyon entrance.
Nearly three hundred mercenaries fell into disciplined ranks below him—armor mismatched but well-maintained, weapons carried with the easy familiarity of men who had survived far more battles than any of Thorn’s soldiers.
"Form up," Peter commanded, his Knight Lord aura flaring dark and dense around his armored frame. "We do this my way."
---
Inside the courtyard, the heat from the burning wreckage beyond the gate still radiated faintly through the iron bars of the portcullis.
Lady Luna stood near the center of the yard, her frost-blue aura pulsing steadily as medics attended to the wounded. Beside her, Ethan dropped silently from the battlements, the Eternal Sovereign Blade resting at his side, Rune landing soundlessly at his feet.
"The vanguard is finished," Ethan said, his voice calm despite the smoke curling through the gate. "But Thorn’s pride is broken now, not his will. He’s sending the remaining troops forward to clear the pass. Peter’s mercenaries will follow once the way is open."
Luna’s gaze hardened. "Sir Peter is a Knight Lord. His mercenaries are veterans, far more dangerous than anything we’ve faced tonight. If Peter enters the fight personally, the situation changes completely. If they set up a shield wall inside the threshold, they can hold it open long enough for Thorn’s main force to reach us."
Valen and Teresa stepped up beside them, weapons already drawn.
"We’ll hold the threshold and cut them down the moment they breach," Valen said grimly.
"No." Ethan’s eyes moved from Valen to Teresa to Luna. "When the mercenaries breach, do not aim to kill."
Valen blinked. "Young master, they’re elite mercenaries and they even have two Knight Commanders. If we hold back—"
"Subdue them," Ethan repeated, his voice carrying an authority that left no room for argument. His gaze shifted toward the smoke beyond the gate.
"Peter is mine."
Valen’s expression changed.
Teresa shifted her stance, spear angling half an inch lower.
Even Luna’s eyes narrowed.
Peter was a Knight Lord.
Even with Luna and every Knight Commander of House Bluemoon fighting together, defeating him was far from certain.
Yet Ethan had just volunteered to face him alone.
Teresa frowned, clearly turning the strange order over in her mind. Luna studied Ethan for a long moment, but didn’t ask for an explanation. She’d learned by now that he never gave an order without a reason that would become clear in time.
"You heard him," Luna said, turning to her officers. "Shift to defensive disabling stances. Hold the threshold without taking lives."
"Understood!" Valen and Teresa answered together.
Rune’s ears suddenly twitched.
Ethan glanced down at him.
The cub’s blue eyes were fixed on the smoke beyond the gate.
Ethan’s hand rested lightly against the Eternal Sovereign Blade.
"Stay close."
Rune gave a low growl.
---
The inner portcullis rose with a heavy groan.
Step...Step...
The mercenaries had arrived, along with Peter.
Rather than hiding behind their walls, House Bluemoon’s commanders stepped directly into the opening to meet the advancing mercenary line head-on.
Sir Peter walked through the haze, his heavy two-handed broadsword resting across one iron shoulder, his Knight Lord aura pressing outward like an immovable mountain, cracking the scorched stone beneath his boots.
The pressure of his aura rolled across the threshold like an invisible tide. Several Bluemoon soldiers instinctively stiffened, their breathing becoming heavier as they felt the weight pressing against their bodies. Even the Knight Commanders squared their stances, their expressions turning solemn.
His eyes passed over the soldiers of House Bluemoon, then briefly settled on Luna before finally stopping on the dark silhouette standing at the center of the passage.
Ethan.
The young man stood completely still, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his black sword.
Their eyes met.
Peter rolled his shoulder, settling the broadsword’s weight.
"You’re a strange one, kid," he said, his raspy voice cutting through the last of the drifting smoke. "Let’s see what you’re really hiding."