Phaedon watched as the city guard mobilized a defense. Knights lined up outside the gates, and the Guild sent out its available adventurers to help fortify the city. Over a hundred able-bodied fighters stood at the ready, Blessed among their ranks. The approaching wyvern horde still had about double the amount of beasts in number, and though things didn’t look great in comparison, the city’s knights were competent, and the adventurers would be able to hold their own. Their chances were good. Still, the city would undoubtedly take notable damage from the attack.

  The young heir descended the walls and went back onto the streets, where panicked civilians were scattering like flies. Men with the Drakonyra symbol—a dragon with four wings—emblazoned on their backs were all rushing, weapons in hand, outside the gates. The district guard was joining the front lines. Phaedon grabbed the nearest guard he could find and held him tightly by the arm.

  “Why aren’t the people being evacuated yet? It’s dangerous for them to be here!” he yelled.

  “Who in Lye’s hells are ...” the guard softened his scowl as he realized who he was talking to. “Young Master Phaedon? What are you—”

  “Answer me, Godsdamnit! These people are too close to the wall! When the wyverns arrive, they’ll be easy pickings! Where’s the captain?! Bring him here!”

  It didn’t take long for the captain to arrive—an aged man with a moustache. Bald as he was, none of the younger full-headed guards around were on par with even half of his style. He’d been the Drakonyra district’s Captain of the Guard for as long as Phaedon could remember.

  “Young Master.” The captain bowed.

  “Nestor, what are your men doing?” Phaedon asked, necessity evident in his voice.

  “We’re mounting a defense, My Lord. It is your father’s orders.”

  “Orders?”

  “Yes, Lord. He personally said that if another wyvern attack happens, all our men are to engage the wyverns and kill as many as we can.”

  Damned bastard, Phaedon thought, immediately realizing what his father’s plan was: the wyvern carcasses.

  The Guild branch that operated in Artemest was obligated to protect the city in the case of an attack, but at its core, the Guild was a Salcaelite organization, not a Krysanthian one. They operated on different rules. If any of the Guild’s adventurers killed a wyvern, then the carcass would be their property. If Lysandros wanted those scales, he’d have to pay the Guild the full price for them. If his own guards were to get to those wyverns first, however, they would be property of the city—and the city sold those scales to him for disgustingly cheap prices in exchange for the wyvernscale equipment he produced.

  “I’m rescinding those orders,” Phaedon said. “Tell your men to withdraw from the front. The knights and adventurers can handle the beasts. Prioritize evacuating the civilians to the shelters deeper into the city!”

  “My Lord, your father’s—”

  “I’ll deal with my father! Focus on keeping the people safe, you got that? And contact the other southern districts, too! Have them focus on evacuation!”

  Captain Nestor sucked in a breath then nodded—and Phaedon could swear that he saw pride in those eyes of his. “Understood, sir. Everyone! You heard the young master! I want squads six and eight to head to the marketplace! Dimos, go relay these orders to Dafni and her squad! Someone send word to the other districts!”

  Nestor continued relaying orders, and like clockwork, the guards scattered about, beginning the evacuation. It wouldn’t be long before the wyverns hit the city. Time was of the essence—and in short supply. Thankfully, the knights and adventurers were able to set up a good front; they’d be able to mitigate the damage a fair bit.

  Phaedon looked around, panicked. “Where’s the brat?”

  Grits went running as soon as he heard the news—barely conscious of anyone around him, gripping his sword so tight that his palms began to feel numb.

  In all likelihood, the invasion was the work of the Flockmother who had attacked several days prior. That was the most obvious, most likely explanation. The coming horde had wyverns of all colors, but there were no reports of any black ones among them.

  But there was a sliver of a chance that there would be—which meant a sliver of a chance that Deathberry would be there as well. That sliver was all Grits needed to go and check.

  “Grits, slow down!”

  Sibeiya’s voice called out from behind him, but he didn’t stop. He rushed to the southern gate, feeling his blood boil just thinking about those winged beasts. He had no time for distractions.

  He needed to get there quicker. Sooner. Faster. His eyes saw red. His muscles burned. He was close, so close. Rip, rend, slice, tear—he needed his arms to feel that sensation before he could calm down.

  Memories flashed by. People he cared about, people he loved—torn apart like they were less than an afterthought.

  I’ll exterminate them all.

  Grits reached Drakonyra. The district was in chaos with people running to the city’s center, nearly trampling over each other.

  “Fleiry Almighty, you’re fast!” Sibeiya gasped for air when she finally caught up. She looked up at the southern sky, seeing a great shadow blot the heaven. “Hells. That’s a lot.”

  Her voice began to shiver. Try as she might to hide her fear of wyverns, she wasn’t very good at it.

  “You can go to the shelters if you want,” Grits said.

  That seemed to offend the girl who took a deep breath and ran towards the gate in response. Her bravery was admirable—if a little foolhardy. But Grits didn’t dislike that.

  The half-highlander readied himself, preparing his—

  “Grits?”

  His eyes widened. He turned around to see Cynth standing behind him, worry on her face. Two bodyguards in drab disguises stood next to her, urging her to follow them to safety.

  “Lady Cynthia?” Grits breathed out. “Did you sneak out again?”

  “I didn’t! I begged Valery, and he said I could go out if I brought bodyguards with me.”

  The half-highlander massaged his temple. “My Lady, you shouldn’t be here. There’s a wyvern attack looming. You must go seek shelter.”

  “O-okay! Come with me!”

  “I can’t. I have to defend the city as well.”

  “We have enough knights!”

  “I’ll be fine, My Lady! I’m strong. A few wyverns won’t be a match for me!”

  Cynth gripped the hem of her pants. “‘Even the most powerful people in the world can bleed. If they can bleed, they can die.’ That was the first lesson Sir Spearman ever gave you, wasn’t it? You told me.”

  “I ... I’m not going to die.”

  “Just … just come with me. Please.”

  Grits looked back at the gate. The wyverns had arrived, and the knights and adventurers had begun fighting. Shouts, screams—bolts of fire, a hail of stones, and hexagonal force fields sprung up as the Blessed chanted their spells.

  “I told you, I can’t!” Grits raised his voice, hoping it would be enough to scare Cynth off.

  “Then, I’m not moving!”

  He felt Cynth’s arms grab his own, hugging him tightly like a vise.

  “Lady Cynthia, what are you—?!”

  “I’m not moving from your side unless you come with me!” she shouted. “If you want to keep fighting, then you’ll have to take me with you!”

  Grits tried to shake her off, but her grip was solid. “Lady Cynthia, please! What’s gotten over you?”

  Her grip tightened even more as she buried her face in his arm. “I ... I don’t like the person you become when you’re fighting those things …”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “My Lady, don’t be unreasonable!” one of her bodyguards said nervously, the panic clear in her voice. “Lord Valery gave us explicit orders to—”

  “Screw those orders!” Cynth said. “I’m not moving from Grits’ side unless he comes with!”

  The half-highlander was at a loss. They were too close to the wall! Very soon, some of the wyverns would break past the initial defenses they put up and storm the district. If that happened, Cynth would ...

  “Let go, Lady Cynthia!” Grits pleaded.

  “No! In times of crisis, members of the archon’s family must retreat to the nearest shelter or back to the estate! They taught me that!”

  A wyvern broke through. It crawled towards them much faster than a guard could chase after. Too close!

  “I’m not a Kastrionis!” His eyes darted back and forth between Cynth and the imminent danger. Breaths of hesitance sprinkled his next words. “Please… let go … before—”

  “You’re my brother!” She began pulling him with whatever meager strength she had. “And brothers have to listen to their sisters!”

  “YOU’RE NOT MY SISTER!”

  “Ah—!”

  Grits swung his arm, knocking Cynth backwards. With his other hand, he threw his longsword at the approaching wyvern, cleaving through one of its wings. The beast fell to the ground with a shrieking cry, and Grits ran forward to intercept it, grabbing it by the horns and stopping it from crashing into Cynth and her bodyguards. The wyvern was still alive, roaring and thrashing. With a rageful scream, the half-highlander ripped off one of the horns on its head then stabbed it right through the creature’s eye. Blood erupted, covering his face. He punched the horn deeper in. Once. Twice. Finally, the wyvern stopped moving.

  He breathed out, feeling the wyvern’s blood on his face and arm. He looked at his own hand, covered in scars.

  This was who he was: a warrior. A blood-soaked fighter. A dumb idiot who only knew how to be loud and break things. Try as he might to become someone worthy of even standing beside a Katrionis, when you looked past any act he put forth, a barbarian was all you’d find.

  “Grits!” Cynth called out, voice breaking. He heard her little footsteps approaching.

  “You’re not my sister,” he said again, this time, not looking at her. The footsteps stopped. “I was just some kid your father saved and took in. He ... asked me to play with you when you were growing up whenever he was busy with his work.”

  Don’t say that. You’re getting too worked up again.

  “Every time you called me your brother, I let you because you were just a child that didn’t understand my circumstances.”

  Stop talking. She doesn’t need to hear this.

  “But that was years ago. You should know better by now! You can’t stay a child. You have responsibilities! To this city, to its people ... so enough with this pretend family bullshit!”

  Grits looked at her and froze.

  Cynth stood there, eyes wide open, lips trembling. Tears slowly formed in her eyes and ran down her cheeks, dropping to the ground. She lowered her vision, and, perhaps seeing the stains on the road below her, wiped at her face quickly, clumsily.

  “Um ... right. Right. Of course. Mm.” Her voice was weak and frail and on the verge of breaking. Even so, she forced the corners of her mouth upward. “I must’ve been in the way, huh? I, um ... yeah. You’re fighting, and .... t-the shelters. I’ll, uh ...”

  Her voice trailed off. She didn’t say anything more—as if she’d break down and cry if she said another word. She simply turned around, shaking hands wiping at her face as she sniffled quietly. One of the bodyguards gently took her by the arm, and Cynth let herself be led away without protest.

  And just like that, she was gone, hopefully heading to some place where she’d be more safe.

  Grits stood frozen, the blood on his skin beginning to cool. His chest felt tight. He knew he was never the eloquent type. He learned how to speak respectfully, but he was no stranger to the fact that it’d be best if he’d just keep his mouth shut most of the time. And yet, he wanted to beat himself up. There had to have been better words he could’ve said.

  “Idiot. Stupid, dumb little ...”

  A cacophony of roars tore through the air, followed by the beating of wings. More and more wyverns came pouring in past the city’s initial defenses.

  There was no time to think about any of his own troubles at the moment. He needed to get his sword back, so he ran down the street to where he threw it.

  That’s right. Don’t think. Thinking was for smart, sophisticated people, not barbarians like him who were only good for hitting things. That’s how it had always been for him.

  And that’s how it would always be.

  Lilieth ran out to the refugee camp to see it in chaos. Guards hurriedly escorted the panicked refugees into the city gates as wyverns hit Drakonyra a bit further to the east. Some of the creatures had broken off from the pack and were heading straight for the camps.

  “Teth,” Lilieth breathed out, running forwards.

  A guard stood in front of her, noticing her approach. “Hey, kid! Stay back, it’s too dangerous—”

  “I’m borrowing this!”

  The young mage grabbed the handle of the shortsword that hung at the guard’s waist, unsheathing it from its scabbard in one swift motion. During the downtime in between spell training with Albus, he would teach her the most random techniques—one of them being how to unsheathe and steal someone else’s weapon. She never expected to be able to use it that quickly.

  She wasn’t allowed to carry around the longsword she’d brought with her just yet. Even among longswords, that thing was heavy and cumbersome to carry around for a novice like her. And that old shortsword ... suffice to say, there was no way she was going to use it in battle.

  “Huh?! Wait!” the stupefied guard yelled out as Lilieth ran deeper into the camp. Fortunately for her, the guard was either lacking in proper exercise or she had genuinely gotten faster as a result of her training. He was nowhere close to catching up to her before she disappeared into the crowd.

  The young mage looked around frantically. Overhead, shadows passed by. Wyverns had already arrived. One landed right in front of her, blocking the path of a refugee man—a red wyvern.

  Seeing the beast, Lilieth’s muscles tensed up. Somewhere deep down inside her, that timid, meek, scared little girl was still there.

  She gripped the handle of the sword and took a deep breath. No. The girl couldn’t be there anymore. She would change.

  Starting now.

  “[Sculpta]!”

  Lilieth dashed forward, using her palm to scoop up a handful of stone from a boulder that she passed, then throwing it at the beast, hitting it square in the back. It didn’t do much damage, but it did get its attention. The wyvern turned to her, snarling and hungry.

  The beast roared and charged at her, swiping its razor sharp talons at Lilieth—they would rend her to pieces if they ever hit.

  But the wyvern was so much slower than Grits, Albus, and Sibeiya, so Lilieth barely had any problem dodging. She landed a good slash on one of its wings, nearly severing it at the base. She rounded the beast, positioning herself behind it, ducking under its tail as it spun around trying to find her.

  Red wyverns aren’t particularly strong or smart. It’s very easy to disorient one if you know what you’re doing.

  Grits’ pointers on wyverns ended up being very helpful. The wyvern blindly swung its tail again, and Lilieth chopped it clean off with a quick strike. It thrashed around, swinging a claw at her again.

  “[Murus]!” She conjured a wall of earth between her and the claw, and at the same time, swung, slicing her blade through the wyvern’s neck. Blood poured out, and the wyvern fell to the ground, unmoving.

  “Get yourself inside!” Lilieth told the shaking refugee who simply nodded before running to the gates. She looked around, searching for—

  “Over here, Lilieth!”

  She turned. In the distance, Albus was engaging with two green wyverns. They were a bit bigger than the reds, but that was about where the differences ended. Behind Albus was Tethys, holding a wooden plank in her hands as a makeshift shield.

  The woman saw Lilieth and smiled at her, perhaps relieved that the young mage was okay. Tethys always did care too much for others.

  “—?! Look out!” Lilieth screamed.

  Behind Tethys, another wyvern landed, its scales a deep shade of blue—stronger than the greens and so much more dangerous.

  Albus was distracted, holding back the two he was faced with.

  Tethys wasn’t much of a fighter, and she never could react with reliability.

  And Lilieth—she was too far away. Could she get there in time? Only barely ... no, not even. There was no way she was going to make it. Could she throw her sword? What if she missed and hit Tethys instead? No, it wouldn’t work either. Blue wyvern scales were much harder to pierce than either reds or greens. A thrown sword wouldn’t be enough. Lilieth doubted she could pierce those scales even at close range.

  What should she do? What magic did she have? Sculpta? How would that help? Murus? No, she was still too far, and the earth wall would take a second too long to form. Her new spell, Caliga? The one that locked a target’s feet to the ground? Maybe that could—

  The wyvern opened its maw, preparing to bite.

  No...

  Memories flooded into Lilieth’s head, memories of a life spent with Tethys. His memories—

  No!

  —Markosh’s memories.

  “[Enhance Agility I]!”

  The chant left Lilieth’s mouth like she’d used it countless times before. Her entire body felt lighter, easier to move. She bent her knees then burst forward like a spring, the wind blazing past her as she practically dove through the air towards the blue wyvern.

  Tethys finally realized what was behind her, and fear set in her eyes as the giant maw moved to snap close. Lilieth blew past Markosh’s wife and, faster than anyone could register, forced the wyvern's jaw open with her shortsword. Blood dripped down the length of the blade as the beast snarled, the floor of its mouth pierced by the sword’s tip while the roof was pierced by its sharp pommel.

  Lilieth held her ground, but the blue wyvern was strong. Sooner or later, it would overpower her. She needed to buy time until Albus could come in and finish it off.

  Slowly, the wyvern raised its head, lifting Lilieth onto her toes. Then, it swung itself sideways, throwing Lilieth and her sword to the earth. It roared at her then charged in.

  Before it could reach the young mage, fortunately, a spear impaled itself on the side of its head. It didn’t pierce through, but it did go in deep enough to topple the beast. It fell to the ground, blood pooling beneath its unmoving body.

  Lilieth looked to where the spear might have originated—an out-of-breath Sibeiya stood with an incredulous expression on her face.

  “Holy shit,” Sibeiya said under her breath. “I actually killed one.”

  Albus finally trotted over, the corpses of two green wyverns behind him. He looked at the dead blue wyvern then at Sibeiya and whistled. “First kill, and it’s a blue. Good job!”

  At that, Sibeiya actually smiled, looking proud of herself.

  Lilieth turned to Tethys. “Are you alright, Teth?”

  The woman blinked at her. “U-um, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a few scrapes and bruises, but I’ll live. But, uh …”

  The young mage, realizing something, cursed herself inwardly. “O-oh, my apologies. I shouldn’t be calling you by such a casual nickname.”

  Tethys waved her hands. “No, no, don’t say sorry. It’s fine, really. It's just … For some reason, the way you said it … it felt … familiar.”

  A tinge of pain surged through Lilieth’s chest. Before she could say anything though, a hand fell upon her shoulder. She turned to see Sibeiya staring at her.

  “... What?” Lilieth asked.

  “No time for chit-chat. We’ve got company.”

  Sibeiya jutted her chin in the direction of the gates—where they should be heading—and saw that about a dozen wyverns stood in between them and the city: reds, greens, blues, even a purple wyvern.

  Sibeiya was right. It was going to be a rough battle.

  “You two, ready?” Albus said, holding his slightly curved blades to his sides. Sibeiya retrieved her spear from the blue wyvern’s head and readied it.

  Lilieth picked up her stolen shortsword from the ground then chanted.

  “[Enhance Strength I].”

  Power flowed through her muscles. She had access to Markosh’s spells again now that she’d accepted his memories back into her. She felt the man’s regrets in full, and it threatened to drown her.

  But no matter—she could ignore that for now. So long as she could keep Tethys safe, then those regrets could stay.

  “...Ready.”

  At the very least, they needed to get Tethys to the shelters. That was their first priority.