FL - Chapter 71: Fallen

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Several curse-shells struck the same corner of the wall. Magical corrosion spread like vines until the fortifications collapsed in a roar of stone.

A breach had opened.

"Charge! Take it!" Barnes roared across the battlefield.

The Snowsworn poured through like floodwater from a broken dam.

The defending knights rushed to seal the gap, only to find no weakness in the advancing formation.

A Formal Knight raised his sword and charged. A spear pierced his armor and hurled him from the saddle.

He struggled upright before a second spear drove through his chest and pinned him to the stones.

Screams rose from both flanks as wolf riders circled behind the street defenses.

A knight unit tried to hold an alley entrance. Within minutes, the riders crushed them.

Only the thud of wolf paws trampling corpses remained in the firelit street.

The worst slaughter unfolded east of the main gate.

An old northern knight order became trapped in a chaotic melee.

Their formation held at first, allowing them to counterattack.

Then a group of Snowsworn warriors burst from the darkness with terrifying speed.

No battle cries. No formation.

They spoke no words, yet acted in unison—tackle, cut the throat, dismember.

A knight killed one attacker, turned, and died with a short blade driven through his spine.

"Hold formation! Those are Mad Wolf warriors!" a veteran captain screamed until his voice broke.

No one heard him.

More knights were dragged down at street corners and vanished into the shifting shadows of the flames.

The screams multiplied, but every one ended quickly.

Within minutes, the entire position had been cleared. Blood covered the ground and filled the air with its stench.

The final resistance at the gate died out.

The Imperial knights began to break.

The Snowsworn continued forward like silent reapers advancing through the mist.

The Imperial banner fell amid the flames.

"Hahahahaha!"

Barnes stood among the rubble and watched the tattered gold-and-crimson cloth burn. His laughter rang with manic triumph.

The Imperial defense had lasted less than an hour.

Its resistance had been paper thrown into a fire—a brief flare followed by ash.

The main street was breached, and the inner defenses collapsed.

Snowhawk City had fallen.

Knights fled without orders. The nobles abandoned every shred of dignity and trampled their own retainers in the scramble to escape.

"Out of my way! I'm a viscount! An Imperial noble!"

"I can pay! I have gold!"

Wails and pleas mingled with blood and fire.

The Snowsworn answered only with killing.

Viscount Fisher stumbled toward Barnes through a stretch of ruins, an ingratiating smile plastered across his face.

"My lord! It's me, Fisher! I gave you Snowhawk City's defense map!"

He struck his chest and rushed through the words. "I delivered it myself! Without me, how could your attack have gone so smoothly?"

Barnes narrowed his eyes in amusement.

"So it was you."

He approached with a smile and placed one hand on Fisher's shoulder. "A good dog indeed."

Fisher's eyes lit with delight, and his trembling stopped.

"You deserve a reward," Barnes said.

Fisher opened his mouth.

Silver light flashed.

"A quick death."

The blade fell.

Fisher's head rolled into a pool of blood, the smug smile frozen on his face.

On the western side of the city, Baron Zachary Diaz scrambled through a side gate with the remains of his knights.

Barely one in ten still lived.

After crossing the last defensive line, Zachary climbed onto a horse and looked back at the burning city.

Flames consumed Snowhawk City's towers. Thick black smoke climbed into the sky, and screams carried across the distance.

*Where there's life, there's hope. Surviving is enough.*

He exhaled in relief, spurred his horse, and fled.

He feared that the smallest delay would bring a Snowsworn blade down on his neck.

Outside the other exits, the blockade had already closed.

The Snowsworn sealed alleys, gates, and drainage channels. They even placed ambushers at the mouths of hidden tunnels.

A few noble guards fought through the encirclement, but most died in the chaos.

Screams, pleas, and blood mingled with smoke and dying embers.

Snowhawk City had become a slaughterhouse.

The city could no longer be defended.

Viscount Webster stood among the ruined walls in shattered plate armor.

Blood from the wound on his brow ran down his jaw and dripped onto his cloak.

He faced the enemy tide with one hand on his sword and iron in his gaze.

Webster issued his final orders to the remaining knights.

"First unit, escort young Firth out of the city. Take him as far as you can."

"Second unit, burn the granary and treasury. Leave those bastards nothing."

"Third unit!"

He looked toward the approaching Mad Wolf warriors.

"With me. We stop those wild dogs."

The knights said nothing. They mounted, drew their blades, and broke away in different directions.

Webster tightened his grip on his war sword and drew a deep breath.

He drove one foot into the ground.

The earth shook and fragments of stone flew.

Battle Aura erupted in brilliant cyan light, tearing through the mist and carving a line across the night.

Webster drew his sword and became a cyan streak. He shattered the bone armor and throats of three Mad Wolf warriors in one charge.

"With me! Kill them all!"

His personal guards roared and followed.

Webster was too fast. He entered the enemy ranks alone, a bolt of cyan lightning in the dark.

The Mad Wolf warriors were savage, but they fell before him like wheat beneath a scythe.

A spear thrust toward him. He turned and severed the attacker's arm.

Several warriors closed in with wild slashes. Webster blasted them back with Battle Aura and cut three in half with his return stroke.

Sweat and blood covered him as he fought more than a dozen alone and continued forward, a dying lion proud to the end.

He even broke through the Mad Wolf ranks and approached Barnes, sword-light drawing near.

But the old Supernal Knight's Battle Aura weakened with every passing minute.

Wounds accumulated across his body, and blood poured from him.

At last, a blow severed his knee. Webster collapsed in the ruined street.

Behind him stood the burning granary and fallen city.

Before him waited the black Snowsworn tide and its heaven-shaking howls.

He looked up at the Imperial dragon banner trampled into the mud. His chest heaved, and blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

"Old friend... forgive me," he whispered. "I hope the boy... escaped..."

His eyes closed. The last Battle Aura faded from his sword.