The balls of fire that had been floating overhead all erupted at the same moment.

  Curtains of flame rained down, signaling the start of the cinderborn charge. Atop the walls, the archers fired one last ragged volley of arrows before jumping the twelve feet to the stone ground below.

  Almost half made it, breaking legs and ribs as they bounced off the unyielding rock. The rest ignited like kindling along with the thick timbers of the defensive wall.

  Outside the fortress, a shrill battlecry filled the dark void where the stars should have been. Harold and Erich pushed their way through the blob of spearmen, joining Gwen and Kaden near the front.

  Two ranks of levy soldiers filled the gap. The first were down on one knee, their spears planted into the ground with their points at about waist level. The second row had also planted their spears, the shafts resting on the shoulder of the soldiers in front of them to create another barrier of steel about as high as Erich’s chest.

  Charging across the plain outside the fortress was a ragged wave of cinderborn and their human allies. Without archers, there was nothing to slow or blunt their advance, and in the light of the burning walls the massed attack looked like an avalanche of demons covered in black and flickering red.

  In front of Erich, one of the spearmen wavered, his weapon dipping slightly as his back trembled. Erich released his sword with his left hand, placing it on the man’s shoulder. The levy looked up, eyes wide and unfocused.

  “We’re all going to die aren’t we?” The man was whispering, but for some reason his question seemed to echo like a thunderclap. On either side, the spear levies shifted slightly, obviously listening in to the conversation. “The nearest support column is at least a half hour away. There’s no way we’ll be able to hold the gap for that long.”

  “Stand your ground,” Erich replied, trying to sound more confident than he was. “The cinderborn have more martial artists than we do, but they fight as individuals rather than as a team. If you turn and run, you’ll lose that advantage and they’ll run you down. If you hold your formation, we’ll stand a chance.”

  The man didn’t say anything, his expression unconvinced. Still, he had stopped shaking and didn’t stand up to run away. Really, that was a victory under the circumstances.

  “Where is our mage support,” Harold grumbled as he shifted into the first stance of the Winding Stream Sword. “It’s not like the cinderborn were quiet with their attack. They should have seen the meteor showers even from the rear lines. At a minimum the major should-”

  “Quiet,” Gwen interrupted him. “We might not survive this battle, but if we do, I’d prefer to survive the day after as well.”

  Erich’s forehead furrowed as he planted his feet and lifted his sword into the Swaying Willow Blade’s guard position. Both Harold and Gwen had a point. Their commander’s job was to blunt the magic of the cinderborn attack. It was clear that the spellcasters on the other side were stronger than him, a rarity given how few mages the cinderborn had in their ranks, but at a very minimum he could have intercepted some of the attacks or used a spell of his own to slow the oncoming advance.

  His silence wasn’t a good sign, but on the other hand, pointing it out could be fatal. Although ninety five percent of the Empire was human, over half of its nobles, and all of its high nobles were elves. By the same token, every column commander or above on the Western Front was an elf, and questioning elves was a poor prospect if you wanted to survive your ten years of conscription.

  He shook his head to clear it. There wasn’t time to ponder the cosmic face and unfairness of his situation. The cinderborn were almost upon them, and regardless of what Erich told the spear levies, without mana they would have a hard time stopping the enemy charge.

  Around fifty of the hundred people charging gave off the tell-tale resonance of active mana use. Most of the martial artists had the dark skin and glowing orange eyes of a cinderborn, but amongst their ranks were a handful of humans.

  Erich tightened his grip on his sword. The attackers were barely a hundred feet away. Fifty. He could make out the details on their finely crafted chain armor. Twenty.

  And then they were upon him. The first five or so cinderborn leapt into the air, mana flashing as they used some technique to jump higher and farther than should be physically possible.

  They easily cleared the first two ranks of spearmen only for the soldiers behind Erich and his companions to angle their weapons and pluck most of them from the sky. Of the five, one managed to land intact only for Gwen and Kaden to surround him, attacking him from either side as the spears of the levy troops fumbled and tried to find an opening.

  The remaining cinderborn crashed into the wall of hesitant soldiers and glittering metal. Despite Erich’s earlier words, the formation evaporated like a handful of salt in a rainstorm. One or two of the attackers went down as they were pushed onto the spears by the warriors behind them, but the rest swung their swords in wide arcs, mana burning like embers. Each slash cut the heads from five or ten spears, turning them into nothing more than sticks that the levies brandished helplessly like children huddling before a rampaging cougar.

  Levy soldiers died in the flash of an eye. The attacker’s swords darted in and out like sparks, sliding through the defenders’ leather armor like it wasn’t even there. Every once in a while, a spearman managed to stand up and defend themselves against an attack or two, but their survival was measured in seconds. Two was an accomplishment. Five was an eternity. Ten was impossible.

  The soldier Erich had comforted died at his feet, throat opened up by a quick poke from a cinderborn martial artist. The warrior’s eyes glowed the same orange as the burning walls, his bright white teeth flashing in an exultant grin.

  Erich feinted toward the man’s shoulder. He’d never managed to make it to the second tier or perfect the Oak Body, but his time hadn’t been wasted. Erich’s sword skills outshone everyone else in his cohort, and his attack was as light as a butterfly and as fast as a striking snake.

  The cinderborn charged through it, sword deflecting Erich’s feint even as he tried to slam a shoulder into Erich’s chest. Erich’s sword darted downward toward the attacker’s leg, forcing him to hop back before he made contact.

  A twitch of the cinderborn’s shoulders was all the warning Erich had before the man thrust at him again. His sword flowed upward from its guard position, deftly knocking the attack out of the way.

  Another attack toward Erich’s stomach was pushed to the side only for a flurry of blows, all with enough strength to run a man through, erupted from the enemy warrior. Twenty to thirty attacks came in a blur of metal and frantic exertion that pushed Erich to the limit. The attacker stepped back, reassessing Erich with a hint of frustration and respect lining his opponent’s silent visage.

  Erich’s breath came in short gasps, sweat rolling down the sides of his face as he sought to recover. His wrists and arms hurt from the weight of the blows, and despite his best efforts, Erich hadn’t managed to find a single opening to counterattack.

  If anything, the other martial artist’s grin had grown wider. Erich could feel the mana flowing through him, speeding his reactions and strengthening his body, but at the same time he could feel the gap between him and his opponent.

  The enemy warrior was stronger and faster than him, fighting with an unrestrained and aggressive style that should have left openings if the two of them were on the same level. They weren’t.

  Another twitch of the shoulder warned Erich a fraction of a second before the cinderborn lunged forward again. He pushed his enemy’s sword wide, but a grim certainty set in on him.

  Erich wasn’t going to win a stand up fight. Even if he was more skilled at swordplay than the cinderborn, that wasn’t enough to overcome the physical differences between a first and a second tier swordsman. There was simply too much of a power difference caused by the physical and spiritual evolution that came with increased development an complexity of the other man’s image. Worse, his enemy being second tier meant that the attacker had another technique, one that he hadn’t managed to see yet.

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  Their blades clashed again. The enemy warrior was toying with him. Erich didn’t have any way of knowing when the cinderborn would unleash his finishing move, but the second he did, that would likely be the end of their fight.

  Cinderborn and humans rushed past the two of them. Harold was about twenty feet away holding his own against an opponent, but there was no chance that he would be able to help. Gwen and Kaden were even further away, and it was hard for Erich to tell how their duels were going, but he doubted that any of them would be free in the near future.

  Behind him, spearmen were dying by the dozens. Theoretically a human without mana could bring down a martial artist if they were lucky, but in practice it never really happened - mana made trained warriors faster, stronger, and granted them killing moves that could easily outclass even the most well-trained of soldiers.

  If the cinderborn had one thing, it was martial artists. It seemed like every third member of the orange eyed race had achieved at least the first tier with a sword or some other weapon. Their overall numbers were lower, but in an attack against a similar number of imperial soldiers, defense was impossible without backup, and there was no way that backup would arrive in time.

  Erich pushed himself, mana burning in his arms as he deftly parried and slipped past one of his opponent’s heavy strikes to feint at the man’s right hip. The warrior jumped backward, disengaging for long enough for Erich to break his stance and sprint toward the nearby wall.

  He could feel the enemy hot on his heels, quicker on his feet than Erich would ever be able to achieve unarmored, let alone in the light chain supplied to him by the imperial army. The cinderborn’s moment of hesitation bought him the better part of a second as a head start, but that was all the advantage that he was going to get.

  Luckily, Erich wasn’t going far. He spun around, planting his feet and ducking under the stab that he knew was coming. The cinderborn’s sword stuck in the wood for a second, giving the time he needed to slash his sword across the man’s upper thigh.

  The attack would have crippled an ordinary soldier, but for the cinderborn, all it did was bring a grimace to his face. The man ripped his sword free of the wall and pulled it back, bringing its hilt well past his ear as he twisted his body to the side.

  Part of Erich wanted to take the opportunity to strike him again, but deep down he knew better. The Swaying Willow Blade was a defensive technique. He didn’t have any special ability to take advantage of openings created by his feints and parries which limited its offensive capabilities.

  The same wasn’t true of the cinderborn.

  Heat and mana seemed to explode out of the warrior, the only warning Erich got before the man’s blade accelerated toward his throat.

  Reflexes honed by paranoia and months of practice against Elias were the only thing that saved him. Erich’s head jerked to the left the moment he saw the cinderborn’s muscles bunch for the thrust.

  He didn’t even see the attack. There was only a flash of heat and then pain as the red hot blade split open the right side of his chin.

  The blade didn’t stick in the wall behind Erich, rather it blew a fist sized hole in the half-burnt wood, exposing the craggy rock plain outside the fortress.

  There wasn’t even a moment to respond. His opponent exploded into another flurry of thrusts and short cuts. Erich’s sword flashed back and forth, barely parrying the warrior’s attacks, but unable to create an opening for a slash of his own.

  Erich gritted his teeth. It was just a matter of time before his defense faltered, letting one of the thrusts through. There was only one real option.

  Rather than blocking, he shifted to the side. The cinderborn’s stab punctured his chain armor with ease, slicing through skin and cleanly cutting through one of Erich’s ribs. As strong as his body was from years of conditioning and training, a mana infused attack from a second tier swordsman was more than he could take.

  His sword slashed downward, striking the cinderborn’s wrist before he could retract it.

  The warrior stared dumbly at him, the stump where his hand had been spurting blood. Then, Erich’s follow up attack took the now unarmed man’s head from his shoulders.

  Erich hissed and dropped to one knee as the attacker collapsed in front of him. His sword clattered to the rock as he reached over with his right hand and pulled the enemy’s weapon free from his side.

  Blood gushed from the wound, staining Erich’s fingers and side red. Each breath felt like a dagger stabbing into his side as his muscles slid the broken edges of his rib back and forth.

  A wave of aether hit him, a reward from the world itself for slaying a powerful enemy. It washed over him, erasing some of his fatigue as it flowed toward his image. His head swam for a second as the hazy picture of the tree lined river suddenly became brighter and more distinct.

  Erich trained every day, accumulating a small amount of aether, which slowly improved his image and mana reserves. Eventually, he would have enough so that he could inscribe a second technique and advance to the second tier, but the process was maddeningly slow.

  Murder was a shortcut around that slow marathon toward power. Every being with mana gave up a portion of the aether they had accumulated upon death

  The battle itself was a slaughter. None of the levy spearmen were standing. It was possible that some of them had escaped, but hundreds of their bodies lay torn and ripped on the rocks outside the burning gap in the wall. Above, the last of the archers were being cut down by cinderborn. The only survivors were his fellow martial artists.

  Harold was fighting back to back with Gwen, a circle of cinderborn standing around the two of them. A couple hundred feet away, Kaden had met up with the Iron Ax school. It looked like one or two of them had fallen, but they were still swinging as the attackers closed around them.

  The crunch of a boot on stone drew Erich’s attention back to the present. A cinderborn was approaching him, a woman and noticeably younger than the corpse at his feet.

  He stood up, gripping his sword with both hands and trying to ignore the sensation of blood pouring down his side.

  Without saying a word, his opponent stabbed her sword toward him. Erich’s body screamed in pain as he parried the attack.

  She was slow. Still a bit faster than him, but by some stroke of providence he was fighting against a fellow first tier swordswoman. He parried another attack, this time toward his injured flank.

  Erich hissed with pain. She was clearly trying to target his wound, but at the same time, her physical abilities and skill weren’t nearly as overwhelming as his first duel.

  He feinted toward her shoulder, drawing a frantic block. A quick slash opened up her forearm before the cinderborn warrior resumed her attack.

  This time she was more cautious, and it took Erich four or five more parries before he was able to find an opening to feint. She didn’t bite, instead letting the blade pass over her head as she peppered his lower body with thrusts from her sword.

  Almost a minute later, he got his second chance, drawing her attention with a quick slash toward her face only to angle the attack downward and hit the cinderborn’s collarbone as she committed to her block.

  The attack didn’t have much force behind it, it was hard for Erich to build up inertia when suddenly changing the trajectory of his sword, but it was enough to leave a gash in her armor, his sword biting into the woman’s shoulder. She yelped in pain, dropping her sword and pulling back.

  Before Erich could pursue her, a human warrior stepped up to fill the spot she had vacated. He wasn’t as strong, but his movements were quicker and more fluid.

  Erich lost track of time as the two of them exchanged blows. Neither of them were able to land a decisive strike, but minor injuries began to accumulate. Erich cut the opposing warrior’s left bicep, forcing him to fight one handed. In exchange, he took a stab clean through his shoulder. The stab didn’t hit anything important, and it didn’t stop Erich from fighting, but he could feel his body begin to grow heavy as blood loss took its toll.

  Still, he fought on, trading minor slashes to the chest and thighs with his opponent, until the cry of a bugle interrupted their bout. The human’s eyes widened, and he moved to disengage only for Erich to take advantage of the moment to slash his sword across the distracted and injured man’s throat.

  Once again aether pulsed through him, but it wasn’t enough to undo the amount of damage Erich had taken. He fell back to one knee. The adrenaline fled his body, leaving him weak and shaking as a column of imperial soldiers, skilled martial artists at their fore, stormed toward the gap.

  A handful of cinderborn, clearly high tier and moving supernaturally fast, sprinted away from the counter attack, quickly outrunning the lower tiered enemy warriors that were abandoning their fights in the gap. Erich’s vision dimmed and he sighed in relief.

  Part of him wondered why warriors that powerful were running through the human lines rather than stopping to slaughter all of them, but the curiosity was distant and hard for him to process. A barely heard voice shouting at him from across a crowded and noisy room.

  The wall was still burning and the bugle was still calling, but fresh soldiers were streaming up onto the walls to fire arrows at the retreating enemy even as the remainder filled the broken hole in the wall.

  Overhead, a sphere of fire soared into the pitch black sky as the cinderborn mages resumed their attack, spending mana like water as they covered the retreat.

  A shout brought the reinforcements to a halt, and shieldbearers rushed into position, protecting the new forces from the lines of fire that rained down over the battlefield. Captain Demas exited the formation, barking more orders as he began to take charge of the situation, but his words seemed distant. Foreign. Like he was listening to someone speak in a dream.

  Erich blinked. His body felt incredibly heavy. Like he was wearing the sand weights that Elias piled onto all of the trainees before their conditioning exercises. More than that, he was tired.

  He couldn’t sleep because the enemy was still nearby, but it was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. Maybe if he just let them close for a-

  Erich was asleep before his face hit the stone.