Orson ducked low as a blade carved the air above his head. He rammed his shoulder into the soldier's chest, sending the man stumbling back into a knot of rebels who tore him down with rusted steel and desperate fury. The clash of metal rang around him, chaos spilling through the streets of Ashenhold.
The Defiance was breaking.
Smoke burned Orson's throat, rising from torched homes. Screams threaded through the clang of steel. For days they had pushed the Crimson Oath back, striking in alleys, burning supply wagons, luring patrols into traps. But tonight, the Oath had come in force—armoured lines sweeping block by block, cutting the rebels to pieces.
Orson's sword arm ached, his breath ragged. He risked a glance to the east. A barricade that had taken half a day to raise was collapsing under the Oath's push. Rebels fled in panic, trampled under shields and boots.
