Chapter 115 – The Second Night
The sound of clashing blades finally waned as nightfall draped the battlefield. Campfires burned along both camps' perimeters, their smoke mingling with the coppery stench of blood. The air was heavy, thick with grief and tension.
Fenrir stood near Eisenwald's forward line, gazing at the soaked earth littered with fallen men. The day had been brutal, but Eisenwald endured. Against an army nearly twice their number, his soldiers had held the line for two whole days. But the cost weighed heavily on him.
Darius Holt, his armor dented and his face streaked with grime, approached. His eyes were bloodshot but unwavering. "My lord, the line still holds. But we lost many today."
Fenrir's lips tightened. "I know. But they fell with honor. Tomorrow, we make sure their sacrifice carries weight."
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The command tent buzzed with subdued urgency. Kael Morgenstern, clad in his cracked black armor, loomed beside the war map. Garrik Stormhoof sat on a bench, one leg bandaged but his spirit unbroken. Selene Aestra arrived last, her quiver half-empty, and placed a parchment on the table.
"Half our arrows remain," she reported coolly. "If tomorrow matches today's intensity, we'll need to ration."
Kael's deep voice followed, sharp as steel. "We've shown our teeth. The enemy won't underestimate us again. Which means tomorrow… they'll throw everything at us."
Fenrir set his hand firmly on the map. "Then let them. The harder they push, the wider the cracks they'll open. We aren't just defending—we're hunting every mistake they make."
Darius crossed his arms, nodding firmly. "The men believe in you, my lord. Even after today's losses, their fire hasn't dimmed."
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Meanwhile, the three-baron coalition's encampment boiled with anger. Baron Altenburg slammed his fist on the table. "How in the hells are we stalled by a force half our size?! This is humiliation!"
Baron Falkenhain leaned back in his chair, his sharp smile gleaming in the firelight. "It's not the numbers—it's the man leading them. Fenrir Eisenwald isn't a mere boy. He's a wolf that's learned how to bite."
One officer sneered. "Are you saying we should fear a cub?"
Falkenhain's eyes cut through the tent like daggers. His voice dropped cold. "Fear? No. Kill him. Tomorrow, I'll face him myself. Cut the wolf's head, and his pack will scatter."
The tent fell silent. Falkenhain's declaration carried weight—not arrogance, but certainty. The others knew this duel could decide the war's course.
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Later that night, Fenrir stepped outside. The cold air bit at his skin, the stars glittering overhead. Around the campfires, his soldiers whispered and sang softly, clinging to fragments of warmth after the carnage.
They fight, they bleed, they die for the vow I swore, Fenrir thought grimly. I cannot fail them.
Kael approached, dropping to one knee before his lord. "My lord… today they saw our might. Tomorrow, I fear the enemy will come for you directly."
Fenrir's crimson gaze hardened. "Then let them. If Baron Falkenhain seeks me, I'll meet him. Tomorrow, we won't merely endure—we'll tear their pride apart."
Kael bowed his head. "Your will is my command."
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The second night settled. Guards patrolled with weary steps. Others slept clutching their blades. The atmosphere was heavy but unbroken.
Fenrir sat alone in his tent, polishing his sword. The dried blood on its edge reflected his father's face—Celdric, who had entrusted him with Eisenwald's future.
Father… I'll keep walking forward. Even if the world itself stands in my way.
He tightened his grip until his knuckles whitened. Tomorrow, the Crimson Wolf would bare his fangs once more.
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Real-Time Report – End of the Second Day
Eisenwald Forces
Starting Strength: 10,200
Additional Losses: ~500
Current Strength: 9,700
Morale: High, though strained.
Enemy Coalition (Three Barons)
Starting Strength: 13,500
Additional Losses: ~2,000
Current Strength: 11,500
Morale: Shaken, but bolstered by Falkenhain's resolve.
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