The sound that marked the beginning of the end wasn't a horn, or a roar, or even a spell. It was the crack—cold and sharp—of Reflynne's outer walls splitting down the middle like an old bone.
What had survived the first freeze now buckled under the combined march of ogres, Valerian infantry, and the dark-armored Dargath vanguards. Everything that had held the line at Korvath, everything that remained of discipline and strategy, finally snapped like overstretched twine.
Yaguro Aka was the first to notice the western barricade give. He raised both palms, trying to force earth upward in one desperate wall. The dirt trembled, rose half a meter, and then an ogre's club slammed into it, scattering the attempt into dust. The shockwave threw him backward into a collapsed vendor stall.
He didn't get back up.
Kaisei Aoi saw it, sword raised, face streaked with soot. He wanted to run to him—but a Dargath lancer appeared in front of him, the tip of a black spear aimed for his heart. Kaisei parried, side-stepped, and carved through the lancer's ribs in a clean arc. It bought him two seconds.
Two seconds was nothing in a battlefield already lost.
Seiko Nakahara stood in the ruined fountain, water swirling around her arms. Every spell she cast hurt—her mana core felt like a cracked jar—but she unleashed another deluge anyway, sending a wave that toppled a cluster of ogres. The water froze the moment it touched the ground.
"Mayor Seiko!" Nishi Sayuri sprinted to her, clutching an alchemist's satchel against her chest. "Your mana—stop casting, you'll—"
"We don't get to stop," Seiko whispered, eyes fixed forward.
A Valerian shock trooper leapt toward them. Sayuri pulled a vial from her belt and hurled it into his chest. A cloud of violet mist exploded outward. The trooper staggered, coughing, tearing at his face.
Sayuri grabbed Seiko's arm. "We have to fall back! Lia ordered—"
A roar swallowed her voice. One of the lesser ogres, wounded but still monstrous, swung a metal beam. Sayuri shoved Seiko aside just in time.
The beam caught Sayuri in the stomach.
She dropped to her knees, blood soaking her shirt.
Seiko screamed for help.
But the river of battle had already swept past them.
---
Archers ran while firing—an insane technique, but necessary. Kenji Katsuragi loosed four arrows into the air, each glowing with the heat of an overcharged shot. They streaked upward, then plummeted like embers into the advancing ogres.
Beside him, Seikaku Entenki steadied his breathing even though they were sprinting across broken ground.
"Bull's Eye—Raging Line!"
A single arrow tore from his bowstring. It curved mid-flight, threading impossible paths to spear straight into a Valerian mage preparing a war spell. The mage dropped, choking on his own blood.
Hana Hyakui fired from just behind them, her arrows thinner but perfectly aimed. "Reload faster!" she shouted, even as she loosed another pair.
"Tell the ground to stop shaking and maybe I will!" Kenji snapped back.
Hana snorted, shot another ogre through the eye, and kept running.
Far behind them, the last of the novice fighters struggled to keep up. Jyurei Miyata's arms trembled as she drew her bowstring; every shot went wide. Juweru Kasumura dragged her by the arm, daggers dripping with Dargath blood.
"Keep moving, Jyurei! I'm not leaving you!"
"I—I can't breathe—"
"You'll breathe in Orleaf, now move!"
Glass shattered as Sayuri's poison bombs detonated in the distance, mixing with the thunder of Seiko's collapsing water shields.
And then—a voice cut through the chaos.
"Evacuate! All forces fall back! Move toward the south gate!"
Lia Shinsei stood on the broken remnants of Reflynne's central platform, blue magic swirling around her like a trembling flame. Her voice carried across the battlefield, forceful and steady despite the horror around her.
When leaders die, troops crumble.
When leaders stand, even a dying army keeps walking.
"Civilians take priority! Archers cover the retreat! Melee fighters, form rotating lines!" she commanded.
A wave of exhausted adventurers rallied at her tone. Ogres crashed against them. Valerian blades flashed in the snow. Dargath shadows vanished and reappeared between bodies.
Still—they held enough to retreat.
Barely.
---
Yoshiya Hazeru stumbled through the chaos, leaning heavily on his staff. His vision pulsed between black and white every few seconds.
The mana-ring circulation he'd discovered earlier kept him alive…but it couldn't fix the hollow ache inside his core. Every spell he cast felt like someone banging on the inside of his chest with a hammer.
Omina Mizuraga held her swords low at her sides, eyes wild with the remnants of berserk strain. Every breath came out in a low snarl, but she stayed by his side, shielding him from anything that approached.
A Dargath soldier lunged.
Omina moved faster than thought.
Her blade opened the soldier from hip to shoulder. She kicked the body away and swung again, clearing another fighter who got too close.
"Yoshiya, keep your head up," she growled. "You're weaving."
"You're…drifting," he muttered back.
"Drifting is different from falling."
She didn't meet his eyes, but her voice softened for a moment.
"Stay with me."
The road to the south gate was a long corridor of burning homes, broken stone, and bodies. Civilians surged like a panicked river—mothers carrying children, elders limping, wounded soldiers clinging to each other.
Yoshiya moved among them, touching shoulders, whispering spells.
"Mass Heal."
"Blessing."
"Purify."
Each cast drained him, but he couldn't stop. His legs shook. His lips split from dryness. At some point he realized he was crying without noticing.
Omina grabbed his wrist once. "Enough."
"Not yet."
"It's never enough."
"That's why I can't stop."
A roar cut through the street as a massive ogre charged past the burning granary. A group of civilians froze.
Omina sprinted ahead.
Aura Blade lit her swords in white-blue light.
She met the ogre head-on—ducked under its swing—then carved both blades upward in a perfect cross. The ogre toppled like a felled tree.
Civilians cheered and fled.
Yoshiya breathed once, then kept moving.
---
The last defensive cluster near the south gate was collapsing fast.
Tamaki Yume fought at the center of it, swinging a blacksmith's hammer big enough to crush skulls in one strike. Armor cracked each time she hit something. A Dargath captain tried to flank her; she shattered his knee and then his helm in two rapid blows.
"Keep moving! Don't bunch up in the choke!" she yelled as more civilians approached.
Mikage Reiken appeared beside her, fists soaked with blood. His breathing was calm despite the madness.
"Tamaki, the left flank's folding. We need to go."
"You go. I'll clear the rest."
"You'll die."
"We're all dying. Some of us just get to choose how fast."
Before Mikage could argue, a fresh wave of ogres lumbered into view.
Tamaki turned back to the civilians. "Run!"
---
Anzuyi Bizen moved like a shadow between shadows. Every now and then, a Valerian soldier would stumble mid-stride before collapsing to the ground, a thin line across his throat. Anzuyi never stopped moving long enough to be seen.
She passed by Jyurei and Juweru, both barely standing. Without breaking stride, she murmured:
"South. Don't stop."
Then she vanished again.
---
Jose and Hokuto Chika directed the final wave of evacuees toward the collapsing gate. Jose carried two children under each arm. Hokuto dragged three wounded adventurers by their collars.
When the outer gate finally cracked and fell, Jose spat dust and shouted, "Move through the breach! Don't step on the shards—they're frozen!"
The refugees surged forward, stepping over bodies and rubble.
---
Finally—finally—they cleared the city limits.
The battlefield behind them rumbled like a living nightmare. The Ogres climbed over the bodies of their own fallen. Valerian mages lit the ruins in cold blue fire. Dargath assassins appeared silently behind stragglers who fell an inch too far behind.
Only a fraction of Reflynne survived the storm.
Only a fraction of Korvath had survived before them.
Now two broken, bleeding rivers of refugees converged on the same forest path, merging into a single mass of people staggering southward toward Orleaf.
Yoshiya and Omina walked with them, side by side, leaning on each other's strength. Yoshiya's mana rings dimmed to a faint glow. Omina's swords were chipped and blood-stained. Neither spoke.
There was nothing left to say.
The line had broken.
And everything that once stood proud now collapsed behind them in smoke, frost, and death.
They walked because stopping meant joining the dead.
And because somewhere ahead—however uncertain—Orleaf was waiting.
A chance.
A breath.
A place to fall apart later.
But for now, only one truth mattered:
They were still alive.