The emergency bell was a frantic, clanging heartbeat that echoed through the stone and wood of Riverwatch. It was a sound of pure panic, a death knell that had sent citizens scrambling to bolt their doors and pray to gods they had long forgotten.
But on the city's eastern wall, the panic had been forged into a grim, tense resolve.
Ren stood near the main gate, a ghost in the chaos. He had arrived moments after the alarm, moving with a speed that defied logic, but he had deliberately left his new gear in his inventory. He wore the same ragged tunic and trousers he had arrived in, his S-Rank dagger, Eclipse, hidden and sheathed. To the hundreds of soldiers and adventurers rushing to their posts, he was nothing. A shadow.
Near the supply crates, Ren saw a young Garrison soldier, no older than himself, being handed a helmet by a C-Rank adventurer—a woman with a healer's insignia on her pauldron.
"Don't you die on me, Leo," the healer said, her voice trying to be firm but trembling slightly. "I just patched you up from that troll hunt last week."
The soldier, Leo, gave a shaky grin. "Don't worry, sis. I'll stay behind the big guys. Just... be careful on the wall."
They shared a brief, desperate hug before a captain's shout sent them scrambling to their posts. Ren watched them go. He didn't know them. He didn't care about them. But he understood the equation. They were a variable. A weakness in the "Anvil" that could break under pressure. Their fear was a tangible liability.
The air was thick with the smell of sweat, fear, and cheap steel. Four hundred soldiers of the Riverwatch Garrison formed ranks along the palisade. Fifty Captains, distinguished by the plumes on their helmets, stood ready, their tamed beasts—armored boars, hulking bears, and agile hunting cats—growling restlessly beside them.
And then there were the adventurers. Over a hundred of them, a chaotic mob of mages in bright robes, rangers checking their bowstrings, and warriors sharpening their blades. They were the city's first and last line of defense.
Ren's presence did not go unnoticed, but it was noted with contempt.
"Look at this E-Rank trash," a soldier spat on the ground near Ren's feet. "He'll be the first to die and get trampled."
"Probably just registered yesterday," another adventurer sneered to his companion. "Came to the city for safety and walked right into a slaughter. Bad luck, kid."
Ren ignored them. His Intelligence (132) was processing the scene with inhuman clarity. He wasn't just seeing a crowd; he was seeing formations, calculating distances, and analyzing the structural integrity of the gate. He could hear the chittering of the goblin horde beyond the wall, a sound like a million pieces of grinding gravel. It was a sound of hunger.
Suddenly, the crowd parted. A path was cleared with a mixture of awe and reverence.
A knight was approaching.
She rode a white warhorse whose armor shone like polished silver in the pre-dawn light. The knight herself was a vision of lethal elegance. Her armor was masterfully crafted, fitting her form perfectly, its steel inlaid with gold filigree. She wore no helmet, revealing a face of stunning beauty, framed by long, silver hair tied in a severe braid. Her eyes were the color of a winter sky—cold, clear, and commanding.
[Appraisal]
[Target: Elara Vane]
[Title: Knight-Commander of the Royal Vanguard]
[Level: ??]
[Rank: A+]
Every soldier and captain snapped to attention, slamming a fist over their heart in salute.
"Knight-Commander!" the lead captain shouted. "We are honored by your presence!"
Elara dismounted with a fluid grace, her armored boots making no sound on the stone. "Report," she said, her voice calm and crisp, cutting through the nervous tension. "What is the status of the horde?"
"Scouts report a stampede, Commander. At least five thousand E-Rank goblins, with a possible core of D-Rank Hobgoblin leaders driving them. They are disorganized but overwhelming. The gate will not hold against a sustained assault."
"It will not have to," Elara stated, her gaze sweeping over the defenses.
Before she could continue, another group of adventurers pushed their way to the front. They were led by a boy who couldn't have been older than Ren, but who carried himself with an insufferable arrogance. He was handsome, with perfectly coiffed blond hair, and wore a set of gleaming black armor that pulsed with a faint, dark energy. Three other adventurers, clearly his subordinates, followed him like loyal hounds.
[Appraisal]
[Target: Bilt]
[Class: Dark Swordsman]
[Level: 22]
[Rank: B]
Bilt's eyes scanned the crowd, dismissing the soldiers as fodder. Then, his gaze landed on Ren. He paused, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He sauntered over, his subordinates parting the crowd for him.
"You," Bilt said, his voice low but carrying. "The ghost from the arena. The one who fainted. Master Shein told me about you. Said you were a clever little rat."
Ren remained silent, his expression unreadable under his hood.
Bilt leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Master Shein also said you owe him a debt. When this is over, he'll be collecting. Try not to die before then, E-Rank. It would be... inconvenient."
Bilt smirked and walked away to join the Knight-Commander, leaving Ren standing there. The threat was clear. It wasn't just the goblins Ren had to survive. He now had a target on his back from the most powerful man in the city's underworld. The battle for Riverwatch had just become personal.
Just then, a booming voice cut through the tension. "ENOUGH POSTURING! WE HAVE A WAR TO PLAN!"
Guild Master Vargus strode through the crowd, his massive frame a reassuring presence. He ignored Bilt completely and walked straight to Knight-Commander Elara and the five lead captains.
"Commander," Vargus grunted, nodding his head in respect. "Good to see the Royals haven't forgotten about us backwater towns."
"The Crown protects its borders, Guild Master," Elara replied coolly. "Even the noisy ones."
"Good. Then let's make some noise," Vargus said. He gestured to the captains. "My office. Twenty minutes. We draw the battle lines now. The rest of you, get into your squads and prepare for orders!"
Twenty hot, tense minutes later, Vargus and Elara emerged from the Guild Hall's forward command post. They stood on a platform overlooking the assembled forces.
"Listen up, you maggots!" Vargus roared, his voice carrying across the entire wall. "We have a plan. It is simple. It is brutal. And if a single one of you fails to do your part, we all die and get eaten. We are calling it The Iron Grinder."
Knight-Commander Elara stepped forward, her clear voice taking over. "The enemy's advantage is their number. Our advantage is this wall and this gate. We will not defend the entire wall. That would spread our forces too thin. Instead, we will turn our strongest point into a weapon."
She pointed a gauntleted finger at the main gate.
"Phase One: The Funnel. We will open the main gate just enough for three goblins to enter abreast. This will create a bottleneck, forcing their horde into a narrow, compressed kill zone."
A murmur of fear went through the soldiers. Open the gate? It was suicide.
Vargus silenced them with a glare. "Let her finish!"
"Phase Two: The Anvil," Elara continued, her voice unwavering. "Inside the gate, the Garrison's heavy infantry, reinforced by the Guild's Tank-class adventurers, will form a shield wall—a phalanx. Your captains and their beasts will anchor the flanks. Your job is simple: Hold. The. Line. You are the anvil upon which this horde will break."
She then gestured to the top of the palisades.
"Phase Three: The Hammer. All ranged adventurers—Mages, Rangers, Archers—will take positions on the walls overlooking the funnel. You will have a compressed, helpless mass of enemies to target. Rain down hell. Do not stop casting, do not stop shooting, until your mana is dry or your quivers are empty. You are the hammer."
Finally, her gaze fell upon Bilt's squad and her own Royal Knights.
"Phase Four: The Scalpel. The elite strike teams—my knights and Bilt's party—will remain mobile. Your task is surgical. If any D-Rank Hobgoblins, Shamans, or Champions break through the funnel, you will intercept and eliminate them before they can disrupt the Anvil."
A young adventurer raised his hand nervously. "Commander? What about the rest of us? The C-Rank and lower melee fighters?"
Vargus stepped forward. "You are the Reserve Corps. You will stand behind the Anvil. Your job is to pull the wounded from the front line, finish off any goblins that slip past the shield wall, and be ready to plug any gaps that form. You are the mortar that holds the bricks together. Do not think your job is unimportant."
Ren stood among the newly designated Reserve Corps, a sea of nervous C-Rank and terrified D-Rank adventurers. He was invisible. He was exactly where he wanted to be.
Elara raised her voice for the final time. "The advantage of this plan is that it maximizes our defensive strength and offensive firepower. It turns the enemy's numbers against them. The disadvantage," she said, her voice turning grim, "is that we have a single point of failure. If the Anvil breaks, the city is lost. There is no Plan B. There is no retreat."
A deep, resonant horn blast echoed from the command post. It was the signal.
GRIND. SQUEAL. CLANK.
The massive iron gate began to open, a dark maw preparing to welcome the tide of death.
Beyond it, the first wave of the goblin horde shrieked, their red eyes wild with bloodlust as they saw the opening.
Ren drew his new S-Rank dagger, Eclipse. The black blade didn't reflect the light; it seemed to swallow it whole.
The first goblin scrambled through the gap. Then another. Then a dozen. Then a hundred.
The battle for Riverwatch had begun.
[End of Chapter 27]