Windgrave shivered under the first true threat to its streets. Word spread like wildfire: the enemy's forces were gathering in the hills outside the city. Jonathan, now a seasoned fighter, stood atop the estate walls, surveying the horizon. Smoke drifted from distant camps, the banners of the enemy fluttering ominously.
Months of training had honed his reflexes, but he knew this would be different. This wasn't a duel in the alleys or an ambush—it was war. Hamon pulsed through him as he prepared defenses, not just of his home but of the city itself. Allies were summoned, traps were laid, and every corner of Windgrave was readied for the coming storm.
Night fell, and the first wave struck. Shadows poured over the gates, black-cloaked figures moving in perfect synchronization. Jonathan led the counterattack, Hamon flaring along his blade, striking like lightning. Each enemy that fell revealed another waiting behind them, the tide seemingly endless.
Hours blurred as battle raged. Jonathan's energy pulsed in time with the rhythm of combat, sensing the patterns in the enemy's movements, predicting their strikes, exploiting weaknesses. Yet even as he fought, he realized the full scope of the threat: the enemy wasn't just attacking—they were testing him, studying him, and learning.
By dawn, the city gates still held, but Jonathan's body ached, muscles screaming, and wounds littered his arms and torso. The siege was not broken, only delayed. The enemy had made their intentions clear: the war for the Jorwick legacy had fully arrived.