Up on the battlements, the wind was throwing a absolute tantrum, howling like a chorus of miserable ghosts.
Under the flickering torchlight, Wuka's face looked like a horror movie prop, blood soaking his collar. Without a second thought, he downed the healing potion Colin had personally brewed. It smelled like a funky health food store, but the effects were pure sci-fi. A warm, electric surge shot through his veins. The deep, bone-exposing gash on his face stopped leaking in real-time, the mangled flesh literally twitching as it tried to knit itself back together.
It was Wuka's first time tasting the Boss's premium stash. Feeling the pain vanish and life force snap back into his body, Wuka looked at Colin with an expression bordering on religious fanaticism. He scrambled to his feet, ready to sprint right back into the meat grinder.
A broad, heavy palm slammed onto his shoulder, dropping him right back down. Colin's grip was like a hydraulic press.
"Rest up," Colin said. His voice was gravelly and deep, holding a rare, quiet gentleness. "You did good."
For Wuka, that casual praise was better than a medal of honor. His eyes welled up, and with his adrenaline finally bottoming out, he slumped against the stone wall, wheezing contentedly.
Colin stood up and turned his back on the scout, facing the vast, pitch-black abyss of the northern horizon.
In a fraction of a second, any trace of warmth vanished from his expression. It was replaced by a look so frosty and lethal it could have frozen water mid-splash. The last bit of hesitation in his mind evaporated.
"Pass the word," Colin commanded, his voice slicing through the wind like an icicle.
> "Wolf Fang Legion, Rock Legion, all Wolf Riders, and Forest Trail Cavalry—assemble at the drill grounds immediately!"
The order hit the fortress like a match thrown into a powder keg.
***WOOOO—WOOOO—WOOOO—!***
The assembly horns bleated from every watchtower simultaneously, their synchronized roars shattering the night.
*DRUM. DRUM. DRUM. DRUM.*
Massive war drums began to thud at the edge of the square, a frantic, heavy rhythm that mirrored the racing heartbeats of the warriors below. The entire fortress—a colossal, sleeping war machine—finally shifted into maximum overdrive.
---
### The Lineup
The steel currents converged on the drill grounds with terrifying speed and military precision:
* **The Wolf Fang Legion:** 2,100 Werewolf warriors led by Goff. They poured out of the barracks like a dark tide, silently buckling into uniform black armor and drawing wicked, razor-sharp blades.
* **The Rock Legion:** 837 Boar-folk heavy infantry under Barton. These guys were literal walking tanks, strapping into the thickest, heaviest plate armor available and hefting massive war hammers and greataxes. Every step they took made the dirt vibrate.
* **The Snow Giant Wolf Riders:** Hask and 236 riders, alongside Colin's personal elite, the Twelve Wolf Guards. Their massive mounts were pacing restlessly, letting out low, rumbling growls as if they could already smell the blood forty miles out.
* **The Forest Trackers:** Reze's nimble squad of 60 Deer-folk and Fox-folk cavalry, armed with repeating crossbows and spears—the apex predators of the woods.
Colin stood at the edge of the eight-meter wall, looking down at his hand-crafted army like a god mapping out a chessboard. Thousands of torches turned the square into day, glinting off a sea of cold steel and locking onto thousands of pairs of eyes filled with an absolute, terrifying willingness to die for him.
---
### The Speech
Colin's inner tactician was screaming at him.
The math was terrible. The enemy vanguard alone had over a thousand regular cavalry. Throw in the thousands of slave-hunters hanging around them like locusts, and they were outnumbered at least five to one—maybe ten to one.
Logic said: *Stay behind the big stone wall. Use the traps, the arrows, the boiling oil. Wait for Anna to bring reinforcements. Hell, if things get bad, pull a tactical retreat into the deep woods.*
But Colin looked at the fortress. He looked at the empty houses, the streets that had finally echoed with laughter, the newly planted fields, the smell of *home*.
A sudden, volcanic heat erupted in his chest. He didn't do long, poetic speeches. He just opened his mouth, his newly upgraded voice resonating across the entire square, effortlessly drowning out the wind and the crackling torches.
"The enemy outnumbers us ten to one."
The silence that followed was absolute. Thousands of eyes locked onto him.
"This is a war we could easily avoid," Colin continued, his tone carrying the heavy, bitter weight of history. "We could run."
He paused, letting the word hang in the air.
"My ancestors lived on the fertile Golden Plains. Humans came, crushed their homes, and hacked down their totems. My ancestors chose to flee into the valleys. My father's generation lived in the mountains. Humans came again, greedier than demons, painting the peaks red. My tribe was shattered. And me?"
He let out a short, self-mocking laugh.
"I ran too. Like a stray dog, I dragged myself into this Blackwood Forest, a place everyone calls a 'dead land.' But today?"
Colin slowly raised his hand, pointing not toward the enemy, but back at the magnificent fortress behind them.
"Everything is different! We stood here, and we built these walls with our own hands! We sweat over this soil! We built warm houses, gathered food, and gave our children a place to grow! We finally have something we are willing to protect with our actual souls!"
His voice suddenly went from a rumble to a literal thunderclap, his spiritual pressure exploding outward like a physical shockwave.
**"So tell me—this time, do you still want to run?!"**
A dead silence gripped the yard for a single, agonizing second. Then, the dam broke.
***"NO—!!"***
***"KILL THEM—!!"***
***"NO RUNNING—!!"***
A roar capable of splitting a mountain ripped from the chests of thousands of warriors. The Werewolves howled a savage war cry; the Boar-folk beat their breastplates with heavy hammers, creating a deafening storm of clanging metal; the Fox and Deer-folk shrieked like birds of prey. It was generations of suppressed rage, humiliation, and defiance finally boiling over.
---
### The Counter-Attack
"Good!"
Stars practically erupted in Colin's eyes. He slammed his fist down onto the stone battlement. *CRACK.* The solid bluestone fractured under his raw strength, chips flying everywhere.
"Wolf Fang Legion! Rock Legion!" Colin barked at Goff and Barton. "Blackwood Fortress is in a state of total war. This wall belongs to you. Turn it into a meat grinder that drains them of every drop of blood they have!"
"Sir!" the two commanders roared back, slamming their fists to their chests.
"Hask! Reze!" Colin's gaze cut toward the cavalry. "Mount up. You're with me."
The two cavalry leaders straightened like arrows, their eyes burning.
"The enemy has marched a long way; they're exhausted and overconfident," Colin said, his voice dripping with pure steel. "Instead of sitting here waiting to be surrounded, we're firing the first shot. We defend by attacking. We're going to blunt their spearhead and remind them that Blackwood Forest isn't a backyard they can just stroll into."
It was complete madness. Bringing less than three hundred riders to ambush an army of thousands?
It was also incredibly badass.
Colin didn't waste another second. He strode down the stairs, where his loyal partner, Mo—the massive, pure-white giant wolf—was waiting. Colin didn't use the stirrups; he just leaped lightly, landing soundlessly on Mo's broad back. He could feel the restless, sea-like power vibrating through the beast, perfectly synced with his own bloodlust.
Behind him, 236 Wolf Riders and 60 Forest Trackers lined up in a tight, lethal wedge formation behind the massive iron gates. Two hundred and ninety-six poisoned arrows ready to fly.
Colin took one last glance back at Goff and Barton standing guard on the wall. A stray thought popped into his head: *Yeah, we definitely need more cavalry. If we survive this, I'm putting Frost-Horned Deer mounts on the budget immediately.*
He looked back into the deep, welcoming darkness of the forest.
"Move out," he whispered.
Mo blurred into a streak of white lightning, bursting through the gates. Hask, Reze, and the Twelve Wolf Guards hit the gas right behind him. The tiny, lethal torrent of riders dissolved silently into the shadows of the northern woods, sprinting headfirst into a five-to-one suicide mission.
And they couldn't wait.