Chapter 247 - 249: Taking Back The Zugan Town (part 1)

Words : 1420 Updated : Oct 5th, 2025

Chapter 247: Chapter 249: Taking Back The Zugan Town (part 1) After some time, Velira exits the war room with an exhausted face. The grand halls feel colder now, quieter, as if the walls themselves are still absorbing the weight of the meeting. She walks with a heavy gait, her boots echoing faintly against the polished stone. The palace corridors stretch before her—twisting, silent, lit by flickering crystal sconces. When she reaches her quarters, she doesn’t knock. She just pushes the door open. Inside, Gresren and Solven are already waiting. Solven is leaning against the window ledge, arms crossed, looking out over the city rooftops. Gresren is seated on one of the low couches, boots off, his feet propped on a small table, a half-eaten peach in his hand. Velira stops in the doorway and lets her head fall back with a tired groan. "You two better not be eating my rations." Solven glances over his shoulder. "Only the fruit. Gresren was going for your wine, but I stopped him." Gresren lifts the peach with a shrug. "You didn’t stop me. I just didn’t find it." Velira steps in and drops her cloak over a chair. "That’s because I hid it under the floorboards, genius." Gresren blinks. "...Oh." Solven cracks a grin. "Noted for next time." Velira sinks into the armchair, arms heavy, eyes half-lidded. "We’re moving," she says plainly. Gresren looks up from his peach. "Where?" "Zugan Town." Solven turns from the window. "Already? But Sir Hadrik’s supposed to arrive in the next two days." "I know." Velira rubs her eyes. "But orders are orders. We’re to strike before then." Gresren whistles low. "Jumping the gun, aren’t they?" "Not really," Velira replies, straightening. "Intel says the strongest monster left guarding Zugan is a middle-level Tier 5." Gresren tosses the peach pit aside and stretches his arms behind his head with a sigh. "Well then," he says, voice casual but a little tighter than usual, "I guess I need to get some good sleep tonight." Solven nods slowly, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. Let’s do that. It’ll be a long and hard battle tomorrow." Velira looks at them both, faint gratitude in her tired eyes. "Thanks." Gresren stands, gives her a light slap on the shoulder as he passes. "We’ll be ready, Commander." Velira lifts a hand in acknowledgment, and with that, the two men leave her room, their footsteps fading down the corridor. The Next Morning The sun hasn’t yet risen when the drums begin to beat. The Next Morning The sun hasn’t yet risen when the drums begin to beat. The courtyard is alive with movement—soldiers in full armor line the ranks, their black-and-silver Ashedge banners fluttering in the wind. Twenty thousand troops stand in formation across the stone courtyard and spill into the adjacent grounds, orderly and silent, their faces set like steel. The clank of gear, the low murmur of last words, the distant bark of an officer checking final counts—all of it hums like a storm just about to break. Velira stands at the front, mounted on a black war elk, her armor gleaming faintly under the blue morning haze. Her hair is tied back into a braid, and her helm rests at her side. Gresren and Solven ride to her left and right, both in full battle regalia. Gresren gives her a sidelong look. "Are you ready?" Velira raises her voice—calm, firm, cutting through the air like a blade. "Warriors of Ashedge!" she calls. The ranks fall utterly still. "Our time has come. Our march is not for conquest. It’s not for glory. It’s to take back what was stolen. The monsters at Zugan hold what once belonged to our people. Today, we remind them who the land truly answers to." A cheer erupts—low at first, then rising like a tide crashing against stone. Velira puts her helm on and lifts her arm. "March!" The horns sound. The banners lift. And twenty thousand Ashedge soldiers begin their march east. ---- Hours later, perimeter outside Zugan Town The sun is already descending, casting long shadows over the broken ridgelands as the Ashedge army settles into a cautious halt just beyond Zugan’s outer ring. The once-prosperous town lies in the shallow basin ahead—half-submerged in mist, with rooftops crooked and walls broken. The air smells of damp stone and blood that’s long dried. Velira stands, arms folded, eyes fixed on the horizon. Her elk grazes nearby, untethered but ever watchful. She doesn’t speak. She’s waiting. The wind shifts. A rustle, soft but deliberate, reaches her ears from the left treeline. Moments later, Solven emerges from the underbrush, cloak pulled tight, boots near-silent on the dirt. Velira turns to him as he approaches, eyes narrowing. "Report." Solven stops a few paces away and gives a small nod. His voice is low, clipped, but urgent. "They’re dug in. Real structured. Patrols every fifteen minutes. Inner ring’s fortified—looks like they reinforced the old town walls with steel plates." Velira’s brow tightens. "They expecting us?" Solven nods once. "Absolutely. They’re not scrambling. They’re waiting. Like they know we’re here." She exhales through her nose, sharp. "Numbers?" "At least two thousand in the outer perimeter. Maybe more behind the walls. They’re not swarming like wild beasts either—they’re patrolling in units. Organized, disciplined." He hesitates a beat. "And they’re armored. Heavy. Uniform." Velira looks up sharply. "Hmm." "Matching plate. Dark grey, angular. Not patchwork. Full sets. Helmets, greaves, gauntlets—enchanted, by the look of it. I’d say they’re more armored than our vanguard." Gresren strides over just in time to hear that last part. "More armored than us?" he scoffs. "That’s not possible." A beat of silence passes between them. Velira’s voice is low, quiet, but iron beneath it. "So it’s true then." Solven nods. "They’re not chaotic. They’re not wild. They’re like us." Gresren folds his arms. "So what’s the play, Commander? Storm the gates and see who breaks first?" Velira shakes her head immediately. "No, that’s suicide. If they’re that coordinated, a direct charge will only lead to heavy casualties." She points toward the western slope. "We set up a false siege line there. Get them watching the wrong side of the hill. Meanwhile, Solven and the scout will open that gate." --- The moon hangs low and orange in the sky, veiled behind thin clouds that drift like smoke. The Ashedge soldiers, ten thousand strong, move with ghostlike silence into position along the broken southern ridgeline. Gresren crouches behind a jagged outcrop of stone, his shield strapped to his back, sword resting across his knees. His eyes sweep the distant town walls with a wary calm. Above them, Velira stands on a narrow bluff, wind tugging at the ends of her cloak. Her black war elk is tied off behind her, snorting quietly in the dark. She’s still, watching the enemy formation under the cover of moonlight—rows of dark, metal-gleaming figures moving in perfect rhythm. Patrols march like clockwork. Not a trace of chaos. No gaps. Solven returns from the far end of the ravine, crouching low beside Gresren. "We’re ready," he says. "Scouts in place. Signal teams are watching from the ridge. Just say the word." A gust of wind brushes past her. She reaches behind her back and draws her bow—a sleek, silver-black weapon that hums faintly with stored mana. It gleams under the moonlight, lines of wind-etched runes pulsing along its limbs. No quiver hangs at her side. She doesn’t need one. Velira plants her boots, slowly raising the bow. "Solven," she says, her voice steady, "give the scouts the countdown. Gresren—once the volley hits, you charge with your line. Shield wall first. Force them inward." Gresren stands up fully and slams his shield against the rock once, a low thunk in the dark. "Got it. We’ll crack the flank before they even know we’re inside the town." Velira doesn’t reply. Her fingers draw back the empty bowstring, and mana rushes into the space—shaping itself into a translucent green arrow made of pure wind essence. It sharpens in the air, its tip narrow like a lance, glowing faintly. She whispers the skill’s name—almost reverently. "Tier 5: Windfall Volley." The bow pulses. The mana arrow glows brighter, then fragments—splitting mid-air with a shrill whistle. One becomes three. Three become thirty. Thirty fracture into hundreds. Each arrow spins, slicing the wind with impossible speed, trailing thin spirals of air in their wake as they rise, then fall—like a reverse storm drawn into her command. A heartbeat of silence. Then— KRRAAAMMM!

Chapter 247 - 249: Taking Back The Zugan Town (part 1)

Comments (0)