CHAPTER 98: Northern Wall (Part 6)

War at Sunrise

“I have waited years for a proper specimen,” she said.

The serpent hissed around her chair.

Outside, beyond the Northern Wall, the Dark Forest answered with a distant roar.

By sunrise, the snowfield had not changed.

The first light of morning climbed over the ridges with a pale, exhausted color, but it did nothing to soften the battlefield beneath the wall. The snow remained stained with blood, ash, dark sap, venom, and the blackened remains of monsters burned through the night. Broken arrows stood from frozen corpses like reeds in a dead marsh. Ent branches smoked where fire teams had failed to finish burning them completely. The bodies of goblins, orcs, dire wolves, lizardmen, spiderlings, lower wyverns, and stranger beasts lay layered across the outer killing field, some cleared into piles, others frozen into the ground where they had fallen. Dawn did not make the scene holy. It only made it visible.

Still, the sunrise was enough to ignite the wall.

The men and women of Frosthelm moved before the horn sounded. Some had slept for only a few hours against stone, shields, or rolled cloaks. Some had not slept at all, kept awake by fear, preparation, or the memory of claws scraping against the lower wall through the night. Mages warmed their fingers over braziers and checked their mana stones. Archers counted arrows and restrung bows with hands that still shook from the previous day. Knights rotated armor straps, tested shield locks, and forced cold limbs to move until stiffness became obedience. Mercenaries laughed too loudly near the lower yard, not because they felt no fear, but because their kind had learned that silence gave fear too much room.

The Northern Wall itself looked wounded but unbroken.

New supports had been raised where Ent bodies had struck outer barricades. Damaged spikes were replaced. Scorched stone was scrubbed just enough to reveal cracks. Ballista crews had worked through the night repairing torsion arms and repositioning bolts according to the expected flight paths of wyverns. Along the parapet, priests moved with censers, murmuring blessings over bloodied walkways. Below them, corpse crews still dragged monster bodies away from sections where the dead had begun forming accidental ramps.

At the command post, three figures sat before the main table.

Simmon Frosthelm sat at the center, broad and severe beneath his fur-lined command cloak, his eyes fixed on the map of the wall and surrounding field. Baldur Redock sat to his right with one boot planted against the chair leg, his great axe resting near enough that no guard mistook his relaxed posture for carelessness. Amethyst sat to the left, dark green dress untouched by the battlefield’s dirt, white hair falling smoothly over her shoulder, the pale serpent coiled around her arm and chair as though it were merely waiting for amusement.

Hadrin stood behind the table with updated notes. Altea and Baldur’s elite unit remained nearby, already armored and fed. Lira looked paler than usual from the previous night’s extended support field, though Amethyst’s arrival had allowed her several hours of true rest. Reign had reorganized his bolt cases into three categories: aerial threats, armored threats, and emergency threats. Rico flexed his gauntlets repeatedly as if speaking to them. Udoff leaned on his massive shield, quiet and alert. Shan was not visible, though no one believed he was absent.

The report arrived before the morning meal had cooled.

A mage scout entered the command post with frost on his eyebrows and urgency in every step. He bowed quickly, breath still uneven from haste.

“My lord, third monster wave incoming. Estimated arrival in thirty minutes.”

Simmon’s gaze sharpened. “Thirty?”

The mage nodded. “Yes, my lord. Their speed is incredible compared to the previous waves.”

Hadrin frowned. “That should be impossible with mixed monster classifications.”

Amethyst raised her eyes toward the distance.

For a moment, the lenses of her glasses glowed faint violet. Her pupils narrowed like the serpent’s. The wall, the snowfield, the corpse piles, and the far dark line of the forest all seemed to reflect inside her gaze. Her sensitivity pierced beyond what the scouts could see with ordinary detection. Several officers stopped speaking as the mana around her focused into a thin, chilling line.

“They are coming faster because they are arranged better,” she said.

Simmon’s hand tightened over the edge of the table. “Formation?”

“Better than the first and second waves,” Amethyst replied. “Not disciplined like humans, but grouped by pressure. Lower creatures in the forward mass. Mid-level support and disturbance behind them. Upper-mid monsters are placed to exploit the first breach. Lower-high threats held as anchors. Whoever is using the forest has learned how the wall responds.”

Baldur smiled without humor. “Or whoever opened the gate already knew.”

Amethyst did not deny it.

The orb from the previous night reappeared above the table. This time, it did not show the continent. It showed the incoming wave as layered silhouettes. The front glowed dull red. The second layer green. The third dark orange. The final heavy shapes black-gold.

Amethyst flicked one finger.

“Lower level first. Goblins. Orcs. Dire wolves. Lower golems.”

The images shifted.

“Mid-level second. Ent trees. Lizardmen. Spiderlings. Lower wyverns. Centaurs.”

Another turn.

“Upper-mid level next. Hobgoblin captains. Orc berserkers. Ogre brutes. Alpha dire wolves. Stonehide golems. Ironbark Ents. Venom brood spiders. Young wyverns. Centaur reavers.”

The hall tightened.

Then the final layer appeared.

“Lower-high level anchors. Ogre warlords. Troll regenerators. Basilisk crawlers. Greater wyverns. Iron golems. Bloodroot treants. Thunderhorn minotaurs. Grave wargs. Blackscale lizard lords.”

Even Baldur stopped smiling for a breath.

Hadrin’s face paled. “All in one wave?”

“Yes.”

The silence that followed did not last long because Frosthelm did not allow shock to become paralysis. Simmon looked toward his captains, and they straightened as if struck by cold water.

“The positive news?” he asked.

Amethyst’s gaze remained on the orb. “No Ancient Frost Drake.”

Several men exhaled quietly.

She smiled faintly. “Do not sound too grateful. This wave can still break badly prepared walls.”

Simmon stood. “Then the wall will not be badly prepared.”

Baldur rose with him, but Amethyst lifted one finger.

“You will conserve your strength for now.”

Baldur looked at her. “I do not take orders from women who arrive late.”

“You take orders from battlefield logic, or at least you used to when your skull had more than muscle in it.”

Altea coughed once into her fist.

Baldur stared at Amethyst, then laughed. “Fine. Explain before I get offended.”

“If the upper-high threat appears after this wave, we need you intact,” Amethyst said. “You can slaughter upper-mid and lower-high monsters, but doing so before the true threat arrives is wasteful. You will act only when pressure reaches the second danger line.”

Simmon looked at her. “And you?”

“I will support only.”

Hadrin stared at her. “Only support?”

To an ordinary mage, that sounded illogical. A wave of this size demanded everything. But Amethyst was not an ordinary mage. The difference between a powerful caster and the Enchantress was not merely circle level. It was efficiency. As long as she did not cast seventh-tier or above spells, her mana reserves seemed nearly infinite by battlefield standards. Her support magic did not spend power crudely. It threaded itself into existing motion, amplifying allies, weakening enemies, and making the field itself more favorable.

Amethyst stood.

The serpent slid from her chair to her shoulders, coiling around her like a living ornament.

“Do not misunderstand. Support from me is not mercy.”

She waved her hand.

The Northern Wall changed.

A vast enchantment circle spread beneath the northern perimeter, invisible at first, then glowing faintly beneath the snow, stone, and corpse field. It moved wider than Lira’s previous barrier, at least triple the capacity, reaching across the lower wall, the front defensive grounds, the tower bases, the archer platforms, the mage circles, and the mercenary staging area. Its light carried layered colors: pale green for vitality, soft gold for protection, silver-white for purification, and faint blue for circulation.

The soldiers felt it at once.

Tired limbs lightened. Bruised shoulders stopped shaking as violently. Mana pathways loosened. Fear did not vanish, but it stopped choking the lungs. Thin holy magic wrapped around wounds that had not fully healed, preventing dark residue from entering easily. Regeneration support settled into the body—not enough to regrow limbs or erase injuries, but enough to slow bleeding, accelerate surface closure, and keep exhausted soldiers conscious longer. A barrier formed over armor and skin like invisible silk, not invincible but reliable against glancing blows and minor poison spray.

Lira stared despite herself.

“That is…”

“Do not admire too long,” Amethyst said. “It is not guaranteed to avoid death. If anyone becomes foolish because they feel protected, I will let the monsters teach them the difference between blessing and immortality.”

Simmon’s captains repeated the warning immediately.

Amethyst then pointed her wand toward Baldur’s elite group.

Separate magic circles appeared beneath Altea, Rico, Reign, Lira, Udoff, and the shadow where Shan should have been. These were not wide-area enchantments. They were precise, personal, and sharper than the first spell. Speed, strength, accuracy, stamina, endurance, and perception entered their bodies in different proportions according to their fighting styles.

Altea rolled her shoulders as wind began coating her chakrams without her summoning it fully. “Annoyingly good.”

Rico’s pupils narrowed as red pressure crawled over his gauntlets. “Oh, I like this.”

Reign blinked once, then lifted his bolt archer and turned toward the distant forest. “My aim line is clearer.”

Lira’s staff rings began rotating on their own as small elemental spirits formed near her shoulders: a warm flame sprite, a pale wind wisp, a small water bead creature, and a pebble-bodied earth spirit. Her breath caught.

Udoff’s shield expanded slightly, responding to the buff before he activated his own ability.

Shan’s shadow deepened.

For one heartbeat, his body appeared where no one expected him, then dissolved into darkness again.

Amethyst watched them like a researcher observing well-fed experimental beasts. Her smile had returned, fascinated and faintly cruel.

Baldur saw the same thing, but he did not reject the result. “Useful.”

“Of course.”

The horn sounded.

The third wave appeared.

At first, it was only darkness moving beyond the far snowfield. Then, individual shapes broke from the mass. Goblins came shrieking across the corpse-strewn ground, orcs behind them roaring in broken rhythm, dire wolves moving low and fast along the flanks, lower golems dragging stone limbs through blood and snow. Above them, lower wyverns circled with jagged wingbeats. Spiderlings poured over the field in crawling clusters. Lizardmen pushed through the gaps with bone shields raised. The trees moved slowly but steadily. Centaurs behind the second layer drew bows as they advanced.

Behind them came the upper-mid threats.

Hobgoblin captains with crude banners and sharpened eyes. Orc berserkers with swollen muscles and rage mana leaking from their skin. Ogre brutes carrying tree-trunk clubs. Alpha dire wolves larger than horses, moving with hunting patience. Stonehide golems whose bodies reflected arrows like hail. Ironbark Ents with blackened armored bark. Venom brood spiders with swollen bodies and fangs dripping paralytic poison. Young wyverns flying above lower wyverns with greater wingspan and sharper cries. Centaur reavers carrying heavy spears and curved bows.

And behind those came the lower-high monsters.

Ogre warlords walking with command presence. Troll regenerators whose wounds closed even while they marched. Basilisk crawlers slithering low, eyes covered by bone ridges until they chose to reveal them. Greater wyverns are casting larger shadows across the field. Iron golems moving like siege towers with legs. Bloodroot treants are dragging crimson roots beneath the snow. Thunderhorn minotaurs snorting steam, heads lowered for a charge. Grave wargs move in packs with undead intelligence. Blackscale lizard lords holding primitive staffs and blades, mana resistance shimmering along their scales.

The wall answered.

Simmon raised one hand.

“Loose.”

The first volley darkened the sunrise.

Arrows fell into the lower-level front, cutting down goblins and dire wolves before they reached the corpse field. Fire jars followed, bursting among orc clusters. Mages used fourth-circle spells with precision and efficiency under Amethyst’s field, no longer wasting mana in wide panic. Frost spikes erupted beneath the lower golems’ feet. Wind blades cut through spiderling clusters. Holy flashes disrupted the grave residue before it reached the wall. The northern knights below the gate released their fourth aura circles together, forming disciplined defensive pressure that held the first line steady.

Amethyst’s presence changed everything.

A mage who would normally have struggled to cast a fourth-circle spell twice could now cast once with better shape and less waste. A knight who would have needed full effort to maintain aura reinforcement could hold it longer without trembling. Archers corrected their aim with uncanny steadiness. Priests found their blessings easier to layer with the field’s holy support. Mercenaries who were already dangerous became sharper, faster, and less tired.

Udoff moved first among Baldur’s elite.

His body expanded.

Gigantification.

The barbarian technique doubled his size, muscles swelling beneath armor, bones and tendons reinforced by core energy. His shield grew with him, its plates unfolding in proportion until it became a walking barricade. Ordinarily, maintaining that form would consume stamina brutally, forcing him to use it only in short bursts. Under Amethyst’s support, the drain stabilized. He could maintain the form normally, at least for this battle phase.

He slammed forward into the lower-level monsters.

A dire wolf struck his shield and bounced back with a broken jaw. Three goblins vanished beneath his next step. An orc swung an axe at his leg, and Udoff crushed it between shield edge and ground.

Rico entered berserk mode.

Red aura flooded his gauntlets and climbed his arms. His breathing became heavier, but not uncontrolled. Amethyst’s endurance buff kept the berserk state from devouring his focus too quickly. He charged into the orc line and punched through a shield, rib cage, and the monster behind it in one blow. His second strike caved in a lower golem’s cracked shoulder joint. His third sent an orc berserker stumbling before it had even reached the main line.

Altea’s chakrams screamed through the air.

Wind mana coated both circular blades, turning their edges into blurred arcs. She threw one low, cutting goblins at the knees and slicing through spiderlings before they could scatter. The second flew high, catching a lower wyvern across the throat and returning through a centaur’s bow arm. Each return cut again. Each throw is adjusted with impossible grace under the accuracy buff.

Reign activated his precognition skill.

His eyes became still.

Not glowing. Not dramatic. Simply focused beyond ordinary reaction. He saw the next breath before it happened: where a wyvern would dive, where a centaur would aim, where a hobgoblin captain would raise its banner, where a basilisk crawler would shift its skull ridge before opening its gaze. He fired accordingly.

One bolt struck a young wyvern in the wing joint before it began its dive. Another pierced the throat of a centaur reaver before it issued a charge cry. A third explosive bolt landed beneath an Ironbark Ent’s root cluster, not killing it, but exposing the softer underside for Altea’s next throw.

Lira lifted her staff.

The elemental spirits answered.

The wind wisp circled archers, improving arrow speed. The flame sprite danced near oil teams, igniting fire jars without delay. The water bead creature spread thin moisture over burns and venom stains, reducing damage before healing crews arrived. The earth spirit reinforced cracked ground near the ditch where lower golems had broken footing. Lira herself layered smaller buffs into Amethyst’s greater field, not competing with the Archmage, but harmonizing beneath her.

Shan moved like a shadow consumed by deeper darkness.

His body no longer appeared to cross the distance. It appeared where threats emerged and vanished when they fell. A spiderling queenling trying to climb a drainage crack lost its head. A lower wyvern diving toward Reign had its wing tendon severed mid-flight. A hobgoblin captain that slipped through corpse cover to signal the goblin line felt a blade enter its spine before it finished raising its hand.

Amethyst watched all of it with bright eyes.

“Interesting,” she said.

Baldur crossed his arms. “They are not lab rats.”

“No,” she replied. “Lab rats are less expensive to maintain.”

Simmon did not indulge either of them. His attention remained on formation detail. The lower-level monsters were being slaughtered, but their corpses filled the space. He ordered corpse-burn teams early. He moved archers from the right tower to the center before the centaur pressure shifted. He sent knights forward only when Udoff’s enlarged shield created safe advance pockets. He commanded mages to conserve heavy spells until the upper-mid layer closed. He did not allow excitement to break discipline.

The first and second groups of monsters were cleared faster than expected.

Lower-level threats died in overwhelming numbers. Mid-level monsters followed after harsher resistance. Ent trees burned, lizardmen collapsed under combined spear and arrow pressure, spiderlings were crushed beneath fire and frost, lower wyverns were brought down by Reign and wall ballistae, and centaurs lost rhythm under Amethyst’s enchantment field, which subtly distorted their charge timing just enough to ruin coordinated volleys.

Then the upper-mid monsters reached the true killing zone.

The war became more interesting.

Orc berserkers hit the lower defense like living battering rams. Ogre brutes smashed through corpse piles and forced knights to scatter before reforming. Alpha dire wolves hunted healers and isolated soldiers with disturbing intelligence. Stonehide golems ignored ordinary arrows and required targeted mana strikes. Ironbark Ents resisted fire long enough to reach the outer ditch. Venom brood spiders spat paralytic venom over shield lines. Young wyverns struck from above, avoiding the obvious ballista angles. Centaur reavers began coordinated charges toward weak sections.

The wall strained again.

Amethyst’s expression cooled.

“Slow,” she said.

Hadrin, standing near her with clenched hands, stared at the field. “Slow? We are clearing them faster than any record I know.”

“Ineffective,” Amethyst said.

The old advisor looked at her with disbelief.

Amethyst did not explain kindly. “If an upper-high monster appears, everyone currently spending strength on these creatures will be needed. Every delayed kill becomes future weakness. Every unnecessary injury becomes a future absence. Every extra spell becomes future silence. This is not about winning against them. It is about winning while preserving enough force for what comes next.”

Baldur’s grin returned. “Now she sounds serious.”

Amethyst looked toward the distant dark line of the forest.

For the first time that morning, her amusement faded fully.

“It is time to be serious.”

Hadrin’s eyes widened. He had thought the Archmage was already using half her mana. The vast area support field, the holy protection, the regeneration layer, the elite buffs, the subtle monster rhythm disruption—any one of those would have exhausted ordinary mages. To her, it had been preparation.

Baldur stood.

Simmon nodded once.

The Mercenary King raised two fingers to his lips and whistled.

The signal cut through the battlefield.

Altea heard it and changed formation immediately. Rico shifted from slaughter to anchor-breaking. Udoff turned his enlarged shield toward the incoming lower-high line. Reign switched to heavy bolts. Lira pulled her elemental spirits closer and prepared layered support. Shan vanished deeper into the shade beneath a broken corpse mound.

Simmon raised his command blade.

“Knights, advance to second pressure line. Mages, prepare focused fourth-circle volleys. Archers, target eyes, joints, and command creatures. Priests, maintain the holy layer. No heroics. No isolated charges. We break them by structure.”

The Northern Wall roared in response.

Amethyst lifted her serpent from her shoulder.

For the first time, she kissed its pale head.

The serpent’s eyes opened fully.

“Go,” she whispered.

The creature slid from her arm into the air.

It did not fall.

It moved forward as if the battlefield itself had become a branch beneath its belly. As it passed over allied soldiers, it grew. Slowly at first, then faster. Its body lengthened from arm-sized to horse-length, then wagon-length, then larger still. Pale scales spread like moonlit armor. Its head widened. Its eyes brightened with amethyst light. The serpent expanded without crushing allies, without disturbing the wall, without damaging the field beneath its own side. It curved over soldiers, slipped between towers, and descended toward the enemy line like a living river of enchanted ivory.

The monsters saw it.

For the first time since the third wave began, the advancing line hesitated.

Amethyst smiled without warmth.

“Now,” she said, “let us reduce the noise before the real specimen arrives.”