Chapter 508: Saving the city
The city erupted into action within minutes. Soldiers hastily donned their makeshift armor, grabbed weapons ranging from crude swords and spears to sharpened bones scavenged from fallen demons, and rushed toward the western walls.
Civilians too weak to fight—elders, children, and the sick—were escorted to whatever shelters could be found. Some huddled in basements, while others crammed into half-collapsed buildings, whispering prayers for survival. The air was thick with fear, urgency, and impotence. There was nothing they could do other than wait and hope things would work out in the end.
Rayland stood atop the city’s west wall, flanked by nearly twenty thousand soldiers. His weathered face betrayed no fear, but the grim set of his jaw revealed the weight he carried. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon where the scouts had reported the approaching horde. Even from this distance, the sheer magnitude of the demon army was staggering. A seething mass of chaos stretched across the horizon, its grotesque forms a harbinger of destruction. Their numbers dwarfed the defenders, easily exceeding two hundred thousand.
The soldiers standing beside Rayland were a motley crew. Most had been farmers, merchants, and craftsmen before the apocalypse, and now they were forced to take up arms to defend their homes. Although many had risen within the Level System, over 95% of them were only Mortal Tier lifeforms. Despite their lack of overwhelming strength, there was a resolute fire in their eyes. Even if they did not have proper training, the brutal fight of the apocalypse had honed their minds and souls.
The demon horde advanced, their guttural cries reverberating through the air like a macabre symphony of death. The ground quaked beneath their weight, making it clear just how massive the horde was. Hulking brutes with claws like scythes marched alongside lithe, predatory demons whose razor-sharp tails glinted ominously in the dim light. For the people in the city, their grotesque forms defied nature, a cacophony of flesh and bone warped into unholy creations.
Rayland’s voice cut through the growing tension. "Hold your ground! These demons think they can take what is ours, but we’ll show them otherwise. Today, we fight not just for ourselves but for every innocent soul behind these walls. Outnumbered or not, we will not falter!"
A ragged cheer rose from the soldiers. It was not a cheer of hope or confidence but of raw defiance. They knew the odds were against them, but the alternative to fighting—a massacre of everyone they loved—was unthinkable. They would rather die on the walls than allow their loved ones to fall into the hands of the demons.
"Archers, ready your bows!" Rayland commanded.
The archers stepped forward, their bows creaking as they drew the strings taut. Their quivers were filled with bone arrows, each infused with what little Force they could muster. Though their numbers were few, their determination lent them strength.
"Mages, prepare your spells!" he added.
A small contingent of Mortal Tier mages stepped up, their faces pale but resolute. They began chanting in unison, their voices weaving together an incantation that caused their hands to glow with elemental light. Though their power was modest, their contribution would be vital.