Chapter 454: The Cracks Beneath the Walls (3)
Rain splattered her visor as she spun to face the next man, who raised his sword too late. She took him down with a quick jab and a twist that left him gasping. The ground beneath her boots was slick with rain and blood, but every step felt surer than the last. She felt alive, more alive than in any dream before, because every breath drawn in this chaos was earned.
She glimpsed Surena across the courtyard, knee-deep in the fray, her battlecry echoing. Nearby, a small group of cavalry heroes like Xena and Ravia wove through soldiers, disabling crossbow nets and cutting shafts. The glow of torches from Josephine’s bait caravans glimmered at the southern gate, pulling some defenders away in confused pursuit. Every piece of the plan fit together like clockwork.
Raine paused, heart hammering, and scanned the walls above. Alice’s archers had taken the parapets, and their arrows now flew in crimson arcs at any defender who tried to regroup. The splintered gate had been sealed behind them, trapping Lisban’s garrison in a vice of steel and strategy.
She wiped a blade clean on a blood-stained cloth tied to her belt—Emilia’s gift for emergency bandages—then stowed it. For a fleeting moment, she closed her eyes and let the noises wash over her: the clang of steel, the yelp of a fallen enemy, the thunder of hooves pivoting. It filled her, energized her, reminded her why she lived—and fought.
Surena’s voice cut through the chaos again: "Raine! To the steps! We take their standards!"
She sprinted, agility honed by years of mountain hunts, and reached the foot of the keep’s stair. A line of captains tried to hold the rise, but their formation buckled under Surena’s lance and Raine’s storm of steel. She vaulted up, fighting two men at once, her mind clear: strike, parry, advance. Each blow was precise, a wordless poem of combat.
When the last defender fell, Raine stood panting on the steps, cloak and hair plastered to her armor, rain mingling with sweat and blood in rivulets across her cheeks. She looked out across the courtyard, where her sisters-in-arms—Surena, Xena, Ravia, Josephine—now held the broken banners high, Astellian colors snapping in the wind.
Her chest expanded with pride and fierce relief. The mist swirled at her feet, lifting like a shroud from a sleeping city. She raised her blade overhead, the morning light glinting along its length, and shouted, "Astellia triumphs!" The cry echoed off stone walls, carried by the wind beyond the ramparts.
(You carried them,) Lilith murmured. (And they followed.)