Chapter 56: The Beast Tide [ 1 ]
The Bronze Knight running toward Althoff reached the northern gate in less than two minutes, his boots hammering against the frozen road hard enough to scatter loose snow behind him.
By the time he crossed the final defensive trench and vaulted over the inner barricade, every guard along the wall had already turned toward him, and Raymond could feel the atmosphere tightening before the man even opened his mouth.
The scout stopped at the base of the wall, looked up toward Raymond and Boris, and raised his voice above the wind. "My Lord! The main concentration has entered the northern plain. Estimated distance is less than four kilometers and closing rapidly. The first groups are already visible from the ridge."
Raymond’s fingers tightened against the cold stone parapet, but his face remained composed as he looked past the scout and toward the horizon. Four kilometers. After three days of preparation, endless calculations, rushed construction, and barely enough sleep to keep himself functioning, the thing they had been preparing for was finally here.
The first sign wasn’t visual.
It was sound.
A low, distant rumbling rolled across the white plain like thunder trapped beneath the ground. At first, only the soldiers standing on the northern wall noticed it, but the vibration gradually strengthened until the timber beneath the elevated platforms began to tremble.
Snow slid from rooftops. Water inside open buckets rippled. Horses in the inner stables began stamping anxiously against the wooden floors, while goats and sheep bleated from the reinforced pens as if they could sense something approaching long before the humans fully understood the scale.
Then the horizon changed.
Raymond narrowed his eyes.
The northern plain had been almost entirely white only moments earlier, broken by black rocks and the distant outline of the Blackridge foothills. Now something dark was spreading across it.
Not one herd.
Not several.
A moving mass.
Thousands of bodies flowed down from the northern ridges, stretching so widely across the wasteland that Raymond couldn’t see where one group ended and another began. Ironhorn Elk ran beside Snowback Bison.
Smaller mountain goats darted between enormous bodies. Frostfang Wolves moved in scattered packs along the edges while other predators Raymond had never seen before appeared among them.
Some creatures possessed thick black fur, others pale hides blending into the snow, and several much larger silhouettes towered above the ordinary Bronze-ranked beasts.
The ground continued trembling.
Raymond had known the number.
Thousands.
The scouts had said it.
Boris had repeated it.
They had planned every defensive layer around it.
But numbers on parchment had done absolutely nothing to prepare Raymond for the sight of several thousand Magic Beasts physically moving toward him.
For the first time since transmigrating into this world, genuine fear settled deeply into his stomach.
Not the frantic panic he had felt when mercenaries were breaking down his bedroom door.
That had been immediate and personal.
This was different.
Nearly two thousand people stood behind him.
Children. Families.
Refugees who had entered Althoff because he promised them protection.
The people he had spent months feeding, housing, organizing, and convincing that House Althoff could give them a future.
If he failed now, they didn’t simply lose a battle.
Everything he had built died with them.
Raymond’s mouth had gone slightly dry.
His heart hammered faster.
A part of him wanted to look at Boris and ask whether the defenses were actually enough, whether they had made some catastrophic mistake, whether they should have tried evacuating when they still had the chance.
But then Raymond became aware of the people watching him.
Guards along the wall glanced toward him.
Hunters on the archery platforms looked in his direction.
Below, civilians assigned to supply crews stood near barricades waiting for orders.
Even Boris was watching him.
Everyone wanted to know whether their lord was afraid.
Raymond slowly breathed in through his nose.
Then out.
His hands stopped tightening around the parapet.
If he panicked, the entire town would smell it.
So he wouldn’t. Even if he had to fake confidence until his organs failed.
He straightened his shoulders and looked toward Boris. "How long until the first contact?"
Boris studied the approaching mass carefully before answering. "Less than ten minutes at their current pace, my Lord. Maybe sooner if the front begins running."
Raymond nodded once. "Then nobody fires early. I don’t care how nervous they get. We built the outer defenses to do the first work, and I’m not wasting arrows at useless range."
Boris turned toward the nearest guard officer and immediately repeated the order in a louder voice. "All positions hold fire until command! Any man who releases before the signal answers to me personally!"
The command moved rapidly down the wall, shouted from officer to officer until the entire northern defensive line understood. Hunters tightened their grips on bows. Guards shifted behind shields.
Bronze Knights stood silently at predetermined positions near the two kill corridors, while Jonathan and the Silver strike teams waited farther behind the front line like weapons that had not yet been drawn.
The Beast Tide continued approaching.
At three kilometers, Raymond could distinguish individual groups.
At two kilometers, he could hear animal cries mixed into the rolling thunder of hooves.
At one kilometer, the outermost creatures were close enough that he could see panic in their movement.
That detail immediately bothered him.
These weren’t beasts charging Althoff because they wanted to attack.
Many of the herbivores weren’t even looking toward the walls.
They were running because something behind them was pushing them forward.
The weaker animals had been forced to the front.
Small Bronze-ranked deer-like creatures stumbled through deep snow while larger bison shoved from behind. Mountain goats darted chaotically between them.
Several injured Ironhorn Elk limped desperately without slowing, driven by the sheer mass pressing at their backs. The predators weren’t organized either. Frostfang Wolves snapped at anything that came too close but kept moving south instead of stopping to hunt.
Raymond understood the battlefield immediately.
The first wave wasn’t an attack.
It was a collision.
"Boris," Raymond said quietly, keeping his eyes on the approaching front. "The animals in front are mostly weaker."
The captain nodded grimly. "They’re being pushed."
"Good for us."
Boris glanced at him.
Raymond pointed toward the trenches. "Let the tide spend its weakest bodies breaking its own momentum. Nobody leaves the wall to engage. We force them through the traps first."
The distance closed rapidly.
Five hundred meters.
Some of the hunters began breathing harder.
One younger archer raised his bow slightly before the man beside him shoved it back down.
Raymond didn’t speak.
Four hundred meters.
The sound became overwhelming.
Three hundred.
Raymond could now feel the vibration through the soles of his boots.
The front line of beasts spread across the northern field, snow exploding around their legs as they rushed toward the outer trench system.
Several guards looked at Raymond.
He didn’t move.
"Hold."
The order traveled.
Two hundred meters.
The first beasts were close enough for arrows now.
Hunters shifted nervously.
Boris looked toward Raymond but said nothing.
Raymond’s pulse hammered.
Every instinct screamed that waiting was insane.
"Hold."
One hundred and fifty meters.
A Snowback Bison lowered its massive head as it ran.
A pack of smaller beasts collided with one another behind it.
One hundred meters.
Raymond finally raised one hand.
Still no arrows.
Then the first Ironhorn Elk reached the outer trench.
Its front legs disappeared beneath it.