Siege State
Chapter Eighty-Eight: The Battle of Wayrest, Part Seven

Val screamed.

It was a scream that encompassed all she was. Hatred at this orc for killing a kind woman. Hatred at seeing her protege broken on the ground. Love for the both of them. And something more. Something triggered by the selfless sacrifice his mother had made.

The Smith knew something had changed. Perhaps he had a skill for sensing mana, like Tom. Through Hunter-Gatherer, he was absolutely certain of the sudden flare of new mana in Val.

He took advantage of the Smith’s distraction and rolled away from him. Then he stood, weary, defiant. His body had not fully healed, but his mother’s sacrifice had ensured he could keep fighting.

His eyes flickered to his wisp.

Status Requested: Val Carver.

Ideal Manifested.

Ideal Three (Classic): Humility.

Skill One (Classic): Before the Fall (Active).

Mana cost: Moderate.

Cooldown: Moderate.

Range: Moderate.

Cleanse the target of all buffs affecting them. Passive buffs are cleansed for a low duration. Active buffs are cleansed until they are reapplied.

He had time only for the briefest of looks. Humility, Tom thought. It suits her. He remembered her quiet guidance, her unassuming nature, and her willingness to simply get things done while not riding roughshod over opposition to do it. It was a perfect fit.

His heart swelled for her. She had manifested her last Ideal. While she had never once voiced any complaint over not having her fall, he knew it must have been incredibly frustrating. It represented an incredible amount of extra power.

Tom remembered his own wisp flashing, almost certainly for skill upgrades. He could quickly choose an option, but something in him rebelled at making a hasty decision. He weighed the potential benefit of quickly choosing two uplifts against the distraction in the middle of the fight. He couldn’t afford it. It would be both a bad short and long term decision for him.

The Smith was not relaxed any longer. It was watching Val warily, eyeing Tom too. Waiting for them to act.

Tom met Val’s eye. She was composed again, ready. She nodded.

Tom stepped up behind the Smith, hoping to draw more of its attention. He cast Agony, then followed up with another Wild Eagle Strike, allowing him a bare moment to strike out with his axe. It bit into the Smith’s hip, and he slid away just in front of the great orc’s return strike.

Val pressed in from the front, spitting venom and following through with some thrusts of her sword.

The red barrier shield flashed into place again, forcing Val back. Then the Smith went on the attack for the first time in the fight.

Seemingly realising that Tom was not fully healed, or perhaps simply not as high a tier as Val and therefore an easier target, it stepped towards him, kicking out with blinding speed. Tom only just managed to roll backwards, the kick just barely clipping the front of his armour.

He came back to his feet and immediately stepped to the side. A fist exploded through the space his head had been. He ducked, dropping into a crouch, struck a solid blow to the Smith’s thigh with his axe, and then immediately leapt to the side, avoiding a knee.

Though he had sacrificed half of Sere’s bodies by this point for healing and damage, there were still enough of them, especially with Sus and Sol added, to provide him with a perfect aerial view of the fight. It made all the difference. He could watch through their eyes and know with perfect clarity what the Smith was doing next, even when his vision was obstructed by acrobatic rolls, leaps, twists and twirls. Even so, he was managing to avoid another crippling blow by the thinnest of margins.

The Smith was outrageously strong and fast. Its movements were near perfect. This was the perfect union of orcish battle instincts and never-before-seen orcish intelligence, all heightened by Idealism.

Tom knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever. Val hadn’t been able to capitalise on the Smith attacking him yet. Every time she attacked him he would rebuff her with the shield. Tom had just the thing for that.

He came to his feet and stepped backwards, creating enough distance between himself and the titanic orc that when it next attacked, another vicious front kick, he had just enough time to twist to the side.

Then he cast Hush.

The shield faltered. Val sprayed another cloud of acid over the Smith. Tom lashed out with his axe, giving it a wound perpendicular to the first he’d left on its thigh. And then something changed.

The Smith let out a startled cough. Tom took a moment to realise it was a sound of pain. The first true sign the Smith had given them that they were actually dealing damage to it.

He looked closer. It was slower now. Much slower. Its skin seemed to have lost some of its ruddy red lustre too. The wounds on its body were bleeding freely now. But most important was its expression. It was drawn with pain, and even better: it was shocked.

Tom quickly put two and two together. Val had used her new skill on it. All of its precious buffs had fallen away. And they must have been substantial, given the difference in its movements and regeneration.

Hush was fantastic, but it only stopped an enemy from casting skills and interrupted those being actively channelled. “Set and forget” skills with long durations were a perfect counter to it.

With both Hush and Val’s new skill, they had both angles covered.

Tom immediately went on the offensive. He hacked at the orc, spinning, cutting. He dodged blows that were now slow enough that he could truly stay in the fight, and not just focus on not being killed outright. If the orc’s strength had taken as big of a hit as its speed, then instant death was probably not as large a concern either.

Val was also taking control of the battle two, and the tempering from her new Ideal manifesting was evident. With two Ideals already at such high tiers, and so much of her life spent fighting in the Deep, she easily adjusted to the increased attributes.

And she leveraged them. Hard.

She was a whirlwind, everywhere the Smith was not, always stabbing from oblique angles, refusing to be denied in harrying it. Her precision was perfect, her form: sublime.

Even without its ridiculous buffs, the Smith was still a powerhouse. But it was no longer a battle of the sea against a cliff. Now, it was the battle between the axe and the tree. Between the two of them, they were wearing the orc down quickly.

Fear began to kindle in its eyes, in its posture. Tom and Val leapt upon the weakness like hounds. Sus and Sol began diving at opportune times, raking it with their talons. Tom sacrificed more or Sere’s bodies for sparrow-spears. Val summoned Scorn with a small pop of displaced air, and the grumpy tom began firing green beams at it too.

The Smith became frantic. It roared for its Idealist brethren to help, but the heroic efforts of the nearby Hunters kept them at bay. No help was coming for it.

It regained it buffs, but it was too little, too late. They had already done too much damage to it. Its movements became jerky, and it began making mistakes. Tom and Val ruthlessly capitalised on each one. It was nearing the point where it would no longer be able to defend itself. They were close. He could feel it.

It switched strategies. Tom felt mana building inside it with Hunter-Gatherer. The Silence debuff had obviously come off cooldown too, now. There could only be one skill it could be about to use.

Tom remembered the flash of light that had encompassed the Hunters at the start of the battle. It had turned all of them into docile sheep. They had only been saved by Tom, and he would not be able to save them again were he caught in it this time.

They had to finish the Smith, and now. But injured as it was, blood running all over its body in slick sheets, they would not be quick enough. Tom stepped back, twisting, ready to deliver all of his energy into one final blow.

The Smith exploded in flames. A torrent, not large, but incredibly intense, burst from its feet and engulfed it. From within, he heard it scream. With Hunter-Gatherer, he felt it lose the concentration necessary to maintain the powerful skill. Its mana guttered.

The flames died out as quickly as they had sprang up. The Smith was collapsed upon the ground, smoking, its skin charred and blackened. Tom felt its life force ebbing.

Rosa stepped up to them a moment later. Sesame came thundering up too, standing over the fallen Smith and growling menacingly.

It was Rosa’s Immolation Mosaic that had disrupted the Smith’s final attempt at stopping them. Tom smiled at her, but a weak coughing from the Smith drew his attention. All three of them pointed weapons at the beast. It gave another round of low, pained coughs. It was laughing.

I cannot believe it, It said. Count yourselves lucky, dogs. I almost… It broke into a coughing fit, this time in pain. Almost… No matter. You could barely defeat me. My Brethren, my brothers and sisters, are scattered the length and breadth of this stinking continent. They will continue our work. You cannot defeat all of us. You have not the strength for it.

Tom and Val and Rosa shared a glance. The Smith grimaced, its body clenching in agony.

You will not cast us out a third time. The World will bow before us.

The Smith, titanic, foul, unspeakably evil, lapsed into unconsciousness with a weak, mewling snarl. Val stabbed it through the forehead with her sword.

She glanced at Tom, and he nodded confirmation of its death to her when he saw the last of its lifeforce pass from its body.

Tom took a moment to collect himself. Then he drew air into his lungs, and gave the loudest shout he could.

“THE SMITH IS DEAD! THE SMITH IS DEAD! FOR WAYREST! FOR WAYREST!”

Val and Rosa took up the call, and soon all the Hunters who’d fought to the centre were shouting it too. The Idealist orcs looked confused, their beady, piranha-like eyes flicking to their wisps.

Somehow, word got out. A few of the Idealists orcs screamed and shouted. The regular orcs caught wind. Ripples passed through the army. The spark became a flame. Panic began burning through the orc ranks.

Rosa fired her fire lance directly into the air. Several other Hunters began shooting flashy skills upwards as well. It was the agreed upon signal to the wall if they were successful.

Tom watched through the owls as hundreds of defenders began dropping from the wall amongst the orcs. Guardsmen and Watchmen, those with the skills to see them down safely, began slaughtering with abandon.

The news of the Smith’s passing had not reached the front ranks, but the reckless assault still made an impression. Pockets began to open up all along the front as the rank and file tried to get away from the carnage.

The four chieftains that the Smith had sent to direct the front lines began to struggle to hold the line. Watchmen picked them out with ease due to their size and began to harry them.

Then a single figure stepped over the battlements and plummeted to the earth. Clad head to toe in thick steel plate, the man made a thunderous impact when he landed, blasting orcs away from him with the force of his fall.

It was Lord General Steel. And he was out for blood.

He summoned an enormous hammer, and made a casual swipe. A blast of force swept from his weapon. A hundred orcs were flattened, crushed unceremoniously into the dirt.

Steel advanced, and orcs died in swathes. Every swing of his hammer laid scores of orcs low. Every step pushed hundreds more back. The man was truly a behemoth.

The rest of the battle was a blur. Tom and Rosa and Val, and the rest of the Hunters grouped up and fought side by side, quickly overcoming the last of the Idealist resistance in the centre. Then they began the systematic destruction of the regular orcs nearby. Sᴇaʀᴄh the ɴøᴠel Fɪre.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

News of their general’s death spread through the army like wildfire. Many of the orcs, too overcome with battlelust, or too stupid to realise the tide had turned, fought to the bloody end. Many others fled in all directions. Those they let go. They had enough on their plates cleaning up those with fight still in them. Fifty thousand orcs, even with the Smith dead, was still a tough ask.

Jubilation at having killed the Smith lent itself to a zealous extermination at first, but it quickly dropped into a workmanlike chore. Eventually, even the most foolhardy or savage orcs broke and ran.

The battle for Wayrest was done. They had won. Wayrest was saved.

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