The tide of battle had shifted, but victory was not yet secured.
As the reinforcements clashed with the remaining beasts, a group of scouts moved swiftly through the outskirts, searching for anything—anything—that explained the creatures' unnatural aggression.
Then, one of them found it.
A cluster of small, concealed burners lay hidden among the trees, nestled beneath layers of branches to keep them unnoticed. The faint scent James had detected earlier was strongest here—the incense, smoldering in the air.
One of the hunters crouched beside it, eyes narrowing. "It's an intoxicant—designed to keep them in a frenzy."
Without hesitation, the scouts snuffed out the burners, dousing them with water and scattering the smoldering remains.
The effect was immediate.
James, still positioned atop the wall, watched it happen. The beasts—mid-charge, mid-attack—suddenly hesitated. Their furious movements stumbled, their unnatural focus fracturing.
Then, the first turned.
Another followed.
And soon, like a wave retreating back into the sea, the creatures began to flee.
They shoved past each other, scrambling toward the forest, their unnatural synchronization collapsing into instinctual panic. As if waking from a violent dream, the surviving beasts abandoned the battlefield, darting back into the shadows from which they came.
James exhaled slowly, his bow still raised—but the battle was over.
At least, for now.
Because though the beasts had fled, their orchestrator had not been caught. And whoever had done this had proven one terrifying truth—they could do it again.
The chaos had faded, the last echoes of battle dissolving into the heavy silence that followed. Where once the ground trembled beneath the relentless tide of beasts, now it bore the weight of grief and exhaustion.
James lowered his bow, his arms aching, his body weary, but his mind refused to settle. The battlefield was no longer alive with the clash of steel—it had become a graveyard.
Survivors moved slowly, some dragging injured comrades away from the ruined terrain, others gathering the bodies of the fallen. Some were whole. Most were not.
The cries of those who had lost their people filled the air, raw and unrestrained, their sorrow carving through the aftermath like a blade. James swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep moving, his steps heavy as he scanned the wreckage.
Then, from the raised platform near the Mission Hall, the voice of the city's quartermaster rang out.
"All fighters, hear this!"
Heads turned, weary eyes lifting toward him.
"Credit awards will be issued in two days. This delay is to allow the wounded time to recover, to ensure all kills are properly accounted for, and to honor those we have lost."
A murmur spread through the crowd—not of protest, but of quiet understanding.
James exhaled. The battle was over, but this city would bear its scars for a long time.
James trudged through the quiet streets of Westmere, his body heavy with exhaustion. The weight of battle still lingered in his muscles, every step a reminder of the relentless struggle he had just endured.
The Silver Crest Hotel stood at the end of the street, its warm lanterns casting a soft glow against the darkened sky. He barely acknowledged the greetings from the night staff as he ascended the stairs, his mind too clouded with fatigue to care for anything beyond rest.
Once inside his room, he let his pack slump onto the floor, his bow resting beside it. He moved toward the bathroom, stripping away the grime and bloodstained clothes. The water was cool, soothing against his aching skin as he washed away the remnants of battle—the sweat, the dirt, the memories.
Finally clean, James barely had the energy to pull on fresh clothes before collapsing into bed. His muscles sank into the mattress, the weight of exhaustion pressing down like lead.
He didn't dream.
He didn't stir.
He slept for an entire day, lost in the depths of uninterrupted rest.
James woke with a dull ache settling into his limbs, his body still recovering from the battle's relentless toll. He sat up slowly, pushing aside the sheets, his mind sluggish but gradually sharpening as the remnants of exhaustion faded.
The first thing he needed was to wash up.
Dragging himself toward the bathroom, he turned the faucet, letting cool water run over his hands before splashing it over his face. The lingering heaviness in his muscles eased slightly, but what he really needed was food—proper, replenishing food.
After dressing in fresh clothes, he made his way down to the Silver Crest Hotel's dining hall, the scent of warm meals drifting through the air. His stomach tightened in anticipation, hunger clawing at him after an entire day without sustenance.
Scanning the menu, he opted for the most nutritious breakfast available—a hearty meal filled with fresh fruits, grains, protein-packed meat, and a revitalizing herbal drink meant to restore lost energy.
He approached the counter, pulling out his crystal card, where his remaining 300 credits were stored. The server tallied the meal's cost—40 credits—and James confirmed the transaction.
Transaction Receipt
Item Purchased: Nutrient-packed breakfast
Total Cost: 40 credits
Payment Method: Crystal Card (common)
Remaining Balance: 260 credits
The moment the payment was processed, he took his meal and settled into a quiet corner, savoring each bite. Warm. Satisfying. Needed.
As he ate, his mind wandered—not just to the battle, but to the deeper mystery surrounding it. The incense. The orchestrator. The attack that had almost succeeded.
For now, though, he let himself focus on the food.
Because soon, there would be more decisions to make.
James stepped out into the crisp morning air, stretching his limbs as the gentle breeze carried the scent of earth and steel. Despite the siege beyond its gates, Westmere stood untouched , its towering walls as pristine as ever—an unbroken barrier that had kept the battle at bay.
Beyond the defenses, workers moved with practiced efficiency, clearing away fallen debris and disposing of the remains of the monstrous horde. The outer fields bore the true evidence of the attack—trampled earth, discarded weapons, and the lingering scent of battle that refused to fade entirely.
James took a slow breath, watching the activity unfold. The beasts had never breached the city, yet whispers among the citizens carried lingering unease.
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