All Stella could do was watch the events unfold and clutch her new staff.
Hundreds of enemy footmen crashed into a much smaller formation. They pushed their spearmen back a few paces, but the men held under the pressure.
While she couldn't see the minor injuries from up there, her staff began to fill up.
Even if it only captured a fraction of the life forces involved, many lives were about to end.
"What can we do from here?" she asked, heart beating fast, looking down from the barracks.
This was the first large-scale battle she had ever seen.
Church raids, fighting bandits, or crushing resistance. Those, she knew well. But to fight an organised, well-armed opponent? And one that outnumbered them many times over?
That was new—and loud.
The voices inside her head couldn't even reach her now.
"You can give our archers the order," Bor noted, his face calm, but that was only the surface.
His life essence fought a war of its own inside him.
"Archers. Right," Stella muttered. "But they have theirs, too. That cover you talked about—"
"Don't overthink it," Welf said, his heavy hand resting on her shoulder. "These are good men. They know how to fight. You only need to direct them."
Direct them. She could have fought instead, even if that risked revealing herself.
But to give them orders?!
And if one such command led to friendly losses?
"Now would be a good time," Kade claimed, pointing at the battle below. "Their flank is open, and their troops had not rotated yet. The enemy archers are not in position, either."
Rotation, position, flanks—
How did she even give that command?!
"Okay, yes, fire," she yelled, watching their spearmen getting pushed back another foot.
Bor raised his hand, looking far into the distance. His fist clenched, and his arm sank.
It looked almost as if he grabbed something from thin air and pulled it down.
Even if she followed his gaze, she couldn't see anything that far.
Seconds passed. Five, ten, fifteen.
Nothing but the warcries and the sound of clashing weapons echoed.
The stench of fear, sweat, and blood had put her on the edge.
And when she thought the archers would never show themselves—
A single, dark volley of arrows appeared like a swarm of angry bees.
At one point, they even blocked out the sun, the fletching whistling in the air.
The enemy didn't notice them until the impact, and the results were devastating.
Guessing from the earlier reports, those were two hundred archers. The back of the enemy collapsed, at least thirty men down. The staff was almost bursting with their essence.
While not all the nomads died, panic washed over their formations.
The Reject's eighty spearmen even pushed forward, their morale shooting up.
But the nomadic archers didn't sit idle, either.
There were no coordinated volleys; they returned fire piecemeal, but they still did. The footmen also reorganised to protect their flanks. That great opportunity was already gone.
And the battle continued, more life essence gone forever.
Stella needed a solution before her staff actually exploded, but the present did not wait.
"Should they lie low now, change position, or suppress the enemy archers?" Bor asked.
Who?
Oh, their archers. Right.
Well, as if she knew.
"We have the advantage," Kade grunted. "I'd push it while we can."
"Risky, but it'll only get worse once their archers form up," Welf nodded. His palm was still on her shoulders, warm, squeezing her. He was as nervous as the others.
Like her. Eager to fight, not to watch.
Decisions, decisions.
Why did it have to be her?!
Bor told her he would lead, but Stella was arrogant and said it was her job.
Idiot. But every moment she wasted arguing—with herself, not even with the voices—could have been a life lost. That huge knight was right. The nomad's response was weak.
She steeled her resolve.
"Shoot them while they can," she said. "There's enough pressure on our spearmen as is."
If those archers formed up and lobbed arrows over their heads, the shield wall could break.
Bor didn't argue, waving at a distant messenger again.
The next minute brought two more volleys, thinning out the nomadic soldiers.
Her staff was at its limit, her own body absorbing some of the life forces. She could do that thanks to her curse, but not forever. And to use it? How? What for?
She had to hide her true nature.
Even if holding a staff with a skull wasn't the best way to do it.
But soldiers were dying down there, giving their lives for Kasserlane.
She could've channeled some of those life forces to keep them alive.
It wouldn't exactly heal them; it would never reconnect the bones if an arm broke. But it would restore their vitality and ease their pain and exhaustion—in moderation.
Give them too much, and they'd become Zombies while still alive.
Stella has learned a lot from Gabrielle, but has never put any of it into practice.
How could she, when most of it was a warning, rather than actual teaching?
"Their footmen begin rotating," Kade grunted, and she finally understood what that meant.
Men from the front who did all the fighting trickled into the back rows. New, fresh soldiers took their place and fought even harder. The nomads had plenty of soldiers to spare.
Even after weakening their flanks, they could rotate the entire front line four or five times.
The Rejects could not.
They had only enough spears to set up a double line and block the road. They looked tired, a few already wounded, but there was no one to relieve them.
In short-term engagements, this was never a problem.
Here, all she could do now was to feed the gathered life essence into those men to keep them on their feet. Small doses; she couldn't risk turning them into mindless thralls.
Even so, she hated the idea, but she had the means and no other options.
"Reinforcements?" she asked, panting after the first mass-transfer was complete.
"Theirs or ours?" Welf asked, his hands weighing on her shoulders. "We have none, and the rest of the nomads are still far away. But I can take a look."
Right, he should have been out, scouting, but—
Those large palms were her only comfort right now.
"Try shooting their spearmen again," Stella said, desperate for ideas. "We must ease the pressure as much as we can. Even if they're expecting it now, every volley would help—"
"They would, but there are downsides," Bor argued.
"It'd put them in the enemy's line of sight. Could even hit friendlies," Welf explained in more detail. "Besides, you must count the volleys. Each archer only carries two bundles of arrows."
"Two bundles?" she asked.
Another term that must have been obvious for them. But for her?
"A dozen in each bundle," Kade said. "Twenty-four shots, then they're nothing but targets."
Of course. They couldn't take all the nomads out from cover. That would have been too easy.
No matter how she looked at it, the enemy could wear them down either way.
And it wouldn't even take them that long.