We came out of the plain like ghosts who'd forgotten how to lie down.
Nine days, not five.
Every mile cost us. The dust got into cuts we didn't know we had. Water turned bitter. Horses started dying on the third day, then people. We left them where they fell. No one had the strength to dig graves in that ground.
By the time the capital's walls rose on the horizon we were down to maybe seven thousand. Tired, sunburned, half-mad from thirst and dreams.
I was twenty-two and felt ninety.
The system still whispered in my head, but it sounded further away now, like a friend calling from the far bank of a river that kept getting wider.
[Level 17]
[Health: 68/140]
[Stamina: 24/110]
[Blessings active: 2/5]
I hadn't slept in four days. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Mira's face the moment the light left it.
The outer earthworks looked taller up close. Ditch, stake wall, another ditch. Beyond that, the main wall (black stone, arrow slits like angry eyes). Thirty thousand men up there, give or take. Real soldiers. Fed, rested, armored.
We had kitchen knives and grief.
I stopped at the edge of the first ditch and looked back.
Seven thousand ragged shadows stared at me. Waiting for the miracle.
I had none to give.
My hands shook when I set the litter down. The six bearers sagged with relief, then looked ashamed for it.
I knelt beside Mira. The cloak had slipped; her cheek was grey with dust. I brushed it away with a thumb that left a streak of blood (mine, hers, didn't matter anymore).
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I think this is as far as the story goes."
The wind carried the first warning horn from the walls. Deep, rolling, the sound a giant makes when it clears its throat.
Arrows followed.
Not a volley. Just one. Then another. Testing.
One punched through the baker's throat two steps behind me. He dropped without a sound, eyes wide, surprised the world still had room for more pain.
Another arrow buried itself in the litter pole an inch from my ear.
I didn't flinch. Couldn't. My body felt borrowed.
The system pinged, frantic.
[Bloodlust triggered – pain detected]
[Strength +45% → 12 seconds remaining]
I stood up slowly.
Seven thousand people watched me. Some started backing away, slow, like they were waking from a dream and remembering fear.
I took one step toward the ditch.
Then another.
My legs almost buckled.
I heard whispers behind me (not the system, real voices).
"He's just a kid."
"He lied to us."
"We're dead."
I kept walking.
Halfway to the ditch the arrows became a real volley. Black rain.
I raised the greatsword (too heavy now, arms screaming) and triggered War Cry on pure instinct.
The roar that came out was smaller than before. Raw. Human.
It still carried.
Half the arrows veered off course, shafts splintering in mid-air like invisible hands slapped them aside. The rest found targets. People fell. Screams finally started.
I reached the ditch and jumped.
Landed wrong. Ankle rolled. Pain flared white-hot.
[Health: 41/140]
I crawled up the far side on hands and knees, sword dragging behind me like an anchor.
At the top I looked back.
The column had broken. Some ran toward the plain. Some charged after me, blind and furious. Most just stood there, waiting to die.
Another volley hissed down.
I closed my eyes.
I'm sorry, Mira.
Then a voice (not the system) cut through the noise.
"WAIT!"
From the main wall, a single rider on a white horse. Gold cloak. Royal courier colors.
He galloped straight toward the ditch, no escort, waving a white banner like it meant something.
Arrows from his own side stopped mid-flight.
He reined in ten yards away, horse dancing nervous.
"Dean Johnson!" His voice cracked with youth. "The king offers parley! Under truce flag! He will meet you on the field alone if you swear to come unarmed!"
I laughed. Couldn't help it. The sound came out wet.
Seven thousand frightened, dying people behind me. Thirty thousand fresh soldiers above me. And the king wanted to talk.
I looked at the litter, far back now, almost lost in the dust and bodies.
I looked at my shaking, blood-crusted hands.
Then I dropped the greatsword. It hit the ground with a dull clang.
"Tell him," I called back, voice hoarse but steady, "I'll be there."
The courier nodded once, wheeled, and galloped back.
I turned to the scattered army (what was left of it).
Some had already started walking away.
I didn't blame them.
I didn't call them back.
I just picked up Mira's litter myself, slung it over one shoulder like a broken-winged bird, and started limping toward the open gate.
Alone.
The system was quiet for a long time.
Then, almost kindly:
[Hidden Condition Met: Walk the edge without falling.]
[Title Acquired: "The Boy Who Carried Death"]
[Effect: When you have nothing left, Ares will lend you one more step.]
I felt it then (warmth in my chest, small but real).
One more step.
Maybe two.
Enough.
I walked toward the biggest gate in the world, barefoot, half-dead, carrying my sister's body and seven thousand ghosts who no longer believed in me.
The walls watched in total silence.
I was still just a kid with a borrowed god in his pocket.
But I was here.
And the king was waiting.