Jacob’s boots barely touched the hum beneath him. EarthRend glowed, pulsing in rhythm with the ley currents as he swung, carving controlled paths through the surge.

  Hollow-Stags stumbled, redirected by shields, axes, and spells—but more pressed forward than before.

  “Front! Brace! Flanks, maintain the funnel! Rear, cover all currents!” Jacob barked.

  Bram planted his boots like anchors, axes sweeping in disciplined arcs that forced the creatures inward.

  “Push anything sideways—I’ll get it first!”

  Lyria wove fire and frost with surgical precision, freezing hooves mid-stride or scorching leaf litter just enough to redirect Shard Serpents. Every spell nudged, never shattered, the formation.

  At the rear, Thalen traced minor ley distortions, sparks racing along invisible channels.

  “Currents spiking… buffer at eighty percent,” he called. “They’re pushing harder this wave.”

  They were.

  The third surge arrived dense and relentless. Hollow-Stags slammed antlers into shields; Shard Serpents lashed tails that cracked spear shafts.

  Dust and mana swirled as the Fringe reacted—ley threads twisting under pressure—but the Guild adapted faster.

  Jacob planted EarthRend, sending a controlled ripple through the corridor. Several Stags staggered, hooves slipping as roots surged beneath them.

  New shapes immediately filled the gaps.

  “Timing,” Jacob snapped. “Every strike counts.”

  The lattice shuddered. Thalen’s voice cut sharp through the noise.

  “Echo-Stone buffer at ninety-five percent! Oscillations breaching margin—Alert Level Three imminent!”

  No panic. The Guild adjusted as one.

  Bram’s axes redrew lanes mid-swing. Lyria locked multiple hooves in midair with frost spikes, then burned the path open again with controlled flame.

  Thalen reinforced collapsing ley threads just long enough for the corridor to hold.

  Hollow-Stags collided. Shard Serpents coiled and struck. More creatures burst from side thickets as the Fringe’s lattice pulsed violently—threads snapping, reforming—but the line held.

  Jacob slammed EarthRend again, redirecting the largest Stag straight into the kill corridor.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Front—shove! Synchronize with the currents!”

  Bram roared, axes splitting the surge apart. Frost and fire landed in lethal harmony. Every Adventurer adjusted instinctively, improvising with precision earned through survival.

  Ahead, Hollow-Stags loomed five meters high, antlers scraping branches as they charged. Ten-meter Shard Serpents flowed through the underbrush, scales flashing in broken sunlight.

  Hundreds surged toward the funnel Jacob had shaped, each step resonating like a shallow quake.

  He inhaled—sap, dust, ozone—and calculated trajectories, timing, mana draw to the heartbeat.

  “Front holds center! Flanks, corral! Rear, cover everyone! Strategy over bravado! Class C—observe, don’t swing!”

  “Ashes take this,” someone muttered. “That’s a lot of meat.”

  “Then don’t miss,” came the reply.

  Mana cracked. A passive-triggered strike snapped clean and efficient.

  “I’ll take that,” the adventurer said. “Didn’t even dip reserve.”

  “Save it till it’s dead.”

  A Hollow-Stag broke right. Bram intercepted—but two more veered past, forcing archers to shift.

  The creatures never overcommitted, probing for fatigue, testing the seams.

  Bram planted shield and axes. The ground buckled. Roots erupted, flinging soil and undergrowth skyward as six Stags thundered forward.

  Jacob flicked EarthRend. Roots arched like spears, flipping three beasts mid-air into detonated spear zones.

  Dust and bark fragments rained down, ley currents humming beneath his skin.

  “Aww—did you see that?!” a C-class observer gasped.

  On the left, frost mages layered ice across the corridor. Hooves skidded. Claws froze mid-lunge. Shards spun and caught the light as B-class spearmen detonated their throws in perfect sequence, obliterating dozens at once.

  One mage cursed and downed a potion mid-cast.

  “Too close!”

  “Then move faster—you’re not twenty anymore.”

  Laughter flashed through the strain.

  On the right, fire tornadoes roared, vaporizing Shard Serpents in controlled arcs.

  Heat warped the air; scorched sap stung Jacob’s nose. A younger mage dove behind a twisted root, shouting, “Tail—right flank!”

  Jacob pivoted, swinging EarthRend. Roots coiled and lifted rogue Stags into fire and ice.

  One slammed into Bram’s shield, sparks skittering across polished metal.

  “Nearly flattened me!” Lyssa yelled, laughing breathlessly as she slid across ice shards. “You’re all insane!”

  Jacob moved with calm precision, flipping five-meter beasts mid-air, tracking herd cohesion and mana expenditure in every motion.

  Bram absorbed impacts that would have crushed lesser men. Frost and fire mages trembled with strain, potions flashing as cores stabilized.

  C-class observers nudged ley currents cautiously, wide-eyed but steady.

  Good. Stable. Learning.

  Every strike scarred the Fringe. Roots splintered. Soil erupted with each detonation. Ice shattered, fire twisted leaves into smoke. Residual magic danced across broken branches as the forest reacted—alive, adaptive, pressured.

  The third wave collapsed.

  Hollow-Stags faltered. Shard Serpents recoiled. Dozens vanished inside synchronized kill zones. Formation intact. Casualties: none.

  Jacob scanned the field. B-class tanks swayed, already supported. Mages glowed faintly as cores settled. Observers remained unhurt. Bram stood unmoving at the center.

  Garrick wiped sweat from his brow. “Guildmaster… that felt too easy. And exhausting.”

  “No,” Jacob said quietly. “That was the question.”

  A pulse throbbed beneath his boots—faint, wrong. The Echo-Stone flared.

  “That’s buffer stress,” Jacob said. “Brace. Breach Protocol’s coming.”

  Above the canopy, a low hum began, harmonics threading the air.

  “Listen,” Jacob murmured. “That’s the world talking. Control the numbers—or the numbers control you.”

  Leaves shivered along a distant ridge. Roots trembled. Jacob squared his shoulders.

  The next wave would exploit every gap.

  And it would be worse.