“If we are not going to survive this battle,” Eloi said calmly, his voice stripped of all emotion, “then we will take as many of them with us as possible.”

  There was no hesitation in his words. No anger. No despair.

  That, more than anything, unsettled the officers standing before him.

  “Engineering corps,” Eloi continued, already turning away from the table covered in hastily arranged reports. “I want a full inspection of every trap, every defensive structure, and every subsection of the encampment. I don’t care how small it seems. If it can fail, assume it will.”

  “Yes, sir!” a staff officer snapped, saluting sharply before rushing out of the central command tent toward the northern camp, where the logistics and engineering units were stationed.

  Eloi reached for his armor.

  Not the leather cuirass he had worn during most engagements—but his full set.

  As the staff officers worked around him, he methodically began to equip himself, each piece locking into place with practiced precision. The armor was unmistakably medieval in design—plate reinforced with chainmail, layered leather beneath, all painstakingly crafted by hand rather than stamped out by machines.

  It was ironic.

  Modern armor, manufactured from advanced synthetic fibers like Kevlar, was lighter and more flexible. But it lacked something essential in this world.

  Mana.

  Leather, steel, iron—materials once alive or forged with intent—carried natural mana pathways. Machine-made armor did not. Unless handcrafted, it was little more than dead weight when facing creatures born of magic.

  Eloi had always considered this armor cumbersome. A symbol of rank more than practicality. Legion commanders were required to wear it, whether they liked it or not.

  Until now.

  “If the goblins truly have our weapons,” he muttered to himself as he secured his gauntlets, “then this might actually save my life.”

  Most soldiers wore little more than a Kevlar breastplate, the rest of their armor cobbled together from scraps and whatever materials they could find. Resources were stretched thin—money, metals, manpower, all wiped out before the herculean task of arming their entire population for a war their system was not designed to support.

  Governments still stood, but only because corporations had realized when to stop chasing profit before collapsing the entire system. In exchange for concessions and influence, they had propped up the war effort.

  A fragile balance.

  Eloi stepped out of the tent fully armored, the metal catching the dim light of torches and lanterns. A report was immediately pressed into his hands.

  He didn’t look at it.

  “I’m not reading,” he said flatly. His eyes twitched behind the visor—a sign that his composure was being held together by sheer will. “Just tell me.”

  The staff officer swallowed. “Yes, sir. Food supplies will last five days if we use them like normal. If we ration, up to two weeks.”

  “No rationing,” Eloi said instantly.

  “Yes, sir. Water will last several weeks thanks to river access. If the river is blocked, three days at most.”

  Eloi’s jaw tightened.

  “Armory status: approximately ten thousand melee weapons remaining for replacements. Arrows—roughly three million stored within the encampment.”

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  “That’s all?” Eloi asked quietly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Eloi exhaled slowly. “No rationing. We keep everyone fed. Morale matters more than numbers now.”

  He turned his gaze toward the dark horizon beyond the walls.

  “If the goblins truly have more than ten million behind our lines, then they already know they don’t need to rush. They can starve us out.”

  The officer listened in silence.

  “We can’t leave the camp,” Eloi continued. “We can’t defend our fifteen-kilometer sector anymore. And if we can’t, neither can our neighbors.”

  His voice hardened.

  “They will punch through. They will encircle the others.”

  Eloi turned back. “Projectiles: only two million arrows are to be used in the first four days. Priority goes to snipers to make maximum use of the arrows and bolts target evolved targets. The final million is reserved for day five.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All soldiers are to be issued melee weapons immediately. Any weapon not actively used within five days is to be smelted down.”

  The officer blinked. “Sir?”

  “I will not allow the goblins to use our own weapons against us,” Eloi said coldly. “Not again.”

  The officer saluted. “Understood.”

  “Wait,” Eloi added.

  The officer froze.

  “Do the same for armor,” Eloi said. “Ignore weight. Only body proportions matter. If a goblin can wear it—destroy it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the officer ran off, the encampment buzzed with grim efficiency. Orders spread like wildfire. No one asked questions.

  They all understood.

  Arin stood beside his father atop the defensive wall, staring at the sea of green.

  The goblins had stopped advancing.

  A kilometer from the encampment, they clustered together—thousands upon thousands of misshapen bodies, standing, sitting, milling about with no clear formation. It didn’t look like an army.

  It looked like a waiting crowd.

  “Dad,” Arin said quietly, “did everyone make it back?”

  Teun nodded. “Yes. Bruises, cuts, panic—but no one was lost during the retreat.”

  Arin exhaled in relief.

  “But…” Teun continued, his smile thin, “we should prepare ourselves. Not for battle.”

  “For dying.”

  Arin swallowed. “Why are the goblins acting like this? They could’ve killed so many more if they kept pushing.”

  “That’s what worries me,” Teun said, eyes never leaving the horde. “They don’t need to rush anymore.”

  Arin was silent for a long moment.

  “…Are you worried about Tilly?” he asked.

  Teun hesitated. “I think she’s ready. In her own way.”

  He sighed. “But dying still hurts. And no one’s been very clear about what comes after—before we respawn.”

  Arin nodded slowly.

  “I’m going to lose this bow,” he said softly, glancing at the handcrafted weapon in his hands. A genuine item. Identified by the system. Irreplaceable.

  Teun chuckled weakly. “Erik will cry harder when he hears we lost his gear.”

  Arin smiled faintly. “Yeah. Like he lost his children. And this time, he can’t even yell at us.”

  They shared a quiet laugh.

  Then Teun’s expression hardened.

  “But first,” he said, “we face the goblins.”

  Arin tightened his grip on the bow.

  And waited.