Cheese stood with the men as he fulfilled the role of Bladesman. He could feel the eyes on his silhouette in the night. As he stood atop the gatehouse, his sharp gaze scanned the battlefield in the torchlight. The night which had grown thick with the acrid stench of burning wood was now filled with the distant screams of the enemy as they began marching to the walls. Cheese found that he could tell the difference between the goblins and men as they swarmed toward them in droves. The men stood high above the goblins, but they did not have the bulk of orcs. A sea of the shadowed figures, their eyes gleaming with malice advanced under the protection of shields.

  The enemy had brought more ladders than last time, Cheese noted, his eyes narrowing. The torches illuminated the enemy forces, flickering against their crude shields and armor. He could see the ladders in their midst being hauled forward. The bows of his own forces sang as those clumps of attackers crossed the invisible line that marked their range, striking down enemies in quick succession, but it soon became obvious that there were simply too many. He could hear Maurens commands echoing through the air, and the sounds of the battle began to blend into a cacophony of chaos as the bowstrings thrummed around him. Most of the twenty-some-odd men here had bows, the others were simply runners and Torv who stood nearby with a banner in hand. For now, Cheese remained still, watching.

  He could feel the familiar tingle of his mana as it begged to be let out, but he chose not to waste it just yet. His duty was to the axe and the wall, not to unnecessary flare. He would wait for the right moment, when it would count. The others—Tompson, Gelrock and the archers—were doing their part, releasing arrows into the mass of enemies, thinning the ranks where they could. The bowmen fired with practiced precision, each shot finding its mark and piercing through the shields. But it wasn’t enough. There were too many, and they kept coming in a slow flow to their walls.

  As the enemy drew closer, Cheese saw that one group was clustered thicker than the rest. A low growl rumbled in his chest. They were going to test the gatehouse, and the group held a thick mana denser than the rest. His gaze flicked to Gelrock, the Master-at-Arms, who was losing arrows in a steady stream.

  “Battering ram,” Cheese said loudly, infusing some power into his voice for the small man to hear over the noise.

  Gelrock snorted in disdain, his arm never stopping as he loosed arrow after arrow. In between shots he spoke out. “A poor weapon for the job, if you ask me.... They don’t know how to use their trebuchets properly either....If they did, we’d be in more trouble than just some clumsy ram.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, then kept shooting as he glanced down the wall at the other defenders. “Only two of their rocks today made it in the walls and none hit it."

  The sound of rocks flying through the air cut through the night. The enemy trebuchets had begun launching their payloads, but their aim was poor. A few rocks landed near the gates, but none of them came close to breaching the wall. Gelrock’s lips twisted into a grim smile as a number of the payloads took down the attackers. “They’ll need better engineers, that’s for sure.”

  In the midst of the battle’s chaos a boy rushed up to Cheese, holding a bucket of water. “For the blood, my lord,” he said breathlessly, handing it over. Cheese nodded his thanks and motioned for Nold to help the boy.

  Cheese nodded again, and his thoughts returned to the enemy. They were slowly closing in, moving beneath their cover. It was a slow advance, but the enemy’s persistence seemed endless. Still, it didn’t stall the steady rain of arrows from their archers. Every shot hit its mark, but it would take more than that to keep them at bay.

  "Hold the line," Cheese muttered to himself. He gripped his sword tighter, watching the waves of enemies' surge forward, determined to protect the gatehouse. He could feel the weight of the moment bearing down on him. The anticipation of battle was starting to get his blood hot, and he reached to his waist for his wineskin. But when he grabbed it he remembered it had been emptied during the days fighting. he spit on the ground, angry at himself for not thinking to fill it. Then Torv shouted out "Here sir" and Cheese was surprised to see a wineskin flying at him. He grabbed it out of the air. The one-armed man had thrown it with his stump. Cheese nodded his thanks in return. He drank a long swig and then threw it back. The other man caught it with his stump, and Cheese was astounded to see he even looped it around his belt, the banner never leaving his good hand. Cheese nodded his approval, and the other man beamed a smile.

  The enemy surged forward as the Bladesman returned his vision to them, shouting and screaming as the arrows rained down from the ramparts. Every time one found its mark, the attackers would stagger, some falling to the ground, others twisting in pain. The sounds of the battlefield filled the night, a discordant mix of guttural curses and shrill cries of agony as men and goblins were struck. A few javelins flew from the enemy ranks, but none managed to reach the top of the walls.

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  Cheese stood unmoving, his eyes flicking across the scene. The chaos below was unfathomable—waves of bodies pressing ever closer, their shields raised, their faces twisted with desperation. The attackers seemed to multiply with every breath, as though the night itself was giving birth to more enemies. Each step they took toward the wall seemed louder than the last, a drumming rhythm of impending doom. Yet in no time at all, the first ladder was raised to his right. Then another, and another.

  He toggled his observation skill, and with surprise he felt the world around him sharpening into focus. The skill pinged [Observe (10) Epic] New Passives Unlocked. The movement of the enemy was suddenly clearer, their positions more distinct in the dim torchlight. He could see the glint of metal on their blades and the frantic scrambling of their feet as they scrambled over the piles of fallen bodies, those who had been struck by arrows. Yet Cheese also felt a greater drain on his mana, he quickly shut off the skill.

  The enemy, a maddening tide of limbs and faces, roared as they began climbing the ladders. More arrows flew, striking down several of them, but there were too many to stop now. No ladders were raised at the gatehouse and Cheese felt anger begin to stir. He wanted to MOVE to help his men.

  Mauren’s voice cut through the noise, a command that rang out across the battlements. "Throw stones!"

  The order was swift and urgent, and the defenders who lacked arrows moved as one. There were piled rocks against the ramparts. Cheese nodded as they were grabbed by every available hand and sent crashing down onto the attackers below. Each stone was the size of a man’s head, and each thud likely meant a dead foe. The air was filled with the sound of shouts and the sickening thuds of rock meeting flesh. Men and goblins were struck down in droves, some crumpling under the weight, others flung aside by the force of the blow. The attackers staggered, some retreating momentarily, but quickly regrouping as others climbed their fallen comrades and continued the climb.

  Unlike earlier in the day, Cheese’s men had orders to repel ladders when given the chance, and they did not disappoint. The men on the walls started chopping at the ladders and pushing them away as the goblins started their ascent.

  Cheese’s gaze moved with practiced ease, watching the lines of enemies advance relentlessly, the flashes of their weapons rising and falling in rhythm with their charge. Yet he felt his eyes drawn to the thick line of men who carried the ram. The chaos seemed endless, like a living thing, twisting and surging as though it could not be contained, yet those men seemed a steady hand in the storm of bodies. Cheese activated his vision and realized why that was. Now that they were close, he could see that they were all at the Journeyman level, and many wore strong armor.

  He could feel the weight of realization hit him. The wall would hold. It had to. The gate, however, would fall.

  "Gelrock," he said calmly as he came to his decision.

  "Aye," came the reply. "Me and you could hold it; it's a small gate. Two men across would do the trick for a time."

  That confirmed Cheese’s worries. He had hoped the older man had a trick up his sleeve, but it appeared not. "Do we open it or let them try their hand?" he asked the more experienced man.

  "It makes no matter," came the reply. "The gate was bound to fall the second they wanted it to, boy. Open, closed, it makes no matter."

  Cheese nodded and looked to Mauren. The officer was listening to their conversation, and Cheese nodded to him, saying, "Send my brother out with the families now. They likely won’t get another opportunity."

  Then, without another word, Cheese turned and began walking toward the stairwell that led to the base of the gatehouse. Torv, Nold, and Gelrock followed close behind.

  The stairwell was narrow, the stone steps slick with the sweat of too many bodies passing through, but the descent felt like an eternity. Each step echoed, hollow and heavy in the quiet of the lower gatehouse, and yet all Cheese could hear was the distant crash of the battering ram against the gates above. His muscles tensed with every tremor that rattled the walls, the constant rhythm of that terrible force battering against the door. It would not hold for much longer.

  As they reached the bottom, the air grew thick with the smell of oil and stone. Cheese could feel the weight of the decision hanging heavy on his shoulders. The gate was their last line of defense, but it was quickly slipping away from them. His thoughts raced as he glanced at his companions. Gelrock’s face was grim, Torv’s jaw set like stone, and Nold—young, wide-eyed—kept his gaze forward, trying to keep his composure.

  Cheese took a deep breath. There was no going back now. The ram was close enough that if they didn’t act, the gate would be splintered to pieces, and they would be overwhelmed.

  “Ready?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

  Gelrock gave a curt nod. "Aye. Open it, let’s give 'em hell."

  Cheese turned his gaze to the thick timbers of the gate, the large iron bolts that held it fast. The crashing of the ram grew louder, more intense. The gate would give way soon, with a breath he signaled two men who stood nearby, and they unbarred the gate.

  Then—another thunderous impact, and suddenly it was wide open.

  Cheese froze, and it was like time froze with him. His heart which had been pounding in his chest was quiet.

  Cheese felt the men who came from beyond the door, yet there was something else there that had hidden from him, and with a start Cheese realized.

  The men with the ram were no longer the biggest threat.