Within the lands of the Western Earldom, fire had become a language—one spoken in pillars of black smoke that clawed at the sky like the hands of the damned. Each burned estate left behind a charred accusation, a grim marker pointing the way forward for Colin's advancing horde.
Victory did not dull them. It sharpened them.
Where others might have paused to savor triumph, Colin's coalition grew hungrier. On the map spread before him, his eyes had already abandoned the ashes behind and fixed upon something far more worthwhile—Jinxi Town.
Anna's intelligence stripped away any illusion of ease. This was no fragile estate to be crushed in passing. Jinxi stood where two tributaries met, a knot of life and logistics. Nearly three thousand souls. Walls of stone and timber—imperfect, but stubborn. Enough to break lesser predators.
More importantly, it fed the region.
At its heart lay a granary under the Earl's direct command—a lifeline. Even after conscription had drained the land, over three hundred soldiers still held the town, led by an aging knight whose loyalty had calcified into something unbreakable.
That made him dangerous.
That made the town worth taking.
Night swallowed the forest five miles from Jinxi. Beneath its cover, Colin's army breathed quietly, resting, waiting. The final council gathered around a low-burning fire.
Boulder spoke first, voice thick as stone."Hard target."
No fear. Just truth.
Colin's fingers tapped lightly against the crude map, precisely where the south gate stood.
"The harder it is," he murmured, "the sweeter it breaks."
There was no weight in his expression—only anticipation. A predator's calm.
"Arrogance rots them," he continued. "Walls make men lazy. Numbers make them blind."
His gaze lifted, cutting through the gathered commanders.
"We strike before they wake."
Anna didn't hesitate."The south wall. Near the river. Damp. Overgrown. Weak. Guards hide there—out of sight, out of discipline. Fog will cover us before dawn."
A faint smile touched Colin's lips.
"Good."
He stood.
"Tonight, their alarm bell becomes a funeral toll."
The deepest hour before dawn—when even vigilance decays—was when they moved.
The watchman struck the fourth watch.
Sleep spread like rot.
And beneath the walls, death climbed.
Black shapes clung to stone like parasites. The Forest Tracker scouts moved without breath, without sound. Blades clenched between their teeth, fingers finding purchase in moss and cracks.
One guard never woke.Another died mid-dream.
Hands smothered. Steel slid between bone.
Twist.
Silence.
Bodies lowered gently, like offerings.
In minutes, the wall was emptied of life.
Outside the gate, the army waited.
Boulder crouched at the front, massive and still. Beside him, Barton and the Bedrock Squad—iron made flesh. Behind them, ranks of Deer-folk warriors stood packed tight, spears angled forward like a field of teeth.
Above, on the rise, Colin watched.
"Wolf Guards. Suppress the walls."
The mounted archers scattered, vanishing into vantage points.
Crossbows leveled.
Bows drawn.
The first hint of light brushed the horizon.
Colin's hand fell.
"Fire."
The world split.
The crossbows screamed—metal grinding, bolts launching in relentless succession. Not one volley, but a storm. Arrows followed, shrieking through the mist.
Men died before they understood.
An officer raised his head—three bolts erased his face.
Archers in towers were pinned to wood and stone.
Screams replaced silence.
Then the alarm—too late.
"Break it!"
Boulder roared.
The ram struck.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Each impact shook the gate like a dying heartbeat. Wood splintered. Iron groaned. Men behind it screamed, bracing with bodies and debris.
It didn't matter.
The seventh strike tore it apart.
The gate died.
And the flood came.
Boulder entered first.
His axe split a man from shoulder to spine.
Behind him, the Boar-folk surged—heavy, unstoppable, drowning the breach in violence. The Deer-folk followed in formation, disciplined, relentless.
The gate became a slaughterhouse.
Steel screamed. Bone shattered. Blood turned earth into mire.
Colin rode in after them.
Unmoved.
Unhurried.
His eyes dissected the chaos.
"Left flank—crush them."
"Right—break them."
Orders fell like execution sentences.
Barton's unit smashed into forming shields, turning order into ruin. Boulder's charge erased the rest—men torn apart as if they were nothing but soft timber.
Resistance collapsed.
The old knight tried.
Rallying what remained, he moved to counterattack—but death had already chosen him.
An arrow struck the standard bearer.
The banner fell.
So did hope.
From the rooftops, Anna's archers hunted leadership—officers, commanders, anyone who might restore order.
Precision. Efficiency.
Extermination.
Within half an hour, it was over.
The last survivors barricaded themselves in the granary.
Colin did not negotiate.
"Suppress."
Arrows filled the structure. Wood shredded. Flesh followed.
Screams turned to pleas.
"Surrender!"
A filthy white rag emerged.
Permission to live.
Denied.
When the sun rose, Jinxi Town was no longer a town.
It was a corpse.
In the square, Colin walked among kneeling prisoners.
One by one.
No speeches. No hesitation.
His blade moved with mechanical certainty.
Cut.
Next.
Cut.
The ground drank deeply.
The old knight was last.
He spat curses. Promised vengeance. Swore the kingdom would erase them.
Colin leaned close.
"You won't see it."
The sword entered his chest.
Silence followed.
Then came the looting.
Grain enough for years. Weapons. Armor. Silver.
Colin issued orders with the same cold clarity.
Hide what cannot be carried.
Take what can strengthen them.
Burn the rest.
Even the land was not spared—lime scattered across the fields, ensuring famine would follow.
Nothing left behind but ruin.
When they departed, Jinxi burned.
Colin stood above it all, flames reflecting in his eyes.
He unfolded a new map.
More targets.
More lifelines.
More things to break.
His gaze moved slowly across it—
like a wolf choosing where to bite next.