Chương 33: The Fire-Eaters’ First Strike

The alarm horn continued to howl across the camp, its deep notes rolling over the tents and defensive barriers like the growl of some enormous beast. Conversations stopped, wounded soldiers struggled upright, and every fighter still capable of carrying a weapon began moving toward the front lines. Sieghart remained beside the collection of enchanted weapons he had finished charging, watching the sudden transformation with narrowed eyes. A few moments earlier, the camp had seemed exhausted and disorganized.

Now, everyone moved with the desperate efficiency of people who had repeated the same emergency far too many times. The soldiers assigned to the outer defenses rushed toward the battlefield while carrying spears, shields, enchanted bows, and weapons that radiated a cold blue glow. Even some fighters wearing bloodstained bandages joined them, ignoring their injuries as they hurried into formation.

Sieghart could still see several silhouettes in the distance, partially concealed by the waves of heat rising from the scorched ground. The enemies were advancing at a steady pace, neither charging recklessly nor attempting to hide their presence. That only made their timing more confusing. Why attack now? The sun had nearly disappeared, but enough light remained for the defenders to see the approaching force.

If the Firians wanted to take the camp by surprise, attacking in the middle of the night would have made far more sense. They could have waited until the hours before sunrise, when most soldiers would be exhausted and the night guards would be struggling to remain awake. Instead, they had announced their approach by turning the horizon red and raising the temperature around the camp.

Sieghart initially wondered if that was proof that the Firians were little more than barbarians who relied entirely on their unusual power. Perhaps the ability to eat fire had filled them with enough confidence to abandon tactics altogether. However, the longer he watched their advance, the less likely that explanation seemed. The enemy formation was loose enough that a volley of arrows would have difficulty hitting several people at once.

They approached from multiple directions while maintaining enough distance between their groups to prevent the defenders from easily counting their numbers. They weren't marching in neat lines, but their movements weren't random either. Smaller groups remained behind the first wave, using the distortions in the heated air to conceal themselves from anyone watching from the camp. They aren't stupid. That would have made things easier. From a distance, the Firians looked surprisingly ordinary.

Sieghart had imagined towering warriors covered in scars, perhaps with flames pouring from their mouths and noses like walking furnaces. Instead, most of them looked human. They wore common shirts, rough trousers, leather belts, and thin pieces of armor that protected only their torsos. Their arms and legs were left relatively exposed, making their equipment much lighter than the metal armor used by most of the kingdom's soldiers.

Their clothing appeared loose enough to avoid restricting their movements, but several pieces had already been darkened by heat. Some fighters even walked barefoot over ground that still carried the warmth of the setting sun. The only obvious sign that they were anything other than ordinary people was the air surrounding them. It trembled. The distortion resembled the shimmering waves that rose above stone roads on the hottest days of summer.

However, the effect followed each Firian individually, forming faint halos that grew more visible as the enemies approached. Their bodies weren't merely enduring heat. They were releasing it. Sieghart could feel the temperature increasing even from the camp. The difference wasn't overwhelming yet, but every breath had become unpleasantly dry, and sweat was beginning to form beneath his hair. They must be radiating the energy they stored. Either that, or their bodies are terrible at keeping it contained.

Both possibilities offered useful information. If the Firians constantly lost energy through heat, then delaying a battle might weaken them. On the other hand, the rising temperature could be a deliberate preparation for something much more dangerous. Before Sieghart could examine the advancing silhouettes more carefully, hurried footsteps approached from behind. He turned and saw his grandfather moving between the tents with the enchanted bow held tightly in one hand.

Edric's expression was calm, but Sieghart recognized the tension around his eyes. His grandfather had already tied back his white hair, adjusted his leather armor, and filled the quiver at his waist with ordinary arrows. The lines engraved along his enchanted bow shone faintly, showing that the weapon had been activated. Sieghart had charged it before leaving the farm, but he suspected Edric had rarely expected to use it in a real battle again.

Edric stopped directly in front of him before glancing toward the red horizon. His grip around the bow tightened as another alarm horn answered from the northern side of the camp.

"You stay here." Sieghart nodded once, but Edric continued before he could respond. His grandfather's voice remained quiet, perhaps because he didn't want the nearby soldiers to hear the fear hiding beneath his words.

"Do not approach the battlefield, no matter what happens." Sieghart had expected that order. He was five years old, physically small, and officially present only to charge weapons. No sane adult should have wanted him anywhere near the front line. Still, Edric crouched until their eyes were level and placed one hand firmly on Sieghart's shoulder. The movement was gentle, but the seriousness in his expression made Sieghart's stomach tighten.

"If the enemies reach the camp and I haven't returned, turn around and run. Don't wait for me. Go straight home." For several seconds, Sieghart didn't answer. The journey back to the farm had taken two days on horseback. Covering the same distance alone would be difficult even for an ordinary adult, let alone a child whose legs were still too short to mount most horses without assistance. Edric knew that better than anyone. However, he also knew Sieghart wasn't ordinary.

He had watched him manipulate wind, move earth, maintain Protection, and perform enough farm work to exhaust several adult mages. His grandfather might not understand exactly how much mana Sieghart possessed, but he knew that the boy could use magic to travel faster than his size suggested. If the camp fell, running alone might genuinely offer him the best chance of survival. That realization made the order feel much heavier.

"I understand." Edric studied him for another moment, apparently searching for any sign that Sieghart intended to ignore the warning. Whatever he found must have satisfied him because he finally released Sieghart's shoulder and stood. Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

"Don't try to be brave." That shouldn't be a problem. I've always been exceptionally talented at avoiding heroic deaths. I have some experience with the stupid ones, though. The joke didn't make Sieghart feel better. He had made similar remarks while dying beneath a collection of library shelves, and remembering that moment while his grandfather prepared for battle felt like tempting fate. Sieghart forced himself to keep his expression steady.

He didn't want Edric to enter the fight while worrying that the child behind him might do something reckless.

"I'll stay here." Edric nodded, but his worried expression remained. He turned away and hurried toward the front line, joining the stream of soldiers moving between the wooden barricades. Sieghart watched until his grandfather's white hair disappeared among the helmets, weapons, and armored shoulders. Only then did he realize that his hands had curled into fists. He didn't enjoy depending on other people.

He had spent years trying to become strong enough to decide his own future, yet he was still being ordered to remain behind while someone important to him walked into danger. Unfortunately, rushing after Edric would accomplish nothing. Sieghart had powerful spells for someone his age, but that didn't mean he understood battle well enough to survive among hundreds of Aura users. Worse, his most destructive spell was Fireball.

Using fire against people who could eat it would be like attacking a starving dog by throwing steaks. There was a reasonable chance he would only make the Firians stronger before they killed him. I have water, wind, earth, and an enchanted bow. I'm not completely useless. I just need to avoid proving that statement wrong. At the front of the camp, soldiers finished assembling behind layered wooden barricades.

Shield bearers formed the first line while archers and enchanted-weapon users took their positions several steps behind them. The defenders appeared disciplined, but Sieghart could see the strain in their movements. Many had already fought that day, and several leaned too heavily upon their weapons whenever they thought no one was watching. Captain Harlan rode along the rear of the formation, shouting instructions and directing the newly arrived reinforcements toward gaps in the defensive line.

Sieghart couldn't hear every command, but he saw Edric join a unit of archers near the center. His grandfather tested the bowstring once and then raised the weapon toward the approaching silhouettes. The distance was still considerable, but the magical arrows stored within the bow gave it a much greater range than an ordinary weapon. The Firians continued to advance. One hundred and fifty meters. One hundred and twenty. One hundred. None of them carried bows.

Sieghart saw a few short spears and curved blades, but most of the approaching warriors appeared to be unarmed. That should have made them vulnerable at a distance, yet none of them showed any concern about the weapons aimed in their direction. Some even walked with their arms hanging casually beside their bodies. A commander at the front shouted an order. The first volley rose into the darkening sky. Hundreds of arrows crossed the remaining distance, their metal heads reflecting the last traces of sunlight.

Mixed among them were magical projectiles glowing with blue, white, and pale green light. The Firians reacted immediately. Several raised their hands, and walls of heat surged into the air before them. Ordinary arrows twisted away from their original paths as the sudden currents disrupted their flight, while some of the enchanted projectiles weakened before reaching their targets. The remaining arrows descended among the enemy formation.

A handful of Firians fell, but most avoided fatal injuries by twisting aside or shielding themselves with their arms. Those who were struck didn't stop for long. One Firian pulled an arrow from his shoulder, examined the blood on its head, and threw it aside without changing his pace. A reddish glow spread beneath his skin before the wound closed enough to stop bleeding. Sieghart felt his eyebrows rise. Right... They eat fire, radiate heat, and heal.

Perhaps they also clean houses and prepare breakfast when they aren't invading kingdoms. The second volley was almost entirely magical. Ice arrows streaked over the battlefield, leaving pale trails through the heated air. Several struck their targets and exploded into layers of frost, freezing limbs and coating clothing with jagged crystals. This time, the Firians screamed. The affected warriors stumbled, and nearby allies immediately moved around them instead of attempting a rescue.

Their organized reaction confirmed Sieghart's suspicion that they had prepared for this battle carefully. Ice magic was effective, but the enchanted weapons carrying it had limited reserves. Some of the bows Sieghart had charged could produce only fifteen or twenty arrows before needing more mana. The defenders had thousands of soldiers, but they didn't have thousands of Restorers. If the battle lasted long enough, the Firians could exhaust the camp's magical ammunition and then close the distance safely.

So that might be why they attacked now. The eastern reinforcements had arrived only a short time earlier. Their equipment hadn't been properly distributed, their fighters hadn't rested, and their officers were still meeting to decide where everyone belonged. The Firians might have seen the group approaching the camp and chosen to attack before those additional soldiers could settle into defensive positions. Waiting until midnight would have given the reinforcements several hours to rest and organize.

The timing wasn't odd at all. It was calculated. The enemy wanted to force the camp into battle while it was still adjusting to the arrival of two hundred new people. If they had scouts watching the road, they might even know that a Restorer had arrived with them. Sieghart's gaze moved toward the pile of weapons beside him. He had charged each one, but many soldiers were already bringing partially depleted equipment back from the front.

A young man ran toward him carrying three frost-covered spears across both arms. His face was pale, and one sleeve had been burned away from the elbow down.

"Restorer! Charge these!" Sieghart grabbed the first weapon before the soldier finished lowering it. Mana poured from his hand into the carved runes, filling the spear's storage almost instantly. The young man's impatience changed into surprise, but Sieghart had already reached for the second spear. There wasn't time for explanations, and he had no intention of discussing his mana pool while his grandfather stood beneath enemy fire.

"Bring me everything that runs out." The soldier blinked.

"All of it?"

"All of it." Sieghart charged the final spear and pushed the weapons back toward him. The young man hesitated for only a heartbeat before turning and sprinting toward the defensive line. More depleted weapons soon arrived. Sieghart sat beside the pile and worked continuously, transferring mana into bows, spears, swords, axes, shields, and several devices whose purpose he didn't recognize. His Mana Transfusion skill allowed him to refill most items within seconds.

The work placed almost no strain on his mana pool, but handling several unfamiliar enchantments in rapid succession demanded concentration. He ignored the pressure building behind his eyes and continued charging every weapon placed before him. The battle line flashed repeatedly in the distance. Ice arrows flew toward the advancing enemies while wind enchantments disrupted their movements. Spears struck the earth and released waves of frost, turning sections of the scorched battlefield into slippery patches.

For several minutes, it seemed that the defenders might stop the advance before the Firians reached close-combat range. The first enemy ranks slowed beneath the repeated magical attacks, leaving bodies scattered across the ground. Then the Firians stopped together. The synchronized movement sent a warning through Sieghart before he understood what they were doing. Dozens of enemies spread their feet, lowered their bodies, and drew their arms backward. Flames appeared around their hands.

The fire didn't begin with sparks or chants. It erupted directly from their skin, wrapping around their fingers and forearms as though their blood had ignited beneath the surface. Each Firian's flames carried a slightly different color. Most were orange or red, but a few burned deep crimson, and one figure near the center produced fire so pale that it appeared almost white. The temperature surged across the battlefield. Sieghart felt the heat reach the camp like the breath of an opened furnace.

Soldiers carrying depleted weapons stumbled, and several wounded men cried out as the rising temperature aggravated their burns. The Firians punched the air. Fireballs tore away from their fists.