Chương 38: The First Strike Was His

Sieghart climbed onto the back of a supply wagon while the defenders assumed their positions. The wooden frame creaked beneath his weight, but it raised him high enough to see over the barricades and the soldiers gathering behind them. The improved view immediately proved useful. From the ground, the battlefield had appeared like a confused mass of armor, smoke, and distant silhouettes.

Standing upon the wagon allowed Sieghart to distinguish the separate defensive units and observe the approaching Firians more clearly. The enemies looked even more eager to fight than they had the previous evening. Their pace remained controlled, but their movements possessed a restless intensity that hadn't been present during the first attack. Several rolled their shoulders or opened and closed their hands as though struggling to contain the power inside them.

The heat surrounding their bodies also appeared stronger. Waves of distortion rose from their exposed arms and shoulders, making their outlines tremble beneath the fading sunlight. The reddish glow beneath their skin was bright enough to remain visible from the camp. Sieghart glanced toward the dark columns of smoke beyond the distant hills. His theory about the fires had probably been correct. The Firians hadn't relied solely upon sunlight to replenish their energy.

They had spent the day gathering heat from flames as well, filling themselves with more power than they had possessed before the previous battle. That explained their eagerness. They had killed almost three times as many defenders as they had lost, and now they had returned with even greater reserves. From their perspective, the camp was already weakening. The newly arrived reinforcements hadn't changed anything during the first attack.

If the same exchange continued for several more evenings, the defensive line would eventually collapse. The Firians probably believed that the result had already been decided. Sieghart intended to make them reconsider. He crouched slightly upon the wagon and steadied himself against its wooden side. From his elevated position, he could see Edric standing among the archers near the central barricade. His grandfather held the enchanted bow ready, its red runes glowing with the mana Sieghart had transferred into it.

Several additional charged bows rested behind the archers, allowing them to exchange weapons when their ammunition ran out. The commanders had made adjustments after the first battle. Shield bearers stood in staggered rows instead of forming a single continuous wall. Barrels of water had been positioned beside the wooden defenses, and soldiers carrying ice-enchanted weapons were distributed more evenly across the formation. Those improvements might reduce the casualties.

They wouldn't be enough to change the result. The Firians advanced in the same loose groups they had used before. Those in front moved far enough apart to avoid wide magical attacks, while the warriors behind them used the heat distortions as concealment. Sieghart studied their movements carefully. Their formation looked disorganized until someone focused upon the distances between the groups. Each unit could support the others without becoming an easy target.

When one group came under concentrated fire, the nearby warriors would advance and force the defenders to divide their attention. The strategy had been refined through experience. Fortunately, Sieghart wasn't planning to use the same attacks they had learned to avoid. The first warning horn sounded. Archers raised their weapons but didn't release the strings. The officers had learned from the previous battle and wanted to conserve magical ammunition until the enemies moved closer.

The Firians continued forward, apparently recognizing the defenders' hesitation. Several smiled as they crossed the sections of ground where their companions had died the evening before. Sieghart felt the temperature climbing. The dry air scraped against his throat with every breath, while sweat gathered beneath his crimson hair. Even the wagon's wooden surface felt warmer beneath his hands. The Firians reached the outer limit of the enchanted bows. A commander shouted. The first volley crossed the sky.

Ice arrows and wind projectiles descended upon the approaching formation, forcing the Firians to scatter. Some twisted around the attacks, while others released bursts of heated air that weakened the frost surrounding the arrows. Several projectiles struck their targets, but the results looked painfully familiar. Two Firians fell, while others continued advancing with arrows buried in their arms or shoulders. Their bodies began healing almost immediately. The defenders prepared another volley.

Sieghart remained still. Attacking too early would give the Firians time to recover before they reached the barricades. He needed to strike when they gathered enough heat to launch their fire punches. That would be the moment when their concentration shifted from defense to offense. Their hands would be raised, their feet would be planted, and their bodies would contain the greatest quantity of active heat. Sieghart watched the distance shrink. One hundred meters. Eighty. Sixty.

The air around the leading Firians brightened. Flames emerged between their fingers, spreading gradually across their hands and forearms. The defenders tightened their formation. Several soldiers flinched before the attacks were even launched. They had survived the previous barrage and knew exactly what would happen when the fireballs struck the wooden defenses. Sieghart saw fear spread across the line. The Firians saw it too. Their smiles widened as they drew back their burning fists.

Sieghart raised his right hand. Water began gathering above him. At first, the spell produced a rotating sphere no larger than his head. Sieghart continued feeding mana into it, forcing Water Creation to expand instead of releasing a continuous stream. The sphere doubled in size. Then it doubled again. Water spun above the wagon, gathering layer after layer while Sieghart maintained its shape through concentration. Within several seconds, the sphere became wider than the wagon beneath him.

Soldiers nearby began noticing the shadow passing over them. Several looked upward and froze when they saw an enormous mass of water floating above a five-year-old child. Sieghart ignored their reactions. He had expected the mental strain to become unbearable, but the pressure remained surprisingly manageable. Controlling such a large volume required concentration, yet his increased Mentality prevented the spell from overwhelming him.

Months of Mana Transfusion training had improved far more than the speed at which he charged weapons. It had strengthened his ability to move and shape mana under continuous pressure. Sieghart had spent so long measuring his progress through small exercises that he hadn't realized how much easier magic had become. Apparently, repeatedly filling bows wasn't the most glamorous training, but it did teach my brain how to stop complaining.

The sphere continued expanding until it contained enough water to fill several large barrels. Maintaining it above his head was easier than attempting to create a cloud because he only needed to control one element. Sieghart didn't have to evaporate the water, contain the vapor, or manipulate distant winds. He merely needed to make an enormous sphere and throw it at something. Simple magic suited him surprisingly well. The Firians completed their preparation. Flames roared around their fists.

Sieghart extended his left hand and focused upon moving the water. The massive sphere trembled, stretched slightly, and then launched forward. It flew above the defenders in a high arc. The movement was slower than a Fireball, but the Firians had already committed to their attack. Most were looking toward the barricades instead of the sky. A few warriors noticed the shadow passing over them. They raised their heads and stared at the descending mass with expressions Sieghart couldn't see clearly.

He imagined surprise was involved. The water sphere struck the center of the leading group. For an instant, the battlefield disappeared beneath a violent explosion of water and steam. The impact flattened several Firians and threw others across the scorched ground. Water spread outward in every direction, soaking clothing, extinguishing flames, and turning the loose dirt beneath their feet into mud. White vapor rose from the enemies' bodies as their stored heat boiled away the moisture.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. The result wasn't lethal by itself. It didn't need to be. The Firians who had been preparing their fire punches lost control of the flames surrounding their hands. Several fell to their knees, stunned by the sudden cooling and the physical impact. For one remarkable moment, the entire battlefield stopped. The defenders lowered their weapons slightly.

The Firians farther behind halted their advance, while those struck by the sphere stared at the water covering their bodies. Even the commanders appeared uncertain about what had happened. Sieghart watched the vapor rising from the enemy formation. Maybe I should have shouted something dramatic before throwing it. Too late now. The pause lasted less than a second. One of the defending officers recovered first.

"Fire!" The order broke the stillness. Arrows, spears, and waves of compressed wind struck the drenched Firians before they could rise. Ice enchantments became especially effective, freezing the water clinging to their skin and clothing. A warrior who had resisted several frost arrows during the previous battle became trapped beneath a layer of ice after a single hit. The swordsman with the cold Aura rushed forward and removed his head before he could recover.

Another Firian attempted to restore the flames around his hands, but the archer with the golden Aura pierced his chest with three magical arrows. His body fell backward into the mud. The defenders attacked first. That simple difference transformed the opening exchange. During the previous evening, the soldiers had spent the beginning of the battle reacting to the enemy's advance. They had conserved ammunition, braced for fireballs, and waited for the Firians to dictate the pace.

Now, the attackers were struggling to recover while the defenders used their strongest techniques without interruption. Sieghart saw several people near the rear of the defensive line turn around. Their eyes followed the trail of water across the ground until they found him standing upon the wagon. Their expressions ranged from confusion to disbelief. A shield bearer stared at Sieghart for several seconds before an officer shouted at him to face the enemy.

Another soldier made a protective sign across his chest, apparently uncertain whether Sieghart was a blessing or something much worse. Most defenders didn't have time to look. They seized the opportunity and continued attacking. Sieghart raised his hand again. The first water sphere had performed better than expected, but the Firians were already adapting. Those behind the drenched group spread farther apart and began moving around the muddy section. A single unexpected attack wouldn't change the battle.

Sieghart needed to repeat it until the enemy understood that approaching the barricades would carry a new cost. Water gathered above him once more. This time, Sieghart created the sphere faster. His mind remembered the structure of the first spell, allowing him to reproduce it without making every adjustment consciously. The sphere expanded until it became almost as large as the first. Soldiers beside the wagon moved away nervously, apparently concerned that losing control would flood the camp instead.

Sieghart couldn't blame them. He pointed toward the southern enemy group. The second sphere launched. The Firians saw it coming and attempted to scatter, but the projectile's size made avoiding it difficult. Sieghart adjusted its direction slightly during flight, correcting the arc before releasing control. The water struck near the front of the group. Several Firians avoided the center of the impact, but the resulting wave drenched them from head to toe.

Their flames weakened, and vapor poured from their skin as their stored heat fought against the sudden cooling. The defenders released another volley. Ice arrows struck wet bodies, spreading frost far more quickly than before. Wind projectiles threw enemies off balance, while ordinary arrows pierced Firians who had lost the heat required to distort their paths. Sieghart observed the results carefully. Water didn't remove all of their power.

The strongest Firians continued moving despite being soaked, and their bodies produced enough heat to evaporate the moisture within seconds. However, doing so consumed energy. Every drop of water forced them to spend some of the heat they had gathered throughout the day. Even if the spell caused no injuries, it reduced the strength available for attacks and healing. Against ordinary mages, that exchange might have been inefficient.

Creating such enormous quantities of water would drain their mana before the Firians exhausted their reserves. Sieghart didn't have that problem. His mana remained infinite. The only question was how many spheres he could control before his concentration failed. After two, the pressure behind his eyes remained uncomfortable but manageable. He could continue. At the center of the defensive line, Edric fired another magical arrow before noticing the second mass of water descending upon the enemy.

His hands hesitated briefly upon the bowstring. He looked over his shoulder. The distance prevented Sieghart from seeing his expression clearly, but he could imagine it. Edric had probably spent the entire morning hoping that his grandson's plan involved something smaller and less noticeable. Perhaps a water barrel. Maybe a slightly inconvenient puddle. Definitely not enormous spheres flying over the army. Edric wanted to believe that someone else was responsible.

The camp contained thousands of Aura users, so surely one of them possessed an unusual ability involving water. Then his gaze found the wagon. Sieghart stood upon it with both hands raised, crimson-and-gold hair moving beneath the magical wind generated by the spell. A third sphere had already begun forming above him. Edric closed his eyes for half a second. He knew better than to remain delusional. His grandson had promised to stay inside the camp and away from the enemies.

Technically, he was following both conditions. Sieghart suspected that technical correctness wouldn't save him from a lengthy conversation after the battle. That is a problem for future Sieghart. Current Sieghart is busy throwing a lake at people. He launched the third sphere. The Firians reacted more quickly this time. Several punched the air and released fireballs toward the approaching water. The spells collided above the battlefield.

Flames vanished inside the sphere, producing an explosion of steam that spread across the enemy formation. The water partially evaporated, but the remaining mass continued forward and crashed against the ground. The steam concealed the Firians from the defenders, yet it also prevented the enemies from aiming their attacks. Wind Aura users immediately pushed the vapor toward the eastern side, exposing the drenched warriors beneath it. Sieghart took note of their reaction.

The defenders were already adapting to his intervention. That was useful because coordinating directly with the officers would have required explaining his abilities before anyone allowed him to participate. Battle appeared to encourage practical thinking. Nobody cared that a five-year-old was throwing giant water spheres as long as those spheres landed upon the correct people. A group of Firians attempted to retreat from the soaked section.

The spearman with the green Aura accelerated across the mud and stabbed three of them before they could recover their balance. One enemy tried to block him with a burning arm, but the remaining water absorbed part of the heat. The spearman twisted past the weakened defense and drove his weapon through the man's chest. A translucent notification appeared before Sieghart's eyes. [Black Magic gained 10 Experience Points.] Sieghart's concentration wavered.

The water gathering above him rippled, forcing him to stabilize it with both hands. He stared at the notification while the meaning settled inside his thoughts. One of the Firians had died because of his spell. Sieghart hadn't delivered the final attack, but the system recognized his contribution. The water had weakened or immobilized the enemy, allowing someone else to kill him. Another Firian fell beneath a volley of magical arrows. A second notification appeared. [Black Magic gained 10 Experience Points.] [Black Magic: 70/100 Experience Points.] Twenty experience points. Sieghart felt a brief surge of satisfaction before discomfort followed it. Black Magic had remained almost impossible to level because training spells didn't provide experience. Now, a single successful intervention had moved him significantly closer to the next level. If assists counted, a large battle could provide more progress than years of practice. That was valuable information. It was also horrifying.

The system rewarded him because people had died. They were enemies who had invaded the territory, killed defenders, burned villages, and returned intending to do the same again. Allowing them to win would result in far more deaths. Sieghart understood all of that. The knowledge didn't make the notifications pleasant. He hadn't killed either Firian directly. He hadn't pierced their hearts, removed their heads, or burned their bodies with Fireball. He had merely created the opening.

Without him, however, they might still be alive. Sieghart looked across the battlefield and saw the bodies lying within the rapidly drying mud. They appeared human from this distance, because they had probably been human before their ancestors changed themselves. The system didn't care about that distinction. It measured participation and granted its reward. So assists count. Useful information. Terrible timing. Sieghart dismissed the messages and forced his attention back toward the fight.

Moral discomfort couldn't be allowed to disrupt his spell while people depended upon it. He would consider the weight of his actions later. For now, Edric remained on the battlefield, and the Firians were beginning to recover from their surprise. Sieghart steadied the enormous sphere above his head. He felt satisfied that his plan was working. He felt relieved that the defenders finally possessed an advantage. He even felt a small, shameful excitement at seeing Black Magic approach its next level.

At the same time, the bodies in the mud prevented him from treating the battle like a game. Sieghart had crossed a line without personally delivering the killing blow. There would be no pretending otherwise. On the eastern side of the battlefield, several Firians stopped watching the defenders. Their eyes followed the path of the water spheres toward the supply wagon. One after another, their heads turned toward Sieghart. The surprise disappeared from their expressions. What replaced it looked far more dangerous.

Recognition. Sieghart met their distant stares while the fourth sphere continued growing above him. His conflict remained, but he didn't lower his hands. If the Firians had recognized him as a threat, then his magic was accomplishing exactly what he intended. The unfortunate part was that threats tended to become targets.