The horde was close enough now that the ground trembled under their feet.

  Gray stood on the watch tower platform, one hand gripping the rough wooden railing, the other clutching Lumen Whisper inside his tunic.

  His ribs still throbbed from the earlier fight — a dull, grinding ache that flared with every breath — but he ignored it.

  Tamemoto stood beside him, bow already nocked, arrow tip steady despite the shallow cut on his chest.

  The bandage was stained dark again, and every time he inhaled, a small wince crossed his face — “Hssst…” — but he didn’t lower the bow.

  Below them, the camp was tense. Armed fighters lined the wooden walls and gate — spears, axes, improvised blades, and a few scavenged swords. Captain Marek stood at the center of the gate, longsword drawn, aura steady but thin.

  The survivors from the march had joined the line, faces grim, bodies battered. Zhulkar Sandvein and Sir Rowan Hale flanked him, weapons ready.

  The trolls were visible now — a gray tide of soldier trolls in the front, giants lumbering behind, their massive clubs dragging furrows in the earth. Their roars rolled across the badlands like thunder.

  Rebecca stood at the edge of the platform, walking stick planted firmly in the wood. Her hands trembled — not just from sickness, but from the mana she was already channeling. The air around her grew hot, then cold, then hot again — temperature fluctuations rippling outward like waves.

  Gray felt it in his channels — a faint echo of the pressure. His own mana circle stirred in response, but he held it back. He wasn’t ready for more.

  Rebecca’s voice was soft but steady.

  “Gray… watch this. You’re going to have to reach this stage one day.”

  Gray stepped closer. “Rebecca… you don’t have to—”

  She smiled — small, tired, warm. “I can’t show you my peak. My condition won’t permit it. But I’ll show you the best I can right now.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Tamemoto’s grip tightened on his bow. “Rebecca… please…” he whispered, voice cracking with worry.

  Rebecca just smiled again, then her expression turned serious.

  The ambience in the camp changed instantly.

  The air grew hot — then cold — then hot again. The temperature fluctuations rippled outward, making the wooden walls creak and the fighters below shiver.

  Marek’s head snapped upward — cold sweat pouring down his temple.

  He felt it — magic being cast — but he couldn’t see the source.

  “What the hell…?” he muttered.

  Rebecca closed her eyes.

  Her mana surged.

  The temperature spiked — hot enough to make Gray’s skin prickle, then cold enough to frost his breath.

  The ley glow from the crack in the ground flared bright green.

  Rebecca’s eyes snapped open.

  “Third Circle Magic: Pyre Burst!”

  She thrust her staff forward.

  The air in front of the rear ranks of the horde ignited.

  Towering pillars of fire erupted in a wide arc — orange and red, roaring like furnaces.

  The flames weren’t natural; they twisted and danced, consuming everything in their path.

  Dozens of soldier trolls were caught in the burst — their gray hides charring black, flesh bubbling, screams turning into wet gurgles as they burned alive.

  “RAAAGH—!” “GRRAAH—!” “AAAARGH—!”

  The screams were deafening — raw, animal agony that echoed across the badlands.

  The giants in the back ranks staggered, roaring in confusion.

  The vanguard dispersed — some running sideways, some charging blindly toward the camp, others turning tail and fleeing.

  The horde broke.

  Most of it — wiped.

  Rebecca staggered forward. Her knees buckled. She dropped her staff and fell to one knee, coughing violently. Blood flecked her lips.

  “Haa… haa…” she gasped, hand clutching her chest. “Too… much…”

  Gray rushed to her side, catching her before she collapsed completely. “Rebecca—!”

  Tamemoto dropped his bow and ran to her, eyes wide. “Rebecca! No—!”

  Below, the camp fighters stared up at the tower in stunned silence.

  The horde was scattered. The immediate threat was gone.

  But Rebecca’s breathing was ragged. She looked up at Gray, eyes glassy but proud.

  “You saw it,” she whispered. “That’s… what you’ll reach one day.”

  Gray held her steady, throat tight.

  The world outside Camp Tile had just shown its teeth again.

  And Rebecca had met it head-on.