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Veylara’s voice faded into the damp silence, met by no reply.

Below them, the Zerith settlement squatted in the marsh like a wounded animal that had dragged itself into the deepest part of its den.

The ironwood palisades were dark with moisture and age, the thorn-vine barriers coiling along the base like living tripwires.

On the ramparts, dozens of archers had already nocked their venom-tipped arrows. Below the gate, thirty heavy spearmen in cured hide cuirasses stood knee-deep in the murky shallows, broad wicker shields locked, spears leveled in a defensive wall.

They had the look of people who knew they could not win a true battle... and had decided to make the price of entry as ugly as possible.

Sol stood a half-step behind Veylara, crimson eyes moving slowly across the defenses. He noted the sinkholes Thauren had mentioned, the way the mud glistened in uneven patches, and the deliberate gaps in the thorn barriers that were almost certainly kill zones.

Instead of rioting they had prepared for a war of survival and this alone made them more troublesome than the Zharun.

"They’re waiting for us to come to them," Sol said quietly. "And they’re hoping the ground does half the work."

Kira adjusted the grip on her bow, scanning the ramparts. "Those arrows are coated. Even a scratch will slow someone down long enough for the next volley."

"Then we don’t give them clean shots," Veylara replied.

She raised her spear slightly, the tip catching what little light filtered through the overcast swamp sky. Her essence stirred around her in a controlled, simmering haze ... not yet released, but ready.

"Thauren. Take forty warriors and sweep left along the higher root banks. Stay out of the deep mud. When you hear my signal, you hit the western thorn barrier and force their archers to split attention."

Thauren nodded once, already selecting the warriors he would take.

"Zephyra. Can you do anything about the venom in the air and on those arrowheads?"

The High Shaman’s pale eyes narrowed as she studied the faint green sheen visible even from this distance. "I can thin it. Not neutralize every coated head, but I can weaken the potency across a wide area and disrupt the worst of the bog toxins near the approach. It will cost me some focus."

"Do it."

Zephyra stepped forward, silvery white robes barely stirring despite the heavy air. She pressed two fingers to her sternum, and a soft, diffuse wave of essence spread outward from her like mist rolling across water.

Instantly without anyone noticing the sulfurous stench of the marsh lessened slightly, even the greasy green gleam on the distant arrowheads dulled by a fraction.

Veylara turned her head just enough to glance at Sol.

"I’ll take the center. You’re with me. We are gonna break the gate head on."

Sol’s hand rested lightly on the hilt of the Dreadwing Blade, even though this seems risky, but for him who had Great Badger’s spirit which is immune to this level of venoms, it was not a big deal and even without Badger’s spirit, after having absorbed so many souls of poisonous and venomous animals, his body was totally resistant to them.

So he gave a small nod.

"Try not to step in the sinkholes," Zeyra muttered from his other side, already loosening her daggers. "I’d rather not have to fish either of you out of the mud."

Kira exhaled through her nose, half nerves, half readiness, and nocked an arrow of her own.

Veylara raised her free hand.

The Veynar warriors shifted into motion.

Thauren’s detachment broke left in a low, fast group, using the raised root systems and firmer patches of ground to stay above the worst of the bog.

The main force under Veylara began a controlled advance down the muddy slope toward the sealed gate. Shields were angled against the weak sunlight filtering through the canopy, spacing kept deliberate and tight.

Boots sank deep into the soft, black mud with every step, releasing the thick, metallic stench of stagnant water and rotting vegetation.

Instead of charging immediately head on, and getting attacked in the woods which severely restrict their movements, they moved with cold patience.

There was no need for reckless haste. They had already slaughtered the strongest predators these cursed swamps had ever produced. There was no reason to die to traps designed by lesser enemies.

After moving a bit, Veylara raised one fist, signaling the pace. The formation slowed even further, advancing in careful, measured increments. Scouts on the flanks tested every suspicious patch of ground with the tips of their spears before the main body committed.

Archers kept arrows nocked but pointed downward, ready. The only sounds were the wet squelch of mud, the soft sound of armor, and the distant croak of unseen swamp creatures.

But of course they could not remain hidden forever.

The moment the leading ranks fully emerged from the thicker undergrowth and stepped into the more open approach to the gate, the Zeriths’ sensitive senses caught them.

On the high ramparts of the sealed gate, yellow slit-pupil eyes snapped toward the slope. Zerith archers tracked the approaching formation with predatory stillness, their bone-and-sinew bows already drawn.

A few shouted sharp, guttural warnings in their harsh dialect, the words cutting through the humid air like the crack of dry branches.

Down in the shallows at the base of the gate, spearmen braced. Their long, barbed weapons lowered into a bristling wall of points. Countless feet shifted in the murky water as they locked ranks.

Seeing this Veylara did not care and her essence flared in earnest.

The air in front of the Veynar column shimmered as broad, invisible pressure rolled outward across the bog approach.... not a destructive blast, but a heavy, flattening force that compressed the softest sections of mud and forced some of the hidden sinkholes to reveal themselves as water and foul air belched upward.

Several of the nearest spike traps snapped or tilted under the sudden shift.

"Now," Veylara said.

The Veynar accelerated.

Sol also moved with them, crimson eyes locked on the gate. As the first volley of venomous arrows came down in a dark, hissing arc.

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