The Will to Live Is My Strongest Skill

Darwin breathed heavily, reloading his pistol on the run and taking cover behind a charred tree trunk.

​The pungent stench of burning filled the air. Around him, enemy squads advanced from all sides, methodically tightening the noose.

​He fired two precise snap shots—two knights dropped, but five more instantly stepped up to take their place.

​Spotting Darwin, a group of Valdes’s mages deep in the forest began channeling mana in sync. The air around them trembled, and an explosive spell orb began forming above their heads.

​"Hold! Hold your magic! Take him alive!" the squad commander shouted.

​The mages cut the spell, and the knights rushed straight at Darwin.

​He bolted, periodically spinning on the move and firing blind, aimed shots over his shoulder. The bullets found the gaps in their armor joints, taking down one pursuer after another.

​At that moment, the device on his neck vibrated, and Gaston’s strained, hoarse voice crackled through the speaker:

​"Darwin! Are you okay?!"

​"Okay?!" Darwin screamed frantically on the run, vaulting over a fallen log and sending another blast into the nearest knight. "Are you kidding me right now, Gaston?!"

​"Fall back to the village! We're gonna open a full barrage from all guns!"

​"I'm already doing it!" Darwin barked.

​A dry crackle echoed from the speaker, and the line abruptly cut out. Darwin gritted his teeth and pushed himself even faster.

​Meanwhile, Marek pressed his back against a tree trunk, catching his breath.

​A dull ache pulsed in his wrist from the pistol's recoil, and his fingers were completely smeared with graphite dust and soot.

​Ten meters to his left, bushes were snapping—the enemy was advancing in a tight group.

​Marek carefully ejected the magazine from his pistol, checked the remaining charge, and clicked it back in.

​The metallic clank of armor came from the opposite side. Three knights emerged from behind the trees.

​They moved unhurriedly, covering themselves with tower shields and leaving only narrow slits to see through.

​Marek popped out from behind the pine and fired three short, precise shots.

​The energy blasts hit right in the armor joints and the shins exposed beneath the shields: one soldier crashed into the mud with a muffled curse, the second stumbled, but the third kept pressing forward.

​In response, a crossbow bolt cracked into the bark right above Marek's head, showering him with splinters and pine needles.

​Realizing this position was about to be completely overrun, Marek decided to shift right to outflank them.

​He dashed to the next piece of cover but instantly froze: another line of enemy knights was emerging from the thick undergrowth on his right.

​They had caught him in a semi-circle and were steadily closing the distance.

​At that moment, the comm device on Marek's neck vibrated sharply.

​He gritted his teeth and pressed his fingers to the earpiece, listening to Gaston's tense voice break through the static:

​"Marek! Fall back to the village immediately!"

​"Got it."

​Waiting a second, Marek blind-fired two quick shots into the nearest knight's shield, forcing him to reflexively duck and slow his pace.

​Taking advantage of the enemy's momentary confusion, he spun around and sprinted toward the village.

​At the same time, Adrian took cover behind the wide trunk of a pine.

​His hands slipped on the pistol grip from sweat and grime.

​Yet another group of soldiers was emerging from the trees, heading right for him.

​He ducked out from cover and quickly pulled the trigger three times in a row.

​The first blast knocked an attacking knight off his feet, the second grazed the pauldron of the next, and the third clipped a branch.

​The enemy soldiers pushed forward, crashing through the bushes more aggressively than ever.

​Adrian was frantically trying to reload his weapon when the enemy commander's hoarse shout rang out ahead:

​"Careful, you idiots! Lord Valdes didn't give that order! Get back, now!"

​But the knights completely ignored their commander's words. One of them charged straight at Adrian, raising his weapon.

​"Idiots!" the commander screamed, throwing himself forward to stop his subordinates.

​On the run, he collided with one of the knights and shoved him aside, trying to wedge himself between them, but he was too late.

​Adrian turned to run deeper into the forest, continuing to blind-fire one-handed over his shoulder as he moved.

​A bullet hit the nearest soldier in the thigh; the man stumbled, but a second knight was already right behind him.

​The knight made a sharp lunge with his sword, and it drove right into Adrian’s chest, piercing clean through fabric and flesh.

​The boy froze instantly.

​The pistol slipped from his convulsively loosening fingers.

​The knight planted a boot on Adrian’s torso and violently jerked the blade back out.

​Adrian fell to his knees, and a second later, crashed heavily onto his side, desperately trying to draw just one breath.

​The commander, having just caught up, stood rooted to the spot, staring at Adrian lying on the dirt.

​The next second, he leapt at the knight in a blind rage and violently grabbed the armor plates on his chest:

​"Are you a complete moron?!" he roared right into the man's visor. "What are you doing?!"

​The knight lowered his sword and replied in an even tone:

​"A knight's duty is to kill anyone who hinders our country. I have fulfilled it."

​"A knight's duty is to serve the king and do what he says!" the commander's voice broke into a rasp as he shook the soldier by the shoulders.

​"His order was clear: do not kill the commoners! You were supposed to just clear the area and take them into custody!"

​"I don't recall that order," the knight snapped, broke free from the commander's grip, and kept walking.

​The rest of the squad had already caught up to them. The soldiers stepped over Adrian's fallen body and pushed onward.

​The commander stood in the middle of the clearing, breathing heavily. He watched the departing soldiers and spat through his teeth:

​"Fucking bastard..."

​Pulling a comm artifact from his pouch, the commander activated it and pressed it to his ear. A couple of seconds later, King Valdes’s cold voice echoed from the speaker.

​"Lord Valdes..." the commander swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "I offer my deepest apologies, but... unfortunately, one person is dead."

​"I don't care," Valdes cut him off sharply.

​The commander was taken aback and interrupted:

​"But... didn't you give the order to leave the civilians alive? You said..."

​"I am issuing a new order," Valdes interrupted him, and there wasn't a shred of hesitation in his voice. "Destroy everything you see in your path."

​"But my Lord..."

​"No 'buts'," the king said. "Proceed."

​"Yes, my Lord," the commander bowed his head.

​The connection severed. The commander stowed the artifact, turned to the remaining forces, and shouted the new order:

​"Wipe it all out! Destroy anyone who stands in our way!"

​Barely five minutes passed.

​Adrian lay motionless.

​Suddenly, the device on his neck began to vibrate continuously.

​The village of Dornheim greeted them with silence.

​Marek burst from the forest. His breathing was ragged, his legs buckled from the long sprint, and his chest burned.

​Seeing Marek, Gaston waved him over with a short, relieved gesture:

​"Over here, quick!"

​Marek reached him and exhaustedly rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

​"Where... where is everyone?" he gasped, looking around.

​"Everyone's inside," Gaston answered. "In the reinforced bunker. Or the pillbox, as Iron called it."

​At that moment, a crashing sound and rapid footsteps came from the edge of the woods.

​Gaston instantly raised his pistol, but immediately lowered the barrel: Darwin tumbled out of the thicket, snagging on the bushes.

​His clothes were caked in mud, a dark scrape marred his cheek, and he could barely move his legs.

​"Darwin! Over here!" Gaston shouted.

​Darwin raised his head, saw his people, and pushed himself faster with the last of his strength.

​Reaching them, he collapsed heavily onto a wooden crate, throwing his head back and gasping for air.

​"Damn... I'm so happy to see you guys," he wheezed with difficulty, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

​"We're glad you made it, too," Gaston patted him on the shoulder, then instantly turned serious. "Alright, listen to me. We've got bad news and good news."

​Marek straightened up and looked at him grimly:

​"Spit it out."

​Gaston looked down at the comm device on his neck.

​"A few of ours never checked in," Gaston said quietly. "I hailed them every three minutes. Neither Adrian nor four others from the outer patrol are responding."

​Silence fell over the square for a few seconds. Marek and Darwin exchanged looks.

​"I see..." Marek murmured quietly, clenching his fists. "And what's the good news?"

​"The good news is that Dornheim is ready for defense," Gaston replied, raising his voice slightly. "We were just waiting for Iron's signal so he could trigger the unified automated system... But that's where the problem comes in."

​Darwin tensed up:

​"What problem?"

​"I can't reach him," Gaston pointed to his transmitter. "I tried all the frequencies, sent direct pulses—no answer."

​Marek and Darwin exchanged looks again, anxiety reflecting on their faces.

​"...He couldn't have... you know, died?" Marek said uncertainly.

​"Who? Iron?" Darwin shook his head. "Not a chance in hell. Most likely, he just broke it in combat or lost it."

​"I think so too," Gaston agreed. "But the problem lies elsewhere: without his direct signal, we can't switch the turrets to automated mode. We're gonna have to do everything manually."

​"No problem," Marek cut in sharply. "Show me where to set up."

​Gaston stepped into the pillbox, waving Marek and Darwin inside.

​Inside, it smelled of dampness, fresh wood shavings, burnt gunpowder, and rubbing alcohol.

​The moment they walked in, Clara ran out to meet them. Seeing them, she froze for a second, then rushed forward and hugged them both tightly.

​"I'm so glad you're alive!.." she breathed.

​Darwin tiredly closed his eyes, feeling the ache in his overworked leg muscles, but chuckled softly and patted her on the back:

​"Say that again when we finish this war."

​Clara slowly pulled back. She looked at Darwin, then at Marek, and nodded quietly:

​"Yeah..."

​Marek scanned the room. Terrified residents of Dornheim sat along the walls. Some were praying quietly; others were bandaging minor scrapes with scraps of cloth.

​"Where's Albert?" Marek asked.

​"Over there, in the corner," Clara nodded toward an improvised medical bay sectioned off by heavy canvas. "He's treating the people who got hurt during the retreat from the forest."

​Gaston stepped closer, glanced briefly at the closed curtain, and pursed his lips. He raised his hand, drawing the attention of all the fighters gathered in the fortification, and gestured with his fingers for people to gather in close.

​Men and women formed a circle around Gaston. He dropped his voice to a whisper:

​"Alright, listen to me carefully. Since Iron isn't checking in, we're shifting the turrets to manual control."

​"Quickly spread out to your posts. Take your positions and lock down the perimeter."

​"The mines on the approaches should do their job and cut down the first wave."

​He took a brief pause, looking intently into the tired eyes of everyone present:

​"Plus, we still have the golems. So we'll get through this. Don't be afraid, we're all going to survive. After all, we have these things."

​The defenders nodded silently. Someone grunted in dull agreement, someone else double-checked the safety on their pistol.

​Gaston tried to sound convincing, but the expressions on the people's faces told a completely different story.

​Without another word, the defenders began dispersing to their stations.

​Meanwhile, tens of kilometers from Dornheim, deep in the thick of the forest, Noah stood in the middle of a ravaged clearing.

​His sleeves were ripped to the shoulders, his pant legs slashed, and all his clothes were thoroughly soaked in a mix of his own and others' blood.

​He breathed heavily, shifting his footing, as dark blood dripped from his chin onto the dirt.

​Noah raised his clouded gaze. Yet another dense squad was emerging from behind the fallen trees, heading straight for him.

​Overcoming the pain, he gripped his weapon tighter and prepared to fight.

​In another sector of the forest, Elyria was pushing through. She was dismantling yet another enemy unit.

​The remnants of her magic shattered the mages' defensive spells and knocked the infantry off their feet, but every new effort came at a massive cost—her hands shook, and her breathing broke into a wheeze.

​And on the iced-over clearing, Iron remained frozen on one knee.

​His consciousness was fading, his body refusing to obey.

​Forcing his head up with difficulty, Iron looked ahead.

​Speeding right at him was yet another spell, launched by enemy mages from a distant position.

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