From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman
Chapter 65: Unyielding Stone

Chapter 65: Unyielding Stone

The wind turned.

Not just in direction, but in tone—icy gusts no longer howling, but whistling through the arrow slits like whispers from the past. From the ramparts, Leon saw them coming: a new wave of soldiers, heavier-armoured than before, their boots churning the snow to mud.

"Second breach squad," Marien barked, already moving along the line. "Pikes forward. Crossbows target kneecaps—drop them before they reach the wall."

Leon adjusted his grip on the second blade. It no longer pulsed softly—it throbbed, resonating with the fortress itself. The walls beneath them no longer felt cold. They felt alive.

The enemy advanced in ranks, rams now escorted by tower shields bearing no sigil. These weren’t honourable knights or bound orders—they were hired blades, expendable to the Council.

A horn sounded. Not theirs. One of the forward towers had spotted movement on the right flank.

"Diversion?" Eliane asked, eyes narrowing.

"Or an opening," Leon replied.

But neither adjusted their position. Not yet.

Below, the mercenaries closed the distance.

"Fire!" came the cry.

A new storm of arrows flew from the fortress walls, sharper this time—tipped with alchemical ice. As they struck, the snow beneath enemy boots froze hard. One slipped. Then three more. A dozen fell as bolts bit into exposed joints and chinks.

"Pikes!" Marien signalled.

Cadets, barely seventeen, braced their weight behind long iron-tipped pikes that jutted through kill slits in the lower walls. When the first wave reached them, it wasn’t a clash. It was a reckoning.

Bodies crumpled against the steel line. Screams, brief and clipped, joined the thunder of war.

Still they came.

Leon spotted a war priest among them—robes trailing ash, censer swinging. He chanted something, and for a moment the mercenaries pushed harder.

Kellen raised his sword from the inner wall. "Channelers on the third tier! Now!"

Five mages stepped forward, each bearing twin bracers etched with Accord sigils. They didn’t speak. They only gestured.

A column of wind rose from the central tower and descended in a howl upon the war priest. His chant broke. So did his skull, as a falling stone tore through his defence field.

Leon lowered his blade.

Across the battlefield, another set of horns.

Not the enemy.

Beyond the ash ridge, the banners seen earlier now resolved into shapes. Riders. Light-armoured. Swift.

"The Banner of Valecrest," Eliane whispered. "They’ve come."

Leon didn’t allow himself relief.

"Open the east gate for them," he ordered. "But hold the line. This isn’t over."

As the enemy broke against the fortress walls once more, the tide of the battle changed. From defence—into defiance.

And Unyielding Stone lived up to its name.

But the enemy was far from spent.

A new siege tower, built low and reinforced with steel, began its slow crawl up the southern wall. Covered in scorched hides and powered by six chained oxen, it creaked forward through the slush and arrowfire. Cadets fired blindly at its slits. Nothing pierced.

"They’ve adapted," Kellen growled, watching from the upper tier. "That thing’s not meant to breach. It’s meant to disgorge."

"Troop carrier," Marien confirmed. "If it reaches the wall, we lose the courtyard."

Leon turned to the nearest signal runner. "Tell the west mages to prepare the Ember Coil."

"But sir," the cadet hesitated, "we haven’t tested it since—"

"Then we test it now."

The runner bolted.

Across the western wall, three mages knelt behind a steel-wrought mechanism. Its coiled chamber pulsed with crimson heat as sigils flared into life. The Ember Coil had been outlawed under the Third Accord for the destruction it wrought.

But the Third Accord had already been broken.

"Fire," Leon said.

The coil shrieked like a beast unchained. A ball of compressed heat and force lanced from its mouth, arcing high before smashing into the side of the siege tower. A bloom of light followed, then a roar as the tower shuddered, caught fire, and collapsed in on itself.

The oxen scattered. Screams followed.

The morale of the Council’s footmen faltered.

That’s when Valecrest struck.

From the eastern gate, the bannered riders poured like a silver stream. Two dozen, no more—but each carried long-blades and high discipline. They crashed into the enemy’s rear line, cleaving through supply runners and standard bearers alike.

Kellen grinned. "They didn’t just come to pledge. They came to bleed."

Leon held the second blade high. "Sound the horns. Full bellows. Let the other banners see what it means to stand."

The horns rose again, louder this time.

Not just warning.

Triumph in defiance.

Then came the smoke.

Not black, but grey—rising from the western ridge in a steady column. Scouts confirmed it quickly: another force, marching fast and hard.

"Friend or foe?" Kellen asked.

Leon scanned the symbols etched into the flags as they crested the hill. His voice steadied. "Northfell. They swore neutrality. Looks like they changed their mind."

Cheers erupted along the walls. Cadets pounded fists on shields. The enemy ranks wavered.

Marien didn’t smile. "They’ll adjust. Brace for the next wave."

From the edge of the southern field, a new contraption rolled forward—smaller than the last, but glowing with sigils. An arc-pylon.

"Strike team," Leon called. "With me."

He vaulted from the top tier, landing hard but balanced.

Eliane and five Hollow Guard followed without question.

Through a sally gate, they moved like wind. Toward the pylon. Toward the breach.

The battle wasn’t just holding.

It was turning.

As they neared the arc-pylon, the air crackled. The sigils along its spine surged with stored energy, preparing to discharge a blast meant to rend stone and man alike.

Leon raised his hand. The Hollow Guard fanned out, forming a V behind him. They moved like a single thought.

"Disrupt the base," Eliane shouted. "Sigils are anchored at ground level!"

Leon surged forward, blade angled low. He reached the pylon first, ducking under a lancing bolt that scorched the snow. His blade slammed into the etched core.

A pulse. Then silence. Then rupture.

The energy destabilised, sparking upward in a geyser of light. One of the Hollow Guard dragged Leon back just before it erupted.

The arc-pylon collapsed inward, its charge spent. What was meant to breach the inner wall was now slag.

Leon stood and turned, meeting Eliane’s eyes.

"Next?"

She grinned despite the blood on her cheek. "They’re pulling back."

And across the southern line, the enemy had begun to retreat.

Not in disorder.

But in fear.

For the first time in weeks, the defenders of Unyielding Stone advanced from the wall.