"You should be resting now," said Brish as he approached Javohir, who stood on the fort’s wall.

The Exalonian’s eyes shifted to the captain, and he acknowledged his presence with a nod, but then his eyes moved back to the enemy camp, now much bigger with all the additional tents and wagons.

"I slept already. My shift is coming soon anyway," he explained.

"You know they will attack at night, so you are looking for any signals if it will come tonight," Brish pointed out the obvious.

"Yes," Javohir confirmed. "It’s the third night. They are well-rested now. High chance they will come tonight… Thank you for agreeing to the plan."

At the same moment, the former noble lord stopped right by his side, crossed his arms on his chest, and also began observing.

"It is a good plan," the man pointed out before going silent for a moment. "Will this be your first battle?" He asked with his eyes focused on the hastily raised tents, far beyond the arrow’s reach, but below the line of the horizon.

"Yes, but I used to fight for my life in the arena. I’m not afraid."

"I’ve noticed you show no fear, but have you ever taken somebody’s life?" Brish countered.

"No," Javohir shook his head. "I’ve beaten them badly, as well as got beaten badly, but that is all."

"I’ll give you advice. Don’t think. Just do it. Let the ferocity of the battle lead you."

"Thank you," said the Exalonian. "This will be indeed valuable advice for me tonight," he nodded before he left.

This earned him a glance from Brish, whose eyes quickly darted back to the enemy tents. He scanned them diligently, looking for what the young man saw, and in the first moment it missed him, but then he noticed. There were few people regularly appearing by each wagon and taking supplies. For an average observer, it would easily pass as normal behavior, but he understood that this was a discreet preparation for a fight.

The night enveloped the scene, its darkness adorned by the twinkling stars, resembling precious gems that cast a faint glow. The feeble illumination from torches held by the fort's guards, scattered sporadically here and there, mingled with the starlight.

A similar ambiance unfolded in the nearby camp of Ankhelis forces. The orange glow emanated from in-between their tents, spread across a wide area, thanks to the addition of the reinforcements, allowing for the recognition of their shapes.

Nothing betrayed the presence of the forces flanking the fort from its right side—the east. Meanwhile, another group approached directly from the south, taking a slight detour to avoid standing out against the backdrop of their temporary settlement, which would make it easier for the forces of Zoulan to spot them.

It was a meaningless dance, as both sides knew the assault was imminent, and additional soldiers had already taken their positions on the walls.

"Take aim!" suddenly echoed through the darkness.

"Take cover!" came the response from within the fort.

These words marked the beginning of the battle. Soon, arrows rained down, primarily embedding themselves in the wooden fortifications, occasionally finding their mark beyond. Groans of pain sporadically pierced the air.

"Return fire!" Brish bellowed at the top of his lungs as he stood on the walls – the best advantage point to observe the battle.

The soldiers hesitated momentarily, cautiously peering out from behind their cover. Seizing the opportunity, they unleashed their own volleys of arrows.

"They are approaching from the south! Prepare to defend!" someone yelled.

A group of around a hundred men stationed in front of the broken wall, now littered with all sorts of debris, raised their weapons and shields—those who possessed them, at least. Finally, they caught sight of the enemy advancing.

The Ankhelis forces appeared to have the advantage in numbers, although it was difficult to ascertain in the dim light. However, as they drew nearer, their march transitioning into a charge, the disparity became evident.

They roughly outnumbered the defenders two to one, and their thunderous battle cry reverberated through the fort as they launched their assault. Fueled by rage and sprinting forward, shields forming a protective barrier at the front, they reached the walls. Spear-wielding infantrymen surged to the forefront, attempting to climb the haphazardly constructed defenses while using the advantage of their weapon's reach to keep the defenders at bay. Yet the defenders were not foolish; they allowed the first enemy soldiers to breach the walls before launching a counterattack from every direction, swiftly dispatching the invaders.

The cries of pain mingled with the roars of anger already present. Clashing metal created a cacophony of chaotic sounds.

Meanwhile, a much smaller group of men, shrouded in darkness, silently circled the western wall of the fort. Moving stealthily and crouching low, they maintained complete silence. Among them, one figure stood out due to his height—Raul. Leading the entire force, Javohir walked in front of the team.

"Coming from behind the corner, we move quietly," he instructed. "Only when they notice us, you can charge, but remember, the goal is to strike them from the side, then maneuver to their backline, trapping them between the wall and us. Kill as many as you can in the initial strike. We have to break their morale."

Nobody responded to him, as they were all well aware of the plan. After all, they had volunteered after hearing it in the first place.

Emerging from behind the wall, they surged forward toward the chaotic mass of screaming and climbing soldiers that swarmed around the collapsed section of the fortification.

The enemy forces, consumed by their desperate desire to breach the defenses, failed to even consider their surroundings. The noise of the raging conflict, the cacophony of clashing metal, the screams of agonizing pain, and the resounding battle cries were so deafening that Javohir's group managed to get very close before launching their own shout.

"Attack!" the boy was the first to roar, rising to his full height and brandishing his reforged scythe high above his head. The first man unfortunate enough to stand in his path attempted to defend himself, but the deadly weapon, brought down with force, effortlessly tore through his wooden shield, biting into the flesh of his forearm. He let out a piercing scream, while the rest of the Zoulan forces spread out, enveloping the enemy's flank and extending all the way to their rear lines.

The impact of their assault was tremendous, and the initial line of resistance crumbled under the weight of Raul's heavy hammer. Limbs were crushed as those foolish enough to face him felt the overwhelming strength of the boy. Those who dared to parry soon learned their lesson in the harshest way possible.

In an instant, the Ankhelis forces broke apart, scattering in a futile attempt to escape. With determined defenders closing in on their backs, survival became a daunting challenge. The area quickly became a cacophony of agonized screams as lifeless or maimed bodies plummeted to the ground. Blood sprayed in the darkness, going in every direction, staining the soldiers and their surroundings.

Javohir barely had time to comprehend what was transpiring before he snapped back to reality, a short distance away from the wall. With ease, he delivered a final blow to a fleeing deserter, slashing across his back. The gushing wound caused the man to collapse facedown.

"AAAAARGH!" he screamed, but his cry was short-lived as the former gladiator impaled his neck from behind. Agony transformed into gurgling.

Surveying the carnage around him, Javohir realized that his forces had decimated the assaulting unit.

"Fall back! Retreat to the fort!" he shouted, suddenly aware that, despite their victory, they were still easy targets for the archers who could be relocating at the moment, and soon become a grave danger.

He raced back, seizing anyone he could find along the way, forcefully snapping them back to reality. In a moment the entire group was hastening toward the fort, circling around the defensive structure, retracing their steps.

Laughter erupted from their lips, tinged with madness, as they gulped down the cool night air, consumed by the euphoria of a swift and crushing triumph.

Javohir himself felt invincible, an indomitable force. But even more significantly, he felt an overwhelming sense of belonging among the people surrounding him. For the first time in his life, he knew with unwavering certainty what he truly desired, deep in his core.

The fact that he took human lives didn’t even cross his mind.