They passed through the center of town on their way to the other gate, and the town square was completely packed full of livestock. All of the Pimental’s cows, Odilon’s sheep, as well as every other farmer’s animals were all pressed together. Several [Farmers] surrounded them to keep them in line. Yon was there with Davi’s sisters, but Davi himself was nowhere to be seen. Poco the bull watched over them all with a calm dominance.

Brin and Zilly didn’t stop to chat with anyone and soon arrived at the other end of town. The gate was so packed with the crowds going in and out that Brin and Zilly couldn’t see the other side. The gate was wide enough that two wagons could pass side-by-side, but they weren’t able to see what was going on until after they shoved their way through the press of bodies.

On the other side, the villagers had cleared a wide space and defended it in a ring. There must’ve been four hundred defenders here. Many held the line in a huge curved line around the gate, while others waited to relieve them and still others lay on blankets on the field, having injuries tended to by busy nurses running from person to person. The overall mood was somewhat positive. Men with bloody bandages laying in the impromptu infirmary joked with each other and cheered or jibed the performance of the defenders.

The defenders themselves seemed to have a bit of breathing room. The undead were arranged in orderly rows, and seemed to be attacking in short, almost reluctant engagements before quickly backing off.

More and more arrived from the forest every moment, however, and moved to fill in the ranks. There were many times more enemies here than at the other gates, which must’ve been why more defenders had come here as well. This was the main battle.

The undead numbers were increasing much faster than the town was killing them. Seven giants directed the smaller undead from near the shelter of the trees. There was a band of what must be two-hundred undead archers who stayed back, waiting, as well as another hundred who were armored and much more deadly-looking than the rest. As much as the town seemed to be holding their own for now, it was obvious that the worst was yet to come.

On the human side, sweaty, muddy men waited their turn, some with scuffs or scrapes on their armor, mostly gambesons or leather. They’d obviously gone a round or two against the undead, but he didn’t get the impression that they were tiring or wearing out.

Still, looking at the odds arrayed against them, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. More undead were arriving every minute. If he had his say, he would have the townspeople attack rather than wait for the undead to organize and form an unstoppable horde. Charge in, break them up. He had a hard time explaining to himself why he felt so certain that that was what they were supposed to do. What did he know about this, honestly? Not much.

One thing he did know was that he was nearly out of time again. Four minutes were left on his timer. He quickly moved past the reserves, formed another pointed glass football, and hucked it at one of the undead that was waiting in reserve on their side. The movement tore his shoulder open again, and it hurt more this time than it had when Basil had cut him. Luckily, it hit the undead he was aiming at, earning him another 5% and another half-hour of higher attributes.

He turned back to see Zilly trying to casually enter the line of reserves, and Brin followed, if only to tell her it was a bad idea. This would be a great idea for getting some experience, if she wasn’t already tired and wounded.

A man in very expensive-looking leather armor, black and embossed with gold, turned to sneer at her. He’d clearly left just enough of the helmet’s face open to show off a sneer and a very impressive black mustache. “Oh, if it isn’t my least favorite customer.”

“Perris! I didn’t expect to see you defending the town!” said Brin, while Zilly took a step back as if she’d seen a ghost.

“And with this you reveal yourself a fool and a novice! I sell weapons and armor, you dunce! What better way to show off my best stock than to let people see it in action! These ingrates have no eye for quality. They need to see it in action to really understand excellence!” Perris enunciated his words with a shake of a beautifully ornate sword.

“That’s a sword. You’re a sword guy!” Brin accused.

“Slander! I just told you; this is advertisement. I’ll break out my real weapons if we ever see any real fighting. For now, some fool wants this sword, mark my words. Marcel here wants it, don’t you, Marcel?”

A timid-looking [Farmer] in cheap armor glanced over nervously. “Well it’s not like I don’t want it.”

Perris let out a string of derisive laughter.

Brin laughed along. “Good old Perris. Hey, but why’d you call me your least favorite customer?”

“Not you! Her!” Perris pointed down at Zilly who flinched. “Although calling her a customer is a little much. Customers pay.”

“I don’t steal,” said Zilly.

“Not from me! Because you can’t. Can you? Ha! You shouldn’t hang around seedy types like this, Brin. She’s a bad influence.”

“Literally everyone thinks it’s the other way around,” said Brin.

“Literally everyone is stupid!” said Perris.

Brin pulled a red-faced Zilly away before she could respond, and before Perris could drop any more hints in front of the whole town that she was a [Rogue]. Did he know, or had he caught her trying to steal from him?

“I don’t steal anymore,” she said, quietly enough that only he could hear.

“I believe you,” said Brin. He cast his gaze around looking for a distraction, and noticed the adventurers were there, although they were hanging back and looking perfectly fresh.

Brin moved toward the three he already knew. They wore mostly the same attire as in the public house. Otanyn, in her dreadlocks and shirtless except the small vest with knives, also held a head-sized stone in one hand. Just a big rock, but rocks were hard to find around here. She probably brought it with her from out of town. Blonde-haired Rinnel stood in full-plate armor and held a gleaming broadsword that clearly hadn’t seen any use today. Rat Scratch with his big beard still wore an elaborate three-piece suit, except now he also had a top hat and an extremely complicated-looking crossbow.

“How is it going, would you say?” Brin asked. He guessed that as outsiders, their opinion on the battle would be more neutral than anyone else.

“Fine so far, but it hasn’t really started yet,” said Rinnel.

“Why do you think we’re all outside like this? Shouldn’t we be inside the gates? That’s literally what they’re for,” said Brin.

“Sure, and trust me, there will be time for that. When your leaders decide they’ve had enough you’ll have a place to retreat to. For now, the strategy will be to kill as many undead as you can before their numbers become overwhelming. After that it’ll be a real siege.”

“Are you here to join the fighting?” asked Brin.

“Nah,” said Rinnel, looking a bit awkward. His cheeks were missing their normal flush–he was completely sober. “We’re, um, just here. Just in case.”

Otanyn snorted in derision. “We’re here doing what that thieving merchant rat bastard of a–”

“I take offense to that,” interjected Rat Scratch.

“My apologies. I should say instead that we’re doing the same as that cutthroat devil of a merchant is doing. We are advertising,” said Otanyn. “We are hoping the town will hire us.”

“You’re not here to fight?” asked Zilly. “But… but look at them! Zombie problems are everybody problems. It’s not like the undead would leave you alone after they kill all the rest of us.”

“Don’t blame them. That’s what adventurers are.” The Prefit had arrived behind them. He wore the same gleaming armor as he had when guarding Neptune’s cave, white leather and polished brass, with a matching broadsword at his side.

The adventurers frowned, but didn’t argue. The Prefit strode forward, talking as he walked. “An adventurer fights for two reasons: for gold, and to save their own skin. If you’re looking for heroes, Zilly, for men and women who fight for duty and honor, or to defend the innocent, or simply because it’s the right thing to do, then look no further than the friends and neighbors you grew up with.”

The Prefit’s voice carried much further than it probably needed to, which was definitely on purpose. Brin saw more than one person stand up a little straighter at the Prefit’s words. The casual attitude of the reserves disappeared, and their rows became a little straighter now that the Prefit was here.

He gestured that Zilly and Brin should walk on his left and right, and then walked towards the line of defenders.

“Who are we? Have you given that question much thought? Who are we, the people of Hammon’s Bog? Many of us have grown up here and don’t know anything different. That’s fine; it’s good to stay loyal to your hometown. But how can you really know who you are, if you don’t know how you’re different from others? And we are different, make no mistake. This is normal to you, but I tell you now, there is strong wood in Hammon’s Bog that doesn’t grow in the cities.”

They walked behind the line of defenders, many of them currently engaged in throwing off the undead’s probing strikes. The Prefit spoke evenly, eyes forward, as if he didn’t notice that the men were listening to his every word.

“Frenaria has many beautiful places. Gentle plains and rolling hills, places where strong armies keep order, places where no one has ever heard of a monster attack except as something that only happens in far off lands. There are prosperous cities, mighty fortresses, and quiet, sleepy villages.

“We are the ones who left those places. We are the ones who struck out into the unknown, into the untamed, wild lands. Just as the Lantern-men carry their lights into the streets at night, we carry the light of civilization in our hearts casting away the shadows of even the darkest forest bog.

“They call us settlers. Ha! We are conquerors. We didn’t come here assuming that no evil would ever contend against us. We came here hoping for it. We came here to find fierce enemies to test ourselves against, for steel to sharpen our steel against. Did you feel panic on the streets today? Did you see despair? No. You saw excitement. You ask why the adventurers won’t fight. Well, because I haven’t paid them. Why would I want to? We don’t need strangers from afar to save us. We aren’t waiting for a rescue army from Steamshield to save us.

“We didn’t come here to be rescued. We came to conquer. Finally. Finally we meet the enemies we’ve dreamed about. Finally! Worthy foes!”

There was a commotion back at the narrow gate. Anyone trying to get back inside were pushed away, and soon a group of organized armored figures marched through, four-by-four. Brin recognized a man in the front row–the high-leveled [Firefighter]. Then he realized that each of the men in the troop were Lantern-men. These were Hammon’s Bog’s elites.

They marched out until there were fifty in total, a small fraction of the total number of defenders, but an imposing force all the same. They marched into a wedge formation, and waited.

Prefit Elmon took them across the entire line, shouting encouragement to the troops in the guise of instructing a couple young delinquents on the town’s history. They completed the circuit, and he dropped them off near the adventurers where they had started.

“The both of you will stay behind, of course,” said the Prefit, back in a conversational voice.

Brin wanted nothing more than to tell the Prefit that he was going to fight, but he couldn’t. “I will. I promised that I wouldn’t fight.”

“Well, I didn’t promise! I’m here to… to conquer,” said Zilly.

The Prefit put one hand on each of their shoulders. “Good, Brin. It is good to know your duty. I’m ashamed to say I thought worse of you. As for you, Zilly, I’m ashamed to say I thought better of you. I would have been glad to have you at my side today, but you aren’t prepared. You’re wounded and tired. Who gave you those injuries? It wasn’t the undead.”

The Prefit had to have known that Zilly had stayed up all night and killed all the chimeras. Zilly took in a sudden breath and bit her lips hard, clearly struggling not to cry.

“You stole glory that didn’t belong to you, and now the glory that should have been yours will go to another. Go rest. You’ll get another chance, I’m sure, but it won’t be today.”

He turned around, and looked over at the unit of Lantern-men. The wedge had a place missing right at the spear point, clearly meant for him.

The Prefit sauntered towards his spot in the formation, and called back towards Brin, “You know, I’ve heard rumors that you’re aiming for some kind of glass-based [Warrior], is this not so? I’ll tell you this; I don’t believe [Warrior] is the Class for you. I mean no insult by this. They say you are a cunning fighter.”

Brin had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that. By now, the Prefit was shouting loudly enough that everyone could hear him.

Just then, music started to swell. Jeffrey stood near the gates with Davi, and urgent, exciting music rose into the air, more intense and complex than could be accounted for with their two lutes.

The Prefit’s voice rose to match the swelling song. “A [Warrior] is not a cunning fighter. A [Warrior] fights a war, with his comrades by his side. I will not dodge. I cannot move to my left or my right, when I have trusted friends to either side. I cannot take a step back, lest those that depend on me mistake my movement for retreat. There is no retreat. A [Warrior] only knows one direction. Forwards! A [Warrior] moves forward! A [Warrior] attacks! Attack, you men of Hammon’s Bog. You [Warriors]! Attack and step forwards!”

The Prefit drew his sword. “My friends! Neighbors! Brave sons of the Bog! Step forwards! Attack!”

He stepped forward, and then charged. Every single Lantern-man followed, and a great roar went up. “Forward! Attack!”

The line of defenders retreated to either side to make room, and the wedge moved into the line of undead.

They met the undead in a loud crash. An armored undead, vile and deadly, placed itself in front of the Prefit with a greatshield, no doubt aiming to slow the charge before it could really start, but the Prefit punched the shield, knocking the undead to the ground, and walked right over him. The Lantern-men behind him finished the struggling shield-bearer off. The Prefit didn’t glance behind.

The Prefit’s group charged straight through the mass of undead, cutting a line straight through, and the relief force who’d been waiting behind the lines followed them through until the battlefield was cut right in half.

At the front, the archers and giants and heavily-armored undead elites all charged the Prefit at once. The Lantern-men unleashed their Skills. Walls of flame burned arrows out of the air and sent dozens of undead aflame. Some of them fought on as if they didn’t care, but some undead screamed, and went berserk, attacking friend and foe alike.

Other Lantern-men threw the earth in waves, some summoned plumes of water. In one place, the ground caved in and dozens of undead fell into mud deeper than they were tall. They struggled to the surface, swimming in thick mud until the ground hardened again, trapping them in place.

The first giant fell when a group of three Lantern-men working together brought it to the ground with nets and stabbed it on the ground. The Prefit and five more sword-wielders broke off the group to tear bloody carnage through the disorganized archers, removing them as a cohesive force before returning to their group. Everywhere he looked, the townsfolk cut the undead down.

Maybe against a human army, this would have been enough. Out-planned and outmaneuvered, the undead were dying by the score, but they still didn’t hesitate. Whatever semblance of order the giants were trying to instill had fallen apart, and now every undead soldier simply threw itself mindlessly against whoever was closest. The line of defenders cutting through the undead were suddenly beset on both sides.

Up until now, Brin had agreed with the Prefit’s attack. He felt in his bones, or maybe his [Battle Sense], that this was the best way to defend the town. They had to kill as many undead as they could while the humans were still fresh and the undead were still sparse.

But it wasn’t until now that he realized what that meant. The undead had lost their formations and fought like a frenzied mob, throwing themselves against the villagers in a suicidal rage. The defenders had no chance at resuming their careful defense. They were forced to strike the undead down as fast as they could or be overwhelmed, and despite the sheer overpowering strength of the Prefit and his Lantern-men, the undead were too many to fight off without casualties.

Antelm, the towns’ highest-level [Woodsman] got separated from the line by the sheer weight of the horde, where a giant took the opportunity to bash his head in with a giant club, and then struck down his two sons behind him.

A [Farmer] got pulled down by something below, and when three of his comrades pushed forward to try to help, they all sank down as well. Brin never saw exactly what happened to them, only that they never came back up.

There were triumphs as well. Gudio, the massive [Rock Crusher], fought bare-chested, roaring while swinging freely with a massive hammer, much bigger than the maul he used to crush rocks. The undead pressed around him, cutting him off like they had the [Woodsmen] and his boys, but Gudio fought in a berserker’s fury, striking two or three of the undead down with every blow. When an undead giant singled him out, it swung down at him with a mighty blow that Gudio barely blocked. He was sent reeling, but when the giant raised its arm to strike another blow, the entire arm crumbled to dust. Apparently Gudio could crush more than just rock.

Gudio’s howl as he finished the giant off could be heard over the din of the battlefield and even over Jeffrey’s music.

Brin turned back to the adventurers. “Help them.”

Rat snorted and turned away. Rinnel had the manners to look sad, while Otanyn wouldn’t even look at him. “Your leader is right about us. We fight for–”

“I’ll pay.”

She sighed. “I don’t want your life savings. Even if you managed to scrounge up a couple silvers–”

Brin grabbed her hand and pulled it palm up. He took out his coin purse and dumped it into her hand. About thirty gold. This wasn’t his whole fortune, really just walking-around money in case he decided to visit Perris or Calisto. But he did know that to most people, it was a lot of money.

Rat Scratch's eyes went wide, and Rinnel made a visible effort not to appear impressed. Otanyn just smiled. All of them seemed relieved; they wanted to fight.

“What will that get me? If it’s not enough I’ll make up the difference after the battle,” said Brin.

Otanyn made eye contact with the [Hunter] in the other group of adventurers, who nodded. “We’ll fight. How do you want us to do this?”

“Just help them. Kill the undead and save who you can.”

“You got it, boss.”

The adventurers leapt into action. Rinnel actually leapt, bounding forward, further with each step, until he jumped straight over the line of defenders to crash into the undead like a comet. Otanyn threw her knives, each of them thundering as if they’d been shot from a cannon. Rat moved more methodically, walking to the side to get a good angle, but when he had it, his crossbow fired and reset with the speed of a semi-automatic rifle.

Brin wanted nothing more than to follow them, promise or no promise, but he had to face reality. There were hundreds of defenders, and compared to a normal adult from this town, he wasn’t actually all that strong.

He tried forming a javelin from glass and throwing it over the line. He hit the undead he was aiming at, but it turned sideways and didn’t do enough damage to reset his [Battle Fury] counter. He wasn’t good at throwing javelins. Maybe if he had a bow–but he wasn’t great with a bow either. Better to leave the arrows to the [Hunters] who knew what they were doing.

Maybe he could help make arrows? He tried to form one out of glass, and while summoning it was easy enough, getting it in the exact right shape was a difficult process. He gave up after two minutes. This was going to take too long to be any kind of help, and besides, it didn’t actually look like anyone was running out of arrows.

He watched the battle in impotent frustration, and noticed that Zilly had joined the fight after all, stepping in to replace someone that fell. Well, whatever. He couldn’t stop her, and it looked like the two [Carpenters] to either side of her would watch out for her. He wondered if Myra was at another gate somewhere, using thread to trip the undead as a smaller imitation of what her mother was doing. Davi was here. Davi… now that was a thought.

Brin ran over to where Davi and Jeffrey played the battle music. He knew this song, and Davi was playing the supporting part. Brin could do that just as well.

He plucked the instrument out of Davi’s hands and resumed the song only missing a couple beats. Davi reached out to grab it back, but Jeffrey ground out through clenched teeth, “Don’t interrupt the song!”

He sounded more angry than Brin had ever heard him.

Davi looked shocked and offended until Brin said, “Get out there.”

He leaned over to pick his quarterstaff up off the ground, and shook his head ruefully. He gave a smile, and then ran towards the front.

Brin really hoped he hadn’t just sent his best friend to his death, but if Davi was anything like him, then he wanted to be out there and was cursing himself for needing to stay behind.

Davi’s quarterstaff whirred as he ran. His first thrust was to stop an enemy ax that would’ve taken the arm off a [Potter]. The awkward angle should’ve made it ineffective, but Davi’s arm held, firm as a tree trunk. He swiped up, moving the ax into the air, and then swiped down, knocking the undead off his feet. The big lad stepped forward, quarterstaff flying, trusting that the undead on the ground behind him would never get back up. It didn’t; the [Potter] finished it off with a quick spear thrust, then moved to watch Davi’s back.

Brin’s attention was pulled into the song. He’d figured the job of the [Bard] was easy. Just play some music, and everyone would be inspired, but the truth was much more incredible. Now that he was part of the song he could feel the magic in it, and the magic was grand and beautiful. Jeffrey wasn’t just playing the song, he was playing the battlefield. Brin could feel his consciousness split into dozens of different threads, giving hints and warnings and individualized inspiration in many different places. Some of the undead he distracted or confused at pivotal moments, giving the defenders the edge they needed right when they needed it. If the battle was going well, it was only because Jeffrey was changing the odds, just a little, in a hundred different ways.

The [Bard’s] mind was alien and vast. Brin had known enough to be wary of a man who could bend your mind to his whims, but he’d never imagined the sheer scale of what Jeffrey was doing.

The battle raged on. More defenders fell, despite everything Jeffrey could do, but many more were saved. Brin played, with tears streaming down his face. Now that he was a part of the music, there was nothing to protect him from the overwhelming emotion. A thousand stories were being created right here, and Brin could do nothing but watch and play the music of violence and death.

With the addition of the adventurers, the undead died by the score. He didn’t think the Prefit wanted the adventurers there, because every undead they killed was an undead that wouldn’t give a local more levels. They might need those levels someday soon, but Brin didn’t care. They needed their lives more.

The day wore on. The undead died, until all at once, the music stopped. Brin kept playing, willing it to keep going, but it didn’t. Jeffrey sighed with weariness.

The undead were all dead.

The Prefit and the Lantern-men charged into the forest to chase off stragglers, or perhaps join the fighting at other gates. Brin didn’t care. He was too tired to care about much at all. Most of the defenders didn’t follow either. They moved back through the gates, or collected the dead, or searched the field for any survivors. One of Antelm’s sons was found still alive, a bright spot on a dismal day.

Brin wearily turned from the battlefield and made his way home. He was under no illusions that this was over, but for today, they’d beaten the enemy back.