Chasing the rebels ahead of the main army was more annoying than she would have liked.

  While Neer didn’t mind a good hunt and, indeed, had enjoyed pulling the slaving scum from whatever hole they found to hide, things changed when someone with a brain started organizing the retreat.

  Sweeping through Pepperhof had required some care, as the retreating loyalists had turned it into a hellhole of traps, uncaring about the still significant civilian population, but Neer had hoped that once the town was secured, she’d be able to have some fun. Her duel with the enemy knight had made her hope she’d find worthwhile opponents.

  Instead, she had been forced to slog through every village, looking for the remnants of the Southern Army’s rearguard.

  Oh, the vast majority of it had hightailed it toward Hassel, but a significant number of soldiers under the command of one General Morrison were doing their very best to slow the Revolutionary Army down.

  They wouldn’t be successful—Neer was there to dig them out of their holes with the vanguard precisely for that reason—but they were annoying.

  Now, as the outskirts of Ficklewood came into view, Neer felt her anticipation rekindle. The town was a scrappy maze of wood-framed buildings clustered along the main road, the thin sprawl interspersed with squat barns and tall stacks of felled timber waiting to be loaded for shipment. Ficklewood’s importance lay in its position: a critical junction on the trade route leading from Treon to Hassel. At best, it was simply a stop along the way.

  Today, however, it was more than that. Her scouts and diviner had confirmed that Morrison had set up here, and with him, the rearguard of the once proud Southern Army was making its final stand.

  Choosing this town was a clever move. The auxiliary roads from Ficklewood were narrow and winding, with thick woodlands on either side—an ideal place to slow an advancing force, which meant they couldn’t lead the army around without wasting more time and suffering unacceptable casualties. They had to take it.

  She had expected token resistance, perhaps a few hundred soldiers hiding behind makeshift barricades. But as her grim-faced scout approached, Neer realized it wouldn’t be that easy.

  “Report,” she rumbled.

  The scout was a wiry, silver-haired orc whose years as a ranger had honed his senses to razor precision. He shifted, his jaw clenched. “The general has gathered the remaining rearguard here. Two full companies by the looks of it, maybe more. And…” He hesitated, glancing back at the town. “They’ve got cannons. Heavy guns positioned along the southern ridge.”

  Artillery. Neer didn’t bother to hide her surprise. Morrison had somehow managed to amass weaponry far exceeding the usual provisions for a rearguard force—especially considering how quickly the Southern Army had been forced to retreat. If he had guns aimed at the only available staging area, they would be in for a brutal reception.

  “Where did he pull enough supplies to get any cannon loaded?” she asked, though she didn’t expect an answer. There were many possible explanations, from Ficklewood hosting a strategic supply depot they hadn’t known about to Count Pollus leaving behind enough heavy machinery to hasten his journey so that Morrison could gather a significant battery.

  She glanced back toward her commanders, finding some in deep thought while others—mostly the orcs—were unfazed. Neer felt the same eagerness return with force and had to force herself to focus. She could feel her fingers itching, hungry for the combat ahead. Still, if Morrison intended to dig in at Ficklewood, they’d need more than adrenaline. She needed to come up with a plan.

  “I need an assessment of how far Pollus is from Hassel first. Then we’ll think about Morrison,” she decided. While she expected she’d be able to force her way into Ficklewood from the sides if necessary, she didn’t want to split her forces, especially since she didn’t know if it was a trap.

  Her diviner, a young woman barely older than twenty, closed her eyes and muttered softly. Clasping her hands as if in prayer, she cast her gaze beyond.

  “They’re still two days out,” she murmured at last, eyes flashing open. “The main army, that is. The rearguard has no intention of retreating. They have truly dug in.”

  Neer’s lips pressed into a thin line. So, Morrison was planning to die here.

  She barely had time to process the implications when the first resounding boom of cannon fire shattered the silence—a searing burst of heat and force ripped through the treeline just to her left, tearing down trees and incinerating ten square feet.

  “Move!” she shouted, snapping from surprise to instinct in the blink of an eye. “Back! Deeper into the forest! Get cover, now!”

  The orcs were quick, and her Security Forces didn’t need to be told twice. They scattered, disappearing into the undergrowth as another thunderous volley shook the earth. Neer ducked low, glancing over her shoulder to gauge the damage, only to see that the cannon fire had shifted to track their movements, targeting the line of trees where her troops took cover.

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  She cursed under her breath as another round roared, sending deadly splinters flying when the shells crashed into a nearby tree. The noise was deafening.

  Morrison was pulling no punches.

  “Fall back deeper!” she called, her voice carrying through the shriek of incoming fire. Her orders were met with shouts of acknowledgment, and her troops retreated in staggered bursts. A few covered the advance of others with protective spells, though they kept their distance from each other to avoid presenting too tempting a target.

  As the bombardment continued, Neer’s mind raced. Morrison’s artillery was a calculated attempt to disrupt her organization, to keep her vanguard scattered and on the defensive before they even reached the town’s perimeter. This wasn’t how he would win, but it would certainly bleed her vanguard if she allowed herself to be pinned down here.

  She ducked behind a boulder, taking a moment to catch her breath, her senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The acrid smell of burning wood filled the air, and a thick haze hung over the forest. She could hear her men regrouping around her, rallying to her commands even as they huddled in whatever cover they could find.

  It was a small comfort, knowing their courage was unwavering. But it wouldn’t be enough to break through Ficklewood’s defenses. Not without a way to counter that artillery.

  As the cannon fire rumbled on, Neer quickly assessed their options. The guns weren’t hidden—firing from a vantage point next to the gates. If she could get close enough and take advantage of the forest cover, she could send a small squad to flank them, get inside their lines, and disable the cannons from within, but that felt too obvious. Morrison would expect that.

  Getting that close would mean heavy casualties. And she’d have to do it without getting the entire vanguard caught in the open.

  She took a deep breath, steadying herself, before calling out in a low voice. “You lot,” she said, signaling to a group of orcs clustered nearby. “Form a flanking squad and go through the forest. Keep low, stay in pairs, and make for the cannons as soon as there’s a gap in the fire. Your only target is the artillery. I’ll handle the suppression. Understood?”

  The orcs grunted in agreement. They knew the risks as well as she did, but their courage ran deep, and she could trust them with the task.

  Her orders echoed back through the ranks as the orcs broke off, slipping away with surprising grace. Meanwhile, Neer began organizing the remaining SF soldiers, ordering them into staggered groups to draw fire and give the flanking unit cover.

  The bombardment didn’t let up, but as the minutes ticked by, Neer noticed a slight shift. The cannons, powerful though they were, couldn’t maintain fire indefinitely. Extending her senses to the utmost, she could hear the faint scrape of equipment and the grumbling of gunners calling for ammunition, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they were empty.

  She took a deep, bracing breath and drew her cleaver from her back. As she fed it mana, the blade began taking with an ominous crimson hue. Neer steadied herself, feeling the weight of it in her hands, and called upon [Berserker’s Tranquillity], her newest ability.

  Her skin tingled as the magic flooded through her body, her muscles coiling like tempered steel and her senses sharpening to a deadly edge. Power thrummed in her veins, vibrant and red, curling around her like a faint mist that danced with each breath.

  A part of her felt the strain of casting such intricate magic; she had only recently begun practicing this depth of battle meditation, which demanded focus she’d once thought was beyond her. But today, she could feel the thin line between clarity and rage—a potent wellspring she could draw from without losing herself to fury. Her eyes blazed a deep, smoldering red, and the mist thickened, cloaking her in a veil of crimson.

  Neer didn’t waste any more time. She clenched the hilt of her blade, set her focus on the town, and surged forward, taking increasingly faster strides.

  Her sudden emergence from the forest must have been jarring to Morrison’s troops; the rhythm of the cannon fire faltered for a breath as the gunners adjusted their aim to the figure streaking across the battlefield in a haze of red. Neer felt a thrill rise in her chest, wild and fierce.

  Cannons that had been battering the treeline with a relentless barrage now swung to focus on her, the operators scrambling to reload in time to intercept her charge. The first shell screamed as it fell on her.

  Neer swung her cleaver with a snarl, carving through the air with a wave of energy, meeting the cannon’s blast head-on and detonating it midair. The impact flared in a flash of light, sending a rain of scorched shrapnel across the field.

  She didn’t stop.

  A second cannon fired, the explosion gouging into the ground where she had been just moments before as she veered to the left. Another roar, another wave of energy from her cleaver, and she cut down the third before it could reach her, a shockwave of force rippling out from the impact.

  From all around the town, the royal army soldiers began to gather, confused but determined to intercept the lone warrior charging at their cannons. She heard the cries of alarm and the shouts of officers trying to rally their men, but Neer’s focus never wavered.

  Only the artillery mattered.

  The rhythm of battle sang in her blood, each strike of her cleaver releasing crescents of raw, crimson power that smashed into incoming blasts or slashed at the soldiers bold enough to come within range. Cannon after cannon fired, trying to box her in, but Neer wove through them in a deadly dance. The blasts illuminated the haze around her, a red mist swirling like fire in the chaos, and every time she blocked another blast, the shock reverberated through her muscles, steadying her focus even more.

  Through the haze, she caught glimpses of her soldiers breaching the outskirts of Ficklewood. Her vanguard met Morrison’s men head-on, clashing with the barricaded defenders scattered throughout the town. She saw the flash of steel and the arcs of magic, but she couldn’t afford to pay them any mind. Her men had their orders, and she trusted them to execute them. For now, she was the distraction, the focal point of the artillery’s fury, and she intended to hold that attention as long as she could.

  Another blast came her way, faster this time. She barely had time to brace as the shell struck her directly. The explosion tore through the air, sending her flying back. She felt a brief flicker of pain as her arms absorbed the worst of the impact. But she gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain, and surged forward again, roaring defiantly.

  Morrison’s men scrambled to reload, more frantic as they realized the artillery wasn’t enough to stop her. She could almost taste their fear and heard the frantic shouts as they tried to rally. She could sense the mana barriers they were raising around the cannons, shimmering shields of blue and gold, each one costing them precious energy.

  Good. Let them drain their reserves trying to keep up with me.

  She swung, unleashing another crescent that shattered against a nearby shield, cracking it and sending two soldiers flying. Their gun fell silent, its operators scrambling away, and Neer took the momentary lull to press forward.

  One of the cannons fired again, but she raised her cleaver, channeling the red mist into a barrier. The blast struck true, dispersing it but failing to break through. She pushed against it with a snarl, gathering the haze and sending it back, forcing the gunners to halt their barrage.

  Another shell exploded to her right, peppering her with debris, but she ignored it, focused solely on the cannons ahead. Her vision narrowed, her thoughts sharpening to a single point.

  More soldiers tried to intercept her, but she swept them aside with powerful arcs of her cleaver. The resistance was faltering, and she could see the panic spreading through the front lines as they realized she was too close to target. Neer roared again, her voice echoing across the battlefield, challenging anyone who dared to stand in her way.

  A lone man stepped forth.