It all started roughly one year ago, with the first rumors that the Armored Sorcerer was assembling an army of monsters.

  The Armored Sorcerer was a tyrant that ruled a small nameless kingdom in the region known as Cartographer’s Bane.

  As an individual, he was incredibly powerful, being an elite adventurer that found an ancient artefact in the form of an almost impervious suit of armor that, in addition to other powers, allowed him to teleport. But, in the great scheme of things, he was no more than a nuisance.

  Also, the concept of assembling an army of monsters was not new. In fact, it was basically a cliché at that point.

  If you asked a hundred people at random what makes a monster army, the consensus would be something around a few hundred small monsters like orcs, maybe a dozen medium ones like ogres and one or two big ones like hydras or wyverns. Among those people, maybe one or two would throw some ridiculous numbers like tens of thousands of orcs, a few hundred trolls and dozens of bigger monsters.

  If you took the wildest guess of the most ravenous doomsayer, and multiplied those numbers by 20, that would be close to the size of the army that stormed the south frontier.

  In the period of two weeks, the march of the monster army commanded by the Armored Sorcerer created a strip of destruction extending from the frontier to the Capital of Central. All the delaying actions, city defenses, brave last stands and flanking maneuvers, together, were able to buy no more than minutes to prepare the Capital for the unavoidable onslaught.

  Monster is a broad term that encompasses a huge number of different creatures. Some are dungeon dwellers or gated species that survive mostly by absorbing mana, others are just regular animals or humanoids that were infused with abyssal energy long ago. They had their own individual habits, needs and wants.

  Having so many disparate species, even creatures that are prey and predator in the same food chain or have completely incompatible behaviors, banding together at such scale, could have had only one explanation: The Armored Sorcerer had found the Seal of the Forgotten Gods.

  The Seal of the Forgotten Gods was probably the most powerful major artifact in recorded history. With the Seal one can command any creature tied to the Abyss, which would be all monsters with a few exceptions like undead and mechanical abominations.

  This all culminated in the siege of the capital of Central. The original city was created as the ultimate fortress of the Old Empire, with a protective magical shield that had no parallel in the entire world. Should the city fall, the entire continent would soon follow.

  ***

  Capital of Central – 8 months ago.

  I ignored the screams and sounds of combat as I tried to drag the fallen soldier away from the fight. I was not strong enough to pull him myself, but he helped by flailing his legs in panic, trying to get away from the ogre.

  It was another breakthrough. Ogres were able to get to the top of the ramparts and three reached the courtyard. The soldiers were fighting then until reinforcements could arrive and I was doing my part, saving the ones I could.

  We got distant enough from the fight so that I could look at him. He was no more than a boy.

  “Have you drunk a potion today?”

  He shook his head in a negative and begged “Please, my arm ….”

  His arm had been amputated right above the elbow. I looked at the hellscape that was the courtyard and asked, “Which one is your arm?”

  Bodies stopped been collected for several days now and were just dropped from the ramparts, piling high near the walls. The ones that died in the courtyard stayed where they had fallen, blood, innards and limbs dotting the landscape. The soldier looked at the grisly scene and, after a moment of hesitation, pointed to one of the detached limbs.

  And as luck dictates, it was the one closest to the fight, but I was just numb at that point, way past fear.

  I ran low, observing the flow of combat, and retrieved the arm as soon as I found an opportunity.

  “Hold it in place”, I said joining the limb. The soldier grunted in pain but held the arm.

  I got from my pouch a flask with a vivid red liquid, manipulating it carefully because the blood on my hands caused the glass to become slippery. I removed the cork and poured the content in the mouth of the soldier, who drank eagerly.

  The effect started almost immediately. His flesh moved like it was slime, the two pieces of the arm flowed into each other and fused. One ugly gash in his abdomen closed, but the older wounds remained.

  At the top of the ramparts, the sound of combat intensified, and battle cries could be heard. Reinforcements had arrived.

  I could see an enormous knight swing a great sword and cutting an ogre in two, half of it falling in the courtyard, half of it collapsing on the ramparts, its blood adding to the stain that was painting the wall red.

  After that, the combat died down. This cycle had been repeated several times: the monsters would find a way to climb the walls and kill the defenders on top of it, and them reinforcements would arrive and retake the ramparts, killing the monsters. This was the original ramparts of the city from the age of the Old Empire, the current walls and most of the city had to be abandoned because they were indefensible, but even so it was a huge perimeter to garrison.

  I washed my hands in a bucket of water that was basically diluted blood at that point and dried them with a dirty rag. My movements were mechanical and apathetic, as if an external force was moving my body.

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  Since nobody nearby called for help, I just limped to the wall of a building in the courtyard, as far away from the gore as I was allowed to go, and sat down. I was so tired that I wasn’t sure if what was happening was real, but even so, I could not sleep. The smell of rotten flesh and ripped bowels, the screams of the dying, the roar of the monsters surrounding us, the sight of carnage in front of me. In all my 22 years, I had never felt such dread, such an oppressive atmosphere.

  I was so terrified that if I acknowledged that fear for a single moment, I would not be able to move anymore, only cry and beg for some kind of miracle. So, I just sat there, staring at nothing, trying not to think of it, not to think of anything, just waiting for the time it all would end.

  It was the 5th day of the Capital’s siege.

  When the real threat of the monster army became evident, there was only a few days to prepare, so anyone that could contribute was mobilized.

  I had some experience with first aid, so I joined the retinue of a combat medic that would accompany Uther. But, due to the chaos of war, we ended up being dispatched to support the defense of a section of the rampart. By the second day, I was the only one from the medical team alive.

  I don’t know if it was courage or the fear of disobeying orders that had being engraved into me since childhood, but I kept healing the soldiers in the limited capacity that I had.

  I heard a sound, as if it was coming from far away. It was different from the cacophony of my surroundings.

  That sound again, this time was clearer and somehow familiar.

  The 3rd time I realized someone was calling my name.

  “Miss Gift!”

  My eyes refocused. A huge man in full plate armor and holding an ornamented great sword was talking to me. I took a couple of seconds to recognize.

  “Sir Gideon?”

  Sir Gideon was the Queen’s Champion, a man with a physical stature that few could match and whose prowess with the sword was a legend in the continent. He was entrusted with one of the few major artefacts of the kingdom, the great sword “Breacher”, that could cut through any magical protection and hit even creatures immune to physical attacks.

  He was also a good friend of the royal family, and a little bit of that friendship was extended to me.

  “Miss Gift, are you alright?”

  I opened my mouth to reply that I was ok, since that was the socially expected response, but no sound came out. It was like there was a limit to how much you were allowed to lie in a pleasantries exchange. Instead, I changed the subject as I realized an arrow penetrated his armor.

  “Sir Gideon, you are hurt!”

  I should have realized at the time that something was off. Nobody had been hit with an arrow so far, as it was not a weapon most monsters would use, and no regular arrow would be capable of penetrating the armor of the Queen’s Champion. But my mind was not at its best.

  “I was hit when I was fighting the ogres on the ramparts. I need to go to the hospital to remove the arrowhead before I drink the healing potion” he looked at me with worry in his eyes “would you mind accompanying me?”

  “I can’t. I need to stay here.” I said with a lifeless voice.

  “My men will manage the ramparts for now. Please.”

  I almost teared up at the idea of leaving that place. I was filthy, had been able to eat nothing the past 2 days due to the stench and the little I slept was more passing out from exhaustion than true sleep. I nodded affirmatively and he helped me stand up.

  We walked in silence in the direction of the hospital, both too tired to engage in small talk. I could perceive that the wound was troubling him greatly, but he tried to not show. Even walking at a slow pace, there should be enough time to remove the arrowhead before the 1-hour limit to drink a healing potion.

  It was halfway when Sir Gideon asked:

  “Do you have news of Uther?”

  I shook my head “Last I knew he was defending the gate near the Market, but that was the first day. I am avoiding asking about him.”

  “Why?”

  “I made the mistake of looking over the parapet.” I replied with a pained smile.

  His expression became severe, but he said nothing. I was grateful that he had enough consideration for me to not try to deceive me with false hope. We were just delaying the unavoidable, fighting relentlessly to live a few days more.

  There was no chance of victory, not against that.

  “I just need to hold for a little longer. I want to be useful to the royal family until the end and meet death with dignity. But I am not a brave person, if I discover that Uther died, I … I don’t think I will be able to keep it together.”

  Sir Gideon put a hand on my shoulder and, with an almost paternal smile, said: “You are braver than you give yourself credit for”. His words were kind, but I could sense tension as he was trying to suppress the pain. It was getting worse.

  It was then that I perceived the noise.

  There was a commotion ahead of us. I could not see anything since we were in a narrow alley between two tall buildings, but there were screeching, screams and sounds of combat. It was still distant, but it was coming from the center of the city, not the walls.

  Sir Gideon's hand grew heavier on my shoulder as he leaned against me. When I turned to look at him, my blood ran cold. Moments ago, he seemed fine, but now purple spots were spreading rapidly across his face. The white of his eyes was already red and you could see droplets of blood seeping from his pores.

  He fell on his knees and puked a crimson goo.

  Poison.

  He grabbed a healing potion from his belt and tried to drink but vomited it together with blood.

  I was astounded, unable to help in any way, but even in the best circumstances there would be little I could do. The extent of my medical knowledge was tending to minor wounds and giving healing potions to anything bigger. I could recognize a couple of the most common poisons and give the antidote if I had it with me, but this one was most definitively not one of those.

  Sir Gideon looked at the direction of the commotion, looked back at me, and made a split-second decision. He pushed Breacher in my direction and tried to say something that was more blood gargling than speech, but due to some individual syllables that I could pick up, lip reading and context, I could understand: “Get this back to my men.”

  He then suffered one final spasm and went limp, with his open, bloodshot eyes staring at nothing.

  His death was a surprise, and I was glad that I could feel at least that for the passing of a friend. At some point during the last days, I stopped having any emotional reaction to the dead.

  The dead of Sir Gideon released a small discharge of magical energy to the ambient through an effect know as Witch’s Curse, common to the death of any sentient being.

  That was sufficient to partially load a tiny mana crystal masterfully embedded in the arrowhead that struck him. This crystal was linked to an inscribed magical circuit and the charge was enough to power a single energy pulse.

  The sounds of turmoil were getting near. Sir Gideon entrusted me with his last command, so I had no time to ponder what to do.

  Breacher had an adorned handle made from some black material that felt like bone to the touch but was not from any creature I was familiar with. The first third of the blade was blunt, probably used as an extension of the handle. The rest of the blade was as sharp as a piece of metal could get and had a bluish reflex that appeared to shine more than the available light.

  I grabbed the sword, and my first thought was how a human being could possibly fight with that weight. I could barely lift it; there was no way I could just carry it back to the ramparts.

  I thought about dragging the sword, but that came with its own set of problems. I would make noise and possibly attract whatever was causing the commotion. The streets were paved with stones, and they could damage the blade. It was a major artifact, but I had no idea just how difficult it was to damage an artifact.

  Soldiers would support polearms on their shoulders to carry them on march, so I tried with Breacher. I supported the flat side of the blade on my right shoulder, and it was surprisingly easy to keep balanced. It would be no small feat for someone with my frame to carry this weight all the way back to the ramparts, but it was the best option I had.

  I turned around to start my task.

  Then a flash of reddish light illuminated the alley, originating from behind me.