Before the infantrymen could gather into a formation, a heavy sound of rushing beasts came from the murk, and just a couple of meters ahead of them, the entire pack of white wolves leaped out of the fog with the ur'glun riders on their backs.

  “Brace your spears!” the commander yelled, and the troops pointed their weapons in front of them. Some of the men stood steadily with the spears in their hands as the beasts rushed and their riders hurled javelins at them, while others turned back and started to flee. Upon impact, the entire front of the human army, without a proper formation, was overrun, and the wolves continued deep into the human ranks.

  Henry held his spear with a strong grip, and Eleanor stood beside him. As a wolf-rider came rushing at them, its mount was impaled on both of their spears, and the beast instantly died. The girl dropped her spear, which got stuck in the wolf's ribs, and unsheathed her sword as growls filled the battlefield, mingling with the screams of soldiers being torn apart or pierced by spears. Battle cries echoed in the strange and unknown ur'glun tongue.

  It was simply chaotic—a large group of men mixed with a large pack of angry wolves and their riders. Some fighters fell to the ground together with their foes, stabbing them with knives in fatal, bloody duels, while others gathered into small groups with spears high and shields linked, fighting the enemies in formations.

  While Henry rushed deeper toward the enemy ranks, a wolf-rider, soaked in the blood of its slain mount, stood up and grabbed its sword, charging at Eleanor with a ferocious growl. The beast swung its sword, but she quickly parried with her blade. A second swing came toward her face, but the girl dodged and made a cut across the ur'glun's leather-armored shoulder.

  The beast was small but vicious, its strikes fast. However, Eleanor was faster and much more proficient in fencing. After parrying several swings, she lunged with her blade, piercing straight through the ur'glun’s chest. The creature, still alive for a few seconds, grabbed the blade and screamed, blood spraying from its mouth. Shortly after, it went limp and slid off the blade onto the frozen ground.

  Ahead of her, Henry charged toward a large white wolf and its rider. The wolf charged back at him, but Henry’s heart had no place for fear. Where most men would turn and run, he pressed on. With his spear, longer than the rider's weapon, he managed to thrust the tip straight through the ur'glun’s neck. However, shortly after, the wolf tackled him to the ground.

  The beast growled as Henry struggled to protect himself with his arms. The wolf’s jaws clamped onto his wrist, tearing at him. Though his chainmail protected him from losing his arm entirely, the sharp teeth pierced through the armor and dragged him across the ground. Henry kicked the beast desperately, but when it let go of his arm, it clamped down on his leg—a much less armored area. The wolf’s teeth tore into his flesh as he screamed in pain.

  Eleanor rushed to his aid, jumping onto the wolf from behind. She grabbed onto its fur with one hand and stabbed it repeatedly with a knife in the other. After several strikes, the beast collapsed dead on top of Henry.

  She worked quickly to drag him from beneath the heavy carcass, knowing more wolves were nearby. Suddenly, the thunder of galloping horses echoed behind them.

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  Though the infantry had suffered significant losses, they cleared enough ground for the cavalry to charge. Armored divisions of mounted knights pierced through the enemy lines and fog like a hot knife through butter.

  At the very tip of the wedge formation rode Nogryl, his sword held high above his head, ready to strike. Not far behind him followed his squire Alwin and Aryon, the Grand Paladin himself.

  The beasts ran for cover, but many could not escape the spears and blades of the knights. As the horses rushed past, Eleanor and Henry huddled together, smiles on their bloodied and dusty faces, knowing they would live another day.

  But the fight was far from over. As the knights pursued the fleeing ur'gluns through the fog, a dark formation emerged before them. It was the same Rugol army that had stopped Sir Daymon’s charge, now bolstered with more troops than ever. These were the soldiers Nal'zuk had purchased with captured slaves.

  The knights hesitated, fear creeping into their hearts. Yet their courage was reignited by the fearless Nogryl, who led the charge. Together, they pressed on.

  The armies clashed ferociously as the cavalry plowed into the forest of spears, piercing through the first two rows of the Rugol formation. The dull creak of battered armor echoed in the night as knights fought fiercely from horseback.

  From his position at the rear of the Rugol formation, Nal'zuk observed the battle, riding his enormous black wolf. He was surrounded by his guards, scheming his next move. Among them stood Nuula, arms crossed, watching the battlefield with a vile grin.

  “Fight your way through!” the champion of mankind yelled from the tip of the formation. Nogryl cleaved his way through fierce foes and their spears, joined by the boldest knights of the kingdom. The black Rugol phalanx bent under the relentless pressure of the wedge formation.

  Beside him, Aryon fought from horseback, swinging his blade. Every gap in the Grand Paladin’s armor glowed with golden light. His eyes shone like torches, and his body was engulfed in a faint, ghastly yellow flame. Each swing of his blade trailed with holy power, melting spears and armor into molten gold with every strike.

  The foggy battlefield glowed red from torches and flaming arrows, but the tip of the human formation shone with Aryon’s radiant golden light. Witnessing this, the men fought on with renewed courage, strengthened by their belief in the prophecy that Nogryl would lead them to victory.

  Far back among the corpses of militiamen and their foes, amidst the lingering thick fog, the wounded militia commander lay bleeding on the icy ground. He could see the golden glow on the horizon and hear the distant sounds of battle still raging.

  “Regroup!” he shouted, forcing himself to stand. “The cavalry needs our support!”

  Though most of the men were wounded, every soldier who could still stand gathered around the commander in a battered formation.

  “Stand strong, my brothers; the fate of the realm rests upon our shoulders. March back into the fray!” he roared.

  One by one, more men rose from the ground, stepping over the bodies of fallen soldiers, ur'glun beasts, and their wolves.

  Hearing his orders, wounded Henry wrapped his leg in a piece of cloth torn from his tabard and grabbed a spear from the hands of a fallen comrade.

  ?You heard him, Nelly, the fight is not over yet!“ the young man proclaimed and stood up, supporting himself with the spear.

  ?But wait, what are you going to achieve? You cannot even hold your ground!“ the girl replied and covered her mouth in distress.

  ?By the time I arrive, the formations will be broken, and I'll be knife fighting them on the floor where they have no advantage over me!“

  Eleanor saw him struggle to stand, wounded and covered in blood and dust, but still ready to go back into the fray. His determination was simply immeasurable;

  as long as he could contribute to the cause, he fought on. He was clearly not the strongest or the most capable man, nor was he the most skilled in fencing,

  but his spirit was tenfold stronger than the spirit of even the sturdiest warrior in the kingdom and beyond.

  "Then better get armed for the occasion,“ Eleanor replied with a witty smile on her face and handed him one of the throwing knives from her belt.