An enormous field of almost completely smooth, rich dirt now lies between us and the fortress. The ground from where we are standing declines at slightly more than a gentle angle, with us having the high ground. Right below the walls and extending out around the main gate for almost a hundred yards is a sea of tents ranging in colour and size, all arranged haphazardly.
As we are all standing just on the inside of the treeline, I can see four ursine halfway between us and the besieged fortress. They are sprinting as fast as their massive tree-trunk legs can take them. Those would be their scouts, which would have seen us in the forest, as we were definitely not very quiet.
Someone must have spotted them from the ursine camp, as an extremely loud bugle call gives warning.
Guess they know we are here now.
As we watch, Chief Branko sets out his army just as Halvard said he would. Three separate battalions of what look like melee fighters of various types are out in front, and two more are to either side of their main battalion. Chief Branko stands out in front of his battalion of less armoured ranged DPS and healer ursine.
I guess he thinks that they are protected by the melee out front and to the sides. Under different circumstances, I would agree with him. However, one should never dismiss an enemy at their backs.
All of the ursine don't look like they are really following much of a strict discipline in their formations. They are more jumbled up into a large group instead of orderly lines. Hopefully their unorganised behaviour will work in our favour.
“What do you think, Ifalna?” I ask quietly, looking out at the sight before us.
Where I thought we looked formidable before, these guys look a heck of a lot more so, even if they do look like they are less geared. Seeing the vast majority of them really makes it seem like unbeatable odds.
“I think their disorganisation of the tents is very interesting and that their same manner of discipline within ranks is just as much so,” she answers, still staring out onto the field.
“Well, I find it interesting that they don't have any healers or ranged within each of the battalions,” Kazzrak observes. “That would have made this extremely more difficult.”
“Don't count your sheep there. We don't know if he hasn't hidden some away within the masses,” Ifalna admonishes. “Though from looking at what he has displayed, you do seem to be correct.”
Some commotion is going on down there, and I focus on Chief Branko, who is headed this way with an entourage of four warriors.
“Halvard,” I say, getting the ursine's attention, “will he honour a parley or attack me on the spot?”
“My father would love to fight you in single combat; however, if he were to go home without letting his clan fight, then his standing with them would go down,” Halvard replies with a soft rumble. “Especially after bringing them all out here and making them wait around for a few days. He will honour a parley.”
Chuckling, I make my way down the slope. “Fair enough. Let's go have a chat with dear old papa bear. We should let him know that baby bear has left home and probably won't be having any more homemade porridge.”
“Really, Sybaal?” Ifalna says exasperatedly. She must have motioned for the majority of the raid to stay out of sight, as only Dosan, Kazzrak, Halvard and herself follow me.
“He doesn't even know what that means.” Kazzrak shakes his head.
Halvard, however, is chuckling himself. “If you are referring to Goldilocks, then I am well aware of the bedtime story, and it is quite funny. Especially seeing as how the golden-haired witch dies by the baby bear's hand after she killed his parents with poisoned porridge. Very good play on words there, Sybaal. I am finding that your wit is becoming more prominent as we travel together.”
We all look at Halvard with slightly stunned expressions. I can see we are all about to say something, before thinking better of it and closing our mouths instead. Giving each other incredulous looks, it seems like we unanimously think it would be best to leave that one as is.
When we reach a comfortable talking distance between the two parties, we stop to size each other up. Standing at eight feet tall, just like his son and the warriors next to him, Chief Branko is clad in gear almost identical to Halvard's. Lots and lots of steel plate.
“Son, I wondered what mischief you had gotten yourself into, though I never suspected to see you siding against the clan when there is a battle brewing.” Chief Branko's voice is a slightly deeper rumble than Halvard's. The surprise of his son joining us is still quite evident on his father's face.
“There is only a battle because you cannot restrain yourself, Father,” Halvard responds with a slightly sullen look. “Lord Sybaal, the Duke of the Glade of Everhein, has given me a gift that I will never be able to repay in kind. As a gift must be returned equally according to our way of life, I must now accompany him until I feel I have satisfied my honour.”
“Ah, I see.” Chief Branko nods sagely before turning to peer at me a touch more thoroughly. “You must have given my son a great gift indeed if his honour requires his pledge of service. Pray tell me, did you do this deliberately to weaken my forces, or is it some other plot at play? Speak plainly.”
“Some plot at play? I think you mistake my intentions.” I shake my head with a chuckle. “My only intentions are to give all of my people the tools to better themselves. Every single one of my vassals also received this gift. I would also like to give it to you if you are willing to receive it?”
“There will be no such thing happening before we do battle. I came here to do battle with the tainted felorians and the dark sorcerer, but that opportunity was taken away from my clan. By you. Therefore, since you are here, we shall see who is stronger, and that is final,” Chief Branko says with zeal.
Puffing up his chest, he continues, “I, Chief Branko of the Broken Rock Clan, challenge your clan to a duel, with the winner to become the Duke of the Glade of Everhein. Refusal of this challenge will result in my clan taking a grave insult, and we will not abstain until you all have perished.”
Your guild has been challenged to a guild duel from the Broken Rock Clan.
The winner receives control of the Glade of Everhein as Duke.
You may have a minimum of 50 and maximum of 300 guild members in this duel. The duel will begin in 15 minutes’ time.
Note! Refusal to duel at all will insult the Broken Rock Clan enough that they will not leave until either your guild or their clan has perished to the last man.
Accept? Yes/No
“Chief Branko, I am already duke, and as such I decline your terms to usurp my throne,” I scoff, not accepting the duel just yet, but leaving it open. “I would rather not fight you and yours if I can help it. But if we must fight in this duel, are there terms we can come to an agreement on between your clan and my guild?”
“Ha, I thought I might give it a shot; however, we aren't leaving without a battle. Like I said, my clan won't care if we fight in a duel or out of one with real bloodshed. We will see who is stronger, one way or another,” Chief Branko says with conviction.
Looking at the others of my group, they each nod slightly, so I turn back to Chief Branko with a sigh. “Do you have reasonable terms with benefits to both of us? Or shall we be fighting just for the sake of your pleasure?”
“Ah, I will change the terms of the duel to not include title swapping. The experience my clan members will receive in battle based on their merits and how well they perform will be enough,” he replies with a shrug and a shake of his head.
“Oh? We can receive experience for this battle? That is good news indeed. I was looking for a way to increase the power of my guild.” Looking at him askance, I make a counter-offer. “For this valuable information, if you can show me your battle prowess and prove you are worthy, I will see if I can grant you a title within the Glade. However, if my guild wins, your clan must submit to the rule of myself and the hierarchy of my guild. Do you accept these terms of a duel between my guild and your cl
an?
The others and I already discussed on the way here what our options might be, considering it would be a duel and they usually come with give and take. Halvard thought his father would agree to our terms, seeing as how there are no negative factors and we both will be getting what we want.
Your guild challenge has been accepted by the Broken Rock Clan.
If they win, you have agreed to give one title to Chief Branko if it is within your power and he shows his worthiness of such a title.
If your guild wins, the Broken Rock Clan will submit themselves as your vassals.
You may have a minimum of 50 and maximum of 300 guild members in this duel.
The duel will begin in 15 minutes’ time.
6
“Challenge accepted!” Roaring with glee, Chief Branko raises his arms, and the rest of his clan roar at his back.
The wall of sound creates a rumbling shake through the ground. Those are some powerful lungs. Although what else should I expect from three hundred eight-foot-tall walking bears that are expelling air all at once?
“Is there anything else we need to do, or should we prepare for battle?” I ask Halvard, turning to look at him.
“No, now it is time to both calm and bolster your troops,” he replies with a smile.
“Alright then, let us return,” I say, turning around and striding back up the incline.
Ifalna: Ezekial? Is everything ready?
Ezekial: Yes, everyone here has been awakened and is in position.
Sybaal: You can add everyone to the raid now. Make sure you structure the groups properly.
Ezekial: Of course. Everyone should be added within the next five minutes. See you down on the ground.
As I reach the treeline and the rest of the group, new raid member windows pop up on my screen and organise themselves so they are unobtrusive.
Quiet murmurs gradually get louder as more and more people are added to the raid, and it looks like these people didn't believe we would have any help with this fight.
“Alright, you country bumpkins! Line formation in front of the trees and buff up!” shouts Ifalna, quelling the chatter and giving everyone's feet something to do.
Casting Twilight Fire Sword onto both my swords, I can't wait to see them in action and watch them explode.
Grace: Are you ready, Sybaal?
Sybaal: Yes, Grace, yes, I am.
Once everyone is buffed and positioned into two long rows facing the fortress and the ursine before it, I take a few steps forward and address the raid.
Raising my voice so that everyone can hear me, I just say what comes to mind, as I've never been one for speeches. “Today is the day you have the opportunity to become part of a legend to be spoken of for generations. Whether you stand proud and tall or are crushed beneath our enemies' feet is up to you. Each one of us is strong on our own. Though today we cannot fight alone, for if we do, we will surely lose.
“Today is the day we properly put aside our grievances with each other for the good of the guild and the Glade. We fight for each other just as much as we fight for our hearth and home. So, look to your left and to your right. Those beside you are the ones who will be fighting to keep you alive and breathing. Both in this duel and forever more.
“Today is the day everyone on this battlefield becomes blood brothers and sisters. To challenge or cause harm to one of us would be folly of the highest magnitude. Today is the day the world learns of the Venatores Guild! Are you ready to show them our power?!”
A unanimous roar of approval assaults my ears just as I see the notification that the fifteen-minute timer has elapsed. A new timer till the forced end of the duel now counts down from three hours.
“Well, what are we waiting for, then?!” I roar back at them, jumping back into my spot on the front line. “Stay in position, and let's go show those slacking ursine how to do battle properly!”
Ifalna: Forward march! Everyone keep an even line and at double pace till I give the order to change formation!
With another roar, we all burst forward in sync, the second line a couple of steps behind us as we charge down the decline and towards the amassed ursine. Looking to my left and right, I can't help but feel a sense of pride and fulfilment for each and every one of my guild members by my side as we barrel down towards the enemy.
Chief Branko withholds his battalions until we reach halfway, at which point he thrusts an arm forward while yelling something I can't hear. Just like Halvard said, the front three melee battalions launch themselves forward to meet us with a roar of their own. The rear three battalions just stand there, awaiting orders and looking at us all with rapt attention.
Well, that's good, then, look at the distraction. Peering above the heads of the ursine directly in front of us, I see all the pretty lights on the walls of the fortress.
Ezekial: Felorians, attack!
With everyone's attention focused on us, none of the ursine see the massive number of ranged DPS throw down a multicoloured rain of death from high above. One hundred fifty ranged DPS shoot spells and physical objects in all different forms into the supposedly protected battalion and basically wipe them all out in one decisive fell swoop.
Not to mention Han and all the other stealthy melee have slipped out of the gates and are right behind Chief Branko's previously picked targets of certain healers or main ranged damage dealers. Quite a few spells and arrows are fired up onto the walls in retaliation by the quicker reacting ursine; however, they are overrun by the sheer number of spells very quickly.
Our felorian force's combined effort causes mass disorientation from Chief Branko's rear battalions as their healers and ranged are decimated in less than ten seconds.
Both melee battalions that are left behind start to converge on our now fleeing melee DPS, who are heading for the partially opened gate.
I almost stop in shock, but catch myself and keep going, as I see Chief Branko has literally doubled in size just from taking out a hundred or so of his allies.
Holy shit balls. At eighteen feet tall, the monstrosity pounding the ground towards us is slow to start moving, but looks like he is going to be a bitch to stop. He is bellowing for a retreat from the walls, as he must have realised he would never make it to the gate before it shut.
They start to make their way towards us, with the boss in front and what's left of the two battalions who made it out of range in time.
Dosan: Yo, Kazzrak, do you think this fella likes to play football? ’Cause I reckon if he kicks you, you might make it all the way back to the nymph village for a perfect score.
Kazzrak: That is one ugly fucker, and yeah, his boots are massive. That skill is pretty OP.
Sybaal: And here I thought there would be no room for any other melee to surround this boss.
Kazzrak: Something tells me he's only going to get bigger as we defeat his allies. Ifalna, I'm going to try taunting and slam stun him right off the bat. If that doesn't work and I can't stop him with a taunt dodge stun, then I'll have to pop everything I have just to stay alive.
Ifalna: Right, then. RAID ALERT! All ranged, when the boss is in range of your spells, cast all slowing effects on him as quickly as possible and keep them active. Hopefully he won't resist them all. Right now, focus on the immediate task at hand.
Refocusing, we reach what I believe to be my max range of spell-striking distance from the middle melee battalion. I start the festivities with several good old-fashioned purple balls of fire. After arching them up a bit into the air, they hurtle down towards the oncoming melee. Upon hitting the front and middle ranks, they explode dramatically, just like a napalm strike, as twilight fire coats everyone in the radius of impact.
Grace soars past above my head in a strafing run and launches multiple blasts of her own before wheeling around to double back.
Grinning like mad, I laugh manically as I send several more blasts in an endless stream in conjunction with Grace as the raid gets closer. I can already see that I have slightly dec
imated the front middle of the battalion with at least ten ursine no longer there. Everyone else in the vicinity of the blasts are now at half health or so.
Talk about overpowered much? Hell yeah! I'll take that!
Kazzrak: Well, fuck, Sybaal. Should we just sit back and let you do the rest? Laugh some more. You might scare them away just with that!
Abruptly I stop laughing; however, I can't keep the smile off my face with the power I'm putting out. Looking at my mana though, I see it isn't all roses. I'm down to a quarter mana already, though I did fling about a dozen fire blasts.
Sybaal: Haha, if my mana could sustain it, I'd say sit back and relax. I'm down to a quarter though, so we will have to just keep with the plan.
Ifalna: Wedge formation! Burst damage into the middle battalion! Make a hole! Then crowd control to either side! Go!
With a mostly smooth transition, the middle of our melee line pushes forward with Ratatoskr in the lead while the ends slow down a little and move closer together. All the ranged and healers in the middle of the wedge are now staggered in a group rather than a line.
Glowing shields of light and other damage-absorption methods surround everyone periodically. The healers are working furiously to renew their mitigation spells for the damage that will be incoming now that we are about to have return contact.
Dream Stream Reality: Publisher's Pack Books 1-2: (A LitRPG Adventure) Page 36
