Chapter 42: The Cursed Assault

Chapter 42: The Cursed Assault

Emilia tried to calm herself by breathing into her cupped hands.

Soon, the satyrs came closer. They also had bows, and both sides began exchanging arrows. The defenders, however, had the advantage, and most of the satyrs simply charged forward under cover of crude wooden shields.

The main weapons of the satyrs were either axes or wooden clubs. But the truth was that they were capable of lightning-fast rushes a meter or two forward. They hid behind their shields, surged ahead, and relied on their powerful horns to deliver devastating blows.

If one or two satyrs attacked like that, they could be stopped easily, but if many charged this way—or if in the chaos of battle such attacks came from different directions—things could become especially dangerous.

At the very back were the large satyrs with unlocked mana. Three of them were shamans, and "one and ten" were massive individuals relying on their bodies for battle.

The satyrs, like most cursed races, did not rely on the Great System. Their magic was ancient, dating back to the creation of the world.

The three shamans stopped just outside the archers’ range, took out flutes, and began playing a fast, cheerful melody. The notes spread across the battlefield and descended like a veil over the attacking satyrs. Their strength increased immediately, their muscles tensed, and their speed surged. Their eyes shone brightly, filling the defenders’ hearts with terror.

Then the music began to speed up, and the tunes grew increasingly chaotic. The main theme quickly shifted from cheerful to one singing of blood, battle, and hatred.

The attacking satyrs became completely frenzied, and the large individuals at the back began pushing aside their smaller comrades, charging toward the waiting walls with doubled force.

Arrows rained down like hail, and many satyrs fell, wounded or dead. Yet they came in swarms, skillfully leaping over the bodies of their fallen kin. One of the shamans altered his melody and called upon Gaia’s healing energy. The lightly wounded immediately stood up and charged toward the walls with renewed strength.

The heavy crossbows of the landowner began to crack, and arrows whistled through the air. Each crossbow was aimed at the galloping large magical satyrs.

Two of them immediately fell, pierced by several arrows.

At that moment, Fjorn’s voice rang out: "Start charging with mana."

Soon, the tower formations activated under the expert guidance of the formation master, and Emilia’s mana began to swirl through the lines. An entire row of glyphs lit up one after another, and numerous roots sprang from the ground, entangling the satyrs’ legs.

The villagers had planted special plants with exceptionally strong roots, so the formations could use them in battles like this.

Hundreds of satyrs were immobilized for a moment, becoming easy targets for the archers.

Despite their losses, the first satyrs reached the walls and began skillfully leaping toward the emptier sections. The villagers tried to attack from a distance with their spears, keeping the invaders at bay. From nearby houses, several hidden archers brought down satyrs with precise, well-aimed shots. It was clear that the mayor had organized the best archers to defend the walls from concealed, protected positions.

This was necessary because the satyrs did not need ladders or siege engines. They could jump directly onto the walls.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and the crack of the crossbows became less frequent. Emilia saw the first bodies of humans and satyrs falling on this side of the fence. She moved closer to the wall and tried to blend with it, not wanting to appear threatening or draw the attention of any satyrs.

Because of the narrow walls, some of the satyrs had no one to fight and leapt directly at the reserves. There, they were easy targets for archers and crossbowmen on the walls or in the towers. From above, the defenders had the necessary visibility and safety to rain down their arrows.

The shamans, seeing the effectiveness of the archers, began chanting strange ancient hymns, leaving the flutes behind. Gradually, a thick fog began to descend over the village.

This finally managed to halt the archers, who were forced to advance and fight in close combat.

The battle suddenly became much bloodier and more chaotic. Many satyrs began attacking the reserves, and the three largest satyrs, perhaps drawn by the magic of the tower, also assaulted the tower.

Fjorn started shouting loudly, calling for reinforcements. Powerful fire magic flared within the fog. A group of spearmen arrived from somewhere and joined the battle.

Emilia was horrified as she huddled in a small room with the other children, guarded by two soldiers from the reserve. She clutched her talismans tightly and looked around.

The other children were frightened, and the soldiers nervously gripped their spear shafts. The battle outside raged on, the sounds of steel and cries of pain carrying through the fog. The satyrs made strange bleating noises, like goats. Sometimes they roared with powerful voices, and Emilia’s fear intensified.

She repeatedly recalled her training with Cassian, the necessary mana movements to be able to dash quickly in one direction or another. It had been training to dodge attacks from different angles—the long bamboo cane Cassian used to train her was very painful. Emilia had quickly learned to avoid it, and her movements became smoother with every passing practice.

At that moment, the fog began to gradually lift. It turned out that the landowner had cleverly sent part of his crossbowmen, supported by spearmen, to attack the shamans under the cover of the fog. They had struck the shamans by surprise, and now their bodies lay in the mud, pierced with numerous spears and arrows.

Emilia used her magical senses, feeling the souls of the living and the dead. She shivered each time one of the defenders fell.

Several times, lone satyrs appeared near her, but each time the reserve spearmen intercepted them.

The souls of the dead began rising again above the battlefield. Emilia was strangely drawn to their dark mana. She sensed the power these soul remnants could grant her. A quiet whisper rose in her mind. Her consciousness began to blur, and she slowly reached toward a soul fragment floating nearby.

The soul energy twitched and then flowed toward Emilia. The sensation of its proximity, the sweet energy within her—Emilia barely had time to think. At any moment, she would absorb the soul of one of the fallen soldiers.

And that terrified her. The intense emotion pulled her back to reality, and her thoughts and feelings raced frantically until she made a resolute decision:
"I’m not that kind of person. I absolutely refuse to feed on the souls of the dead!" She clenched her teeth tightly and began circulating mana through her organs to stimulate blood flow.

This helped clear her mind and calm her slightly. She could still see the souls and feel their pull, but her resolve held for the moment.

When the magical fog—sent by the dead shamans—finally lifted, a terrible sight revealed itself to the reserve. The three magical satyrs had broken large sections of the tower with their heavy clubs. Now, together with a group of frenzied satyrs, they were attacking both of the fortified magic towers.

Fjorn was forced to retreat, supported by a group of spearmen. Meanwhile, the archers began to activate again.

The leader of the satyrs roared with a powerful voice and charged forward with his horns, aiming for Fjorn, who shone brightly with his mana.

Other satyrs followed him, and soon the group of spearmen was almost entirely destroyed. Emilia immediately drew her talismans and began launching fireballs at the unprotected satyr leader. One, two, three, four—eight talismans in total flew one after another directly at the satyr leader. The talismans required no mana to activate, but launching so many in rapid succession heavily strained Emilia’s spiritual energy. Her mouth filled with fresh blood, her legs gave out instantly, and she collapsed to the ground, momentarily losing consciousness.

Meanwhile, the mayor, along with two of his sons, attacked wielding heavy halberds. The mayor and his eldest son also had unlocked mana and enhanced bodies. They wore leather armor made from magical beasts, and their halberds were enchanted for strength and precision, delivering merciless strikes.

The largest satyr had been wounded by Emilia’s fireballs. Five or six had hit their target, three of them critically. Staggering from the magic, ablaze from the fire, he was easily visible from a distance and an easy target for the archers.

One, two, three arrows quickly pierced his chest. The satyr roared for the last time and fell. The remaining satyrs went into a frenzy and boldly leapt at the spears of their enemies—a desperate but not particularly clever move. The mayor and his reinforcements had blocked the gaps in the line, and a wall of spears met the attacking satyrs.

Emilia closed her eyes, but it didn’t help much. Her magical senses saw and felt everything—the smell of roasted flesh, burned fur, the scent of blood and bile. The groans of the wounded and dying.

This wasn’t Emilia’s first battle, but it did not lessen her horror in any way. Exhausted, she leaned against the wall, clutching her small spear, trembling like a leaf.

"I have to be brave. I have to remember my training. What would Cassian say if he saw me now?"

Emilia lightly tapped her cheeks with her hands and tried to focus. "That’s right. I can still help."

She immediately drew her healing talisman and approached the heavily wounded Fjorn, activating the talisman. The ethereal gray-yellow mist quickly enveloped the fallen master and began healing his wounds.

"He will still need help. This is a simple talisman—it can only handle surface wounds."
"Do you have any more talismans?" the mayor asked.
"No, that was the last one."

The mayor nodded and turned his gaze back to the battle on the walls.

After the fall of the magical satyrs and shamans, the remaining satyrs quickly lost morale. The archers and crossbowmen had also rejoined the fight, and the satyrs were on the brink of destruction.

Seeing their dire situation, one by one they began to retreat from the battle with powerful leaps, heading back toward the dark forest. Minutes later, the last satyrs, enraged and maddened by their curse, fell, and the battle was won.

Emilia noticed two women providing first aid to the wounded, applying various ointments. She approached them.

"I have basic skills in herbalism. Maybe I can help somehow." One of the women looked at her blankly, tears dried in her eyes. She pointed toward a nearby house, and Emilia ran there.

There, Emilia was tasked with grinding certain herbs into a paste, using her small remaining mana to enhance and activate their healing properties.

The mayor had a supply of magical potions, and many of the wounded were restored to stable condition.

Nearly two-thirds of the satyrs had lost their lives. Hundreds of satyrs would be gathered and burned on pyres in the following hours. The defenders had also not been spared. Almost forty of them had lost their lives in the brutal battle, and at least as many more were wounded.