SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 393: The Fall of the Thal’zar [VII]

Footsteps splashed through the mud behind them, hurried and uneven.

Karon turned first. Trafalgar followed a heartbeat later as an elven captain came into view, cloak torn at the hem, rain plastering silver hair to his face. He didn’t bother with formalities. Whatever he carried was too heavy for that.

"My lord," the elf said, breath tight. "I bring urgent news."

Karon’s eyes narrowed. "Speak."

"It’s your fifth brother," the captain continued. "His position is failing. He’s sent an emergency request for support."

Karon didn’t raise his voice, but something sharpened in it instantly. "Where?"

"The eastern sector," the captain answered. "Near the broken ridge."

Karon’s jaw tightened. "And the situation?"

The elf hesitated for half a second too long, then chose honesty.

"It’s bad," he said. "Very bad. More than half of his unit has already been wiped out. They’re still holding—for now—but if this continues, they won’t last much longer."

Rain ran down Karon’s face, indistinguishable from the tension pulling his features taut.

"How long do they have?" he asked.

"At best?" the captain replied. "Minutes. Maybe less."

Silence followed, brief but absolute.

Trafalgar didn’t speak. He could already see the calculation in Karon’s eyes, the rapid weighing of terrain, forces, risks. Staying here meant holding the escape route. Leaving meant weakening their position—but not leaving meant losing his brother. This had not mattered to Trafalgar; if it had been one of his brothers or sisters, he would have left them adrift to die.

Trafalgar finally spoke, his voice steady despite the rain soaking into the ground around them.

"We can’t abandon this position entirely," he said. "If everyone pulls out, the escape route opens. Anyone inside the castle who slips through—or anything—comes straight through here."

Karon didn’t argue. He was already nodding, thoughts moving fast, assembling pieces into something workable.

"I know," he replied. "If this collapses, everything behind us gets compromised."

He looked once more toward the eastern sector, then back at Trafalgar.

"I’ll go," Karon said. "I’ll take my squad with me."

Trafalgar waited.

"And the Watercallers," Karon added after a breath. "Their control magic and area coverage will help stabilize that front quickly. We don’t need their full output here as long as the terrain stays locked."

Rain struck harder against armor and stone, punctuating the decision.

"The rest stay," Karon continued. "You hold this route. You take a defensive stance if necessary."

Trafalgar considered it for a moment, not long, but thoroughly.

"That works," he said. "It keeps pressure where it needs to be without gutting this sector."

Their eyes met.

"But don’t take too long," Trafalgar added. "If the situation inside the castle explodes, we’ll feel it out here."

Karon gave a short, humorless breath. "I won’t."

He turned sharply, already raising his voice to call orders, rain trailing off his armor as he moved. Elven commands cut through the downpour, precise and fast. The Watercallers began to reposition at once, mana stirring as they prepared to move with him.

Within moments, Karon was mounted, his unit forming up behind him.

He looked back one last time.

"Hold the line," he said.

Trafalgar nodded. "I will."

Karon didn’t wait for anything else. He spurred his mount forward, his squad and the Watercallers following as they broke away from the secured zone and vanished into the rain-soaked chaos beyond.

Trafalgar watched them go until they disappeared from sight.

Around him, the remaining forces tightened formation, eyes scanning the darkened paths leading from the castle. The rain continued to fall, relentless, washing blood into the earth.

Half their strength was gone.

The rest would have to be enough.

Trafalgar turned back toward the escape route, Maledicta resting at his side.

The space Karon left behind felt larger than it should have.

Trafalgar stood still for a moment, rain pattering against obsidian plates, eyes tracing the gaps where units had been only minutes ago. The Watercallers were gone. Part of the Sylvanel force with them. What remained held formation, disciplined and alert—but thinner. Noticeably so.

Too thin.

He didn’t need a count to know the truth. The math settled in his chest with quiet weight.

Half their local strength. Gone in a blink.

Not lost—redeployed—but that distinction mattered very little if something came crashing out of the castle or slipped through the routes they were guarding. Defense depended on presence, on pressure. And pressure had just been reduced.

Trafalgar adjusted his stance, boots sinking slightly into mud soaked with rain and blood. Maledicta rested at his side, steady, familiar. Around him, soldiers kept their eyes forward, grips tight on weapons, waiting for orders that hadn’t come yet.

That, somehow, made it worse.

He exhaled slowly, voice low enough that only the rain answered him.

"This doesn’t look good..."

The feeling crawled up his spine. Something colder. Instinct sharpened by too many close calls, too many moments where things went wrong just before they did.

He lifted his gaze toward the castle, its silhouette blurred by the downpour. Inside those walls, forces were colliding that could reshape everything outside without warning.

And here, with fewer hands and fewer margins, he would have to hold.

Trafalgar turned away from the escape route and headed back toward the structure they were using as shelter. The rain followed him, steady and unrelenting, drumming against stone and armor alike. As he reached the entrance, he slowed.

Aubrelle was stepping out.

She paused the moment she crossed the threshold, the stag’s reins loose in her hand. The familiar golden hide was slick with rain, steam rising faintly from its body, but Trafalgar barely registered it. His attention went straight to her.

Something was wrong.

Her posture was tense, shoulders drawn just a fraction too tight. Her head was angled upward, not toward the battlefield itself, but beyond it—listening, feeling, watching through means he couldn’t share. The bandage still covered her eyes, yet it felt as though she was seeing more than anyone else on the field.

"Aubrelle?" he asked.

She didn’t answer right away.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. The clash of steel and distant shouts were still there, but muted, pushed to the background by the way her fingers tightened slowly around the reins.

"...Something’s off," she said at last.

That was all.

Trafalgar felt it settle in his chest immediately, that same cold sense he’d had moments earlier, now sharper, closer. He stepped to her side, eyes sweeping the rain-soaked paths, the dark outlines of ruined buildings, the looming shape of the castle beyond.

He didn’t know what was coming.

But the bad feeling didn’t fade.