Just as their stamina hit its limit, a roar echoed from the slope below, followed by the sharp, whistling thrum of steel. Keren vaulted onto the porch, a fresh torch in his left hand and throwing axes already leaving his right.

One axe buried itself in the phantom-wreathed flank of a True Red, while behind him, Mestin arrived like an earthquake, his massive warhammer already mid-swing.

"Hold the porch, ye bastards! Give ’em naught but the edge o’ yer steel!" Keren shouted, his voice cutting through the snarls as he dropped the torch and drew his dual hatchets.

He became a whirlwind of emerald and steel, his enhanced reflexes allowing him to weave between the two smaller True Reds. He ducked a tail swipe, rolled beneath a lunge, and delivered a dual upward hack that sent a spray of red into the air.

Mestin met the largest True Red head-on. He drove his entire weight into a horizontal smash that met the beast’s jaw with a sound like a mountain cracking. The impact shook the cabin’s foundations, sending a shockwave through the porch boards.

"Drive them into the dirt!" Bramm bellowed, sensing the pack’s coordination shatter as the circle was broken from behind.

The three men on the porch surged forward, their leaden limbs fueled by adrenaline. Telarin slammed the flat of his shield into a disoriented Light-Red, pinning it against the railing. "Resven! The spine!"

Resven didn’t hesitate, bringing the heavy head of his warhammer down in a crushing arc that silenced the beast forever. Bramm followed through with a massive, two-handed sweep of his Dane axe, the heavy blade reaping through the pack’s chaotic frenzy as they turned to flee.

The clearing, once a cacophony of rattling bone and snarling fury, began to settle into a heavy, ringing silence. Mestin stood over the largest True-Red alpha, his chest heaving under his lamellar armor, as he wrenched the head of his warhammer from the pulped remains of the beast’s skull.

The phantom aura that had loomed over the predator flickered one last time before dissipating into the cold night air.

To his left, Keren was a blur of motion. His dual hatchets flickered in the torchlight as he parried a desperate lunge from the last healthy True-Red. With a fluid movement, he twisted and caught the beast’s throat in a cross-cut, the steel biting deep.

The alpha shrieked, a sound that seemed to signal the final collapse of the pack’s morale. The remaining five Light-Red juveniles, seeing their leaders fallen or failing, broke from the battlefield and vanished into the dense fern-beds of the Black-Spine Forest.

"They’re bolting!" Resven shouted. He coughed as he tried to raise his warhammer for one last strike. He watched as the wounded True-Red he had been fighting—its flank shredded by Keren’s throwing axe—limped into the shadows, protected by the frantic rear-guard of the surviving juveniles.

"Let them go," Telarin rasped, his voice thick with fatigue. He lowered his splintered oak shield, his arm trembling as the adrenaline began to ebb. "Victory is ours."

Bramm leaned heavily on the haft of his Dane axe, his blood soaking through his shredded trousers and onto the porch boards. He looked at the carnage littering the clearing—the broken bodies of the Barbed-Lynxes lay twisted in the mud, their chitinous hooks no longer a threat.

"We’re a mess," Bramm noted, glancing at Resven’s torn shoulder and Telarin’s gashed cheek.

"Aye," Mestin grunted, wiping a smear of dark ichor from his brow.

"But we’re a mess that’s still breathing. Keren, check the perimeter. The rest of you, inside. We need to cauterize these wounds before the forest rot sets in". Bramm commanded with a grimace, clutching his leg as he limped forward.

As the men retreated into the safety of the cabin, the only sound left was the crackling of the fresh torch Keren had planted, illuminating a porch slicked with the remains of a pack that had come for a harvest and found only iron.

It took well over a few minutes for the men to be treated, and the group was bandaged and eating dinner around the campfire. They were wounded, but that did not stop them in the slightest from moving around, especially when dinner was concerned.

Mestin and Keren were seated with Resven and Telarin. They had made each other’s acquaintance shortly after the battle ended, and now the group was busy sharing their experiences over the last few days as well as getting to know each other better.

Meanwhile, Bramm was seated a short distance away from them, almost lost in thought, staring blankly into the night sky towards the stars.

’I really shouldn’t summon any more warriors during the dead of night. We were lucky it was only a small group of Light Red lynxes... that could have been a disaster.’

He did think of retreating into the cabin to wait out the beast, and that would have been the smarter decision to make. He did not do so, however , for fear of Mestin and Resven returning, and they were to be ambushed.

’Oh well, it’s not like we didn’t get anything out of it,’ he smiled as he turned his gaze towards the four men who laughed merrily as they swapped stories.

’And the most important...’

[Battle Log Updated]

[Large Battle Assessment]

[20 Barbed Lynxes]

[14 Slain & 6 Routed]

[12 Light Red - Gained 600 Renown]

[2 True Red - Gained 300 Renown]

[Overall Battle Score: B]

’Damn, ain’t that a pretty sight?’ Bramm whistled in glee softly after seeing the numbers. It more than made up for the injuries they suffered. ’Let’s see... how much do I currently have?’

[Name: Bramm Osric]

[Realm: Light Red]

[Soul Spirit Tattoo: The Great Anchor]

[Summoned Warriors: 4]

[Renown: 1450]

’Ocens grave! I could summon 2 Dark Red warriors!’ Bramm’s eyes sparkled brilliantly, like stars in the night sky.

Bramm was soon brought off his thoughts with a call, "My Lord?"

Calming his surging emotions, he turned to face the four men who now looked over with curiosity and concern.