Lifting his gladius, Terrance brought it down, slicing off the head of the pleading woman in a single psy-enpowered slice, ensuring that he had the strength to finish the job in one movement. Turning away from those gathered, he distantly shoved the screams and sobbing of her children from his mind. Cruel as his actions were, the matter had already been settled, and his staying any longer would only bring about more suffering.

Stubbornly, Terrance took one step forward after another, marching up the line of refugees. Rolling his shoulders, he attempted to adjust the chest piece of his steel plate that was pinching his shoulder, as one of the straps wasn't properly fastened, but no matter what he did, it persisted.

The pinch was a minor concern, all things considered, but it was the most annoying of his aches. Terrance twinging back and burning legs from marching miles through the night and engaging in several skirmishes were expected. That pinch, however… It shouldn't be there. And that fact, more than anything, made it mildly infuriating. Something he couldn't stop thinking about.

He could use a tendril of psy to decrease the weight of his armor to nothing and make the annoyance vanish, which would be a hardly perceptible expenditure on his psy reserves, except that option was only theoretical. The moment he used psy and it was detected by a superior, he would be beaten for wasting the precious resource in a time of war, and rightfully so.

If anyone of lesser status than a knight did the same, such as the mother he had just beheaded… they would be executed as an example. Even nobles would be punished, although the severity of the discipline varied based on their social status. As terrible as the standard was, setting an example and the expectations was a necessity in a drawn-out battle.

People needed to be reminded that once a war started, their psy was no longer their own. That the daily tasks they had used psy for all their lives were now conveniences they would have to live without, and they needed to get out of the mindset that such things were still acceptable. Because psy was a more precious resource than water while marching through a desert.

That wasn't an exaggeration, as there was still a chance, even in a desert, that a man with his psy could dig a hole deep enough to find water. On the other hand, psy only came from people, and once people started entering the haze, it was all but gone. So Terrance marched forward along the stopped line of citizens, pushing his action out of his mind by retracing the night and their flight from Ironhold.

Through the darkness of the moonless night, the citizens carried what they could and marched along the endless road, filled with fear as they gazed into their surroundings, searching for monsters. All too often, they found beastkin.

Screams sounded, and the legionaries close to the sighting rushed to intercept the wolves rushing to the slaughter. Yet, by the time the protectors arrived, it was too late to save everyone. The beasts had already killed or wounded tens of the elderly, women, or children that they encountered, and were content to scamper back into the shadows rather than fight.

An all too easy task for them, as the stretched-out mass of humanity, which the knight thought — hoped really — numbered somewhere around eleven thousand when they first left the city, was an easy target. Compared to the fifteen thousand he knew had been within Ironhold, it was already quite the blow.

An understandable blow, as in the rush and chaos of the battle that consumed the city, many could not reach the southern gates. It was a miracle they were able to get out as many as they did, not that it did the citizens any good to escape the city, only to die on the road.

That wasn't to say that every section of their column was unprotected. From the first moments they cracked open the gates, the front quarter was being protected by the Red Hand Mercenary group as they smashed through the patrols of beastkin that attempted to stop them.

The sight of the beasts' bodies sent a thrill of joy through Terrance at first, but the emotion soon took its place where it belonged, right next to the dead. The beastkin had two options. Attack a currently insurmountable foe and die, slowing them slightly, or attack the rear of the column and chip away at the Olimpian's strength. They weren't stupid enough to take the first choice.

For a moment, the knight considered pulling some of the mercenaries to defend the flanks, but quickly discarded it. No matter what happened, they could not risk their vanguard becoming bogged down or, Elementals forbid, halted entirely by the beastkin. The column had to keep advancing, leaving the rest of the refugees defended by a couple of thousand militia, who were not prepared for the challenge.

Justinian had made the reasonable choice to focus on raising the militia's physical fitness and retraining them in the use of their weapons. After all, they were supposed to be standing on walls and surrounded by buildings.

Placed in a stationary position where all they had to do was look forward and hold a line. They were not retaught how to march in formation while prepared to construct a union at a moment's notice to fight off a raid that could come at any time. And now that lack of training was showing.

Terrance couldn't say how many times one horde of a few hundred beastkins leaped out of the darkness, and all of the nearby militia rushed to confront them. Only for two or three more bands of wolves to appear and strike the areas that were left undefended.

Some of the Fridgian Knights attempted to instill discipline and reorganize the militia, but they were too few to exert direct control. And that would be the case even if most of the knights weren't either exhausted from their efforts to collapse the city, or remaining in reserve to conserve their strength to confront the more powerful foes, like the flesh giant, if required.

Worse, they could not form a legion union, as the psy cost far too much to be acceptable compared to the threat. Another point that had to be considered was that the level of panic and fear suffusing everyone would throw many into a catatonic state if they were exposed to the combined mental maelstrom.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

And it wasn't the wolves that most feared, as only a comparatively small number of citizens were at the edges. A far more significant part of the people's fear stemmed from the constant threat from above. Although few, if any, birds made an appearance during the night. Not that it stopped numerous individuals from seeing twisting shadows in the darkness and releasing a scream at the fake sightings, which further frayed the nerves of those who were glancing up every other step.

The hard truth was that the protectors could not save everyone, but with every death, it became more likely that they could defend those who were left. Terrance would not willingly let them die, but he had steeled his heart that hundreds, if not thousands, would be lost during this march, and it wasn't surprising that with every report of an attack, they left more bodies from both sides in their wake.

Still, they kept marching. Foot, after yard, after mile, they powered along the road until the sun had finally started to break this terrible nightmare. Or, perhaps, show the true extent of their woes in an effort to break their spirit. Terrance couldn't say what the impartial and uncaring celestial bodies intended, but he almost wished that the sun had decided that today, it wasn't going to grace the world with its presence.

"So… what's the plan?" Mathew, the leader of the Red Hand, asked as he stepped up next to Terrance, spear on his shoulder, a wide-brimmed hat on his head, and a long blade of grass clamped in his teeth. If anything, he looked fresh enough that you could think of the entire night as nothing more than a stroll to him.

"Shouldn't this be the point that you start telling me how this is going to go?" Terrance asked back, trying to make his voice calm and neutral, though he could not hide his exhaustion.

"You've read too many stories, my mercenary band is nothing but upright and virtuous individuals, who defend our Republic and her people in their time of need." The man managed to finish the sentence while maintaining a solemn attitude before he broke into a cheeky smile. "Besides, you are the one with the High Noble and most of a century of knights at your back."

"An unconscious high noble, and an exhausted century."

"Yes, but while my men are good, they are not able to bridge the gap between a knight and them. When the real fight happens, you knights, and Lord Fridgia are going to decide our fate."

"So can your men punch through the beastkins?"

"That?" The young man scoffed, "We could punch through that without breaking a sweat."

Terrance looked at the couple of thousand gathered wolves quickly moving to cut off the road. In their center was a tattered flag that bore the image of a crimson crescent moon, with two stars on either side breaking up the black backdrop. "They aren't worth your concern," Mathew said, spitting to the side as he rubbed the spot with the toe of his boot, emphasizing his point.

"Can you explain that?" The knight asked, straining his eyes to see what the mercenary saw to give him such confidence.

"I think their society exists within a cast system, like the Imperials. Well, I guess that doesn't really matter. From what I can see, there are essentially commoners who serve the same function as our militia. They possess mediocre quality equipment and the bare minimum of skill required to function in battle, just enough so they don't stab each other in the back. And that is what we are currently facing. Then there are the professionals, who are the bear-chested ones without armor and lots of jewelry covering their bodies. They are the ones with the physical powers close to knights that we have to look out for."

Terrance was unable to stop his head from turning and tilting to look at the other man as he spoke, and when he finished, the knight asked, "How the fuck do you know that?" unable to keep his thoughts silent.

"Know… I guess I don't know anything." Mathew said, scratching his chin and shifting his spear in his arm. "But over the last night of fighting, that is what I have seen. I thought everyone noticed it?" The man looked around, looking for support, but he wasn't getting any.

"Nah, Boss." Someone from the crowd around them called. "We didn't see shit, that's what we got you for."

Terrance felt that he was supposed to speak up and claim he had noticed those details, but with the far too long day and night, and with what appeared to be another long day ahead, his thoughts were so muffled that he was surprised he hadn't collapsed from exhaustion. The collage of pain, panic, resolve, and bursts of movement when he had to act wasn't something he could confidently say he could actually create a timeline for. Picking out details like the mercenary captain mentioned was simply impossible at the moment.

"Hmm, well anyway," the mercenary captain muttered, looking annoyed for some reason, "While the numbers before us are large, they are nothing more than militia who will break given half a reason. The real issues will come afterward, as we continue marching."

"The birds." Terrance sighed, looking up at the flocks of avian beastkin circling them. No one was particularly large, but their combined numbers were a worry, and they were scattered in every direction. If the thought of slipping away into the darkness had popped into anyone's mind the night before, it was long gone at this point.

The beastkins were putting their collective backs to the wall, and their choices amounted to working together or death. "How are the dependents holding up with the march?" Matthew said, cutting into Terrance's thoughts.

"They are… getting by." The Fridgen Knight responded.

"That bad?"

"It could have been far worse… I was never all that convinced we could hold the city, so I ensured that a supply of wagons and travel provisions was stored around the southern gate of Ironhold. Not a lot…"

As the knight trailed off, the mercenary picked up the sentence, "But enough to give the kids room to rest on the wagons and keep us moving with a supply of water and food."

"Yeah."

"What are the stores of psy like?" The mercenary captain questioned, glancing over his shoulder at the dependents and eyeing them. It was a clinical and expected response that Terrance could not fault in the slightest. They still had a day or more before they arrived at the first switch back to the Second Step, and that time didn't look like it was going to be peaceful.

"Down by half. Most of it was lost during the time leading up to and right after we left Ironhold. In the last couple of hours, I have allowed some to assist the horses in moving the carts, as the horses are getting tired and slowing down."

"How did they take the example?"

"No one appeared to have the air of a troublemaker around them. Most of the crowd was looking on in understanding and resentment after I forced her to admit she had been using her psy for herself."

"Good, good." Murmured the mercenary, rubbing his chin. "If they fall out of control, we will all be put in danger."

After a couple of seconds of silence, Terrance finally looked over and asked point-blank, "Is the interrogation of my competence over? Can we get moving again?"

The other man did not even attempt to hide the foxlike curling of his lips as he nodded. "Yes, I am satisfied. I hope you understand, sir knight, but this situation is rather unique."

"I do, which is why I answered honestly. Now, if you would, kindly clear the road as I get the dependents moving."

Touching the rim of his hat in response, the mercenary captain dipped his head slightly before shouting, "You heard him, boys, let's get a move on! We're wasting daylight!"

A defiant cheer rose from the ranks of the mercenaries, one that lifted the hearts of all who heard it before they stepped forward in unison. It was an impressive and morale-boosting sight… but how long could they maintain it?

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