Chapter 22: The Wall's Maw (PT6-FIN)

"Back here again," Noah muttered, his eyes flickering across the courtyard. It was the same courtyard that he had seen earlier, and the one that Neph and Christa fought through while he was unconscious. It pulsed with a chaotic energy he hadn't witnessed before – Hylians frantically scurrying like ants against a storm of relentless beasts. Yet, it was still the same courtyard that had shaken him to his core when he first arrived.

The griffin – galemaw, as he heard the soldiers called it – crouched where a gruesome monument of corpses had once stood. Its once-vibrant scales were fading, coated with the sickly sheen of half-dried blood as its bloodstained talons gouged the paving stones. Noah swallowed hard, a wave of bitter bile surging in his throat.

A ragged cheer cut through the chaos. He spotted a group of Hylians standing next to one of the once-locked Sheikah cages that stood open, their blades flashing as they were slicing the ropes and lowering their comrades from unimaginable heights. Clearly, the escape plan had worked.

An eerie calm settled in Noah's mind, a stark contrast to the panic that gripped him the last time he had seen this courtyard. It unnerved him, the way his near breakdown the last time seemed to conveniently fade from memory. The pieces didn't add up, and a frantic desperation rose within him to make sense of it all.

A double axe whistled through the air, a lethal blur shattering his focus. His reflexes were faster than his thoughts; his hand lashed out, catching the haft with a bone-jarring impact.

A battle-scarred soldier faced him, eyes pools of exhaustion above a ragged beard yet his eyes burned with determination. The man's armour hung loosely on his frame, ill-fitting, almost an afterthought.

'Must be low in the ranks,' Noah thought with an unexpected surge of pity. 'They barely bother with proper gear for him.'

The soldier's gaze was a burden, pinning him in place. "My apologies, this was the best weapon I could find Sir…" The man's voice cracked, rough with fear and deference. "Your sword, it… seemed unworthy. I thought…"

Noah's eyes fell on his battered traveller's sword – cracked, chipped, and clinging to life by a thread. He'd driven it far beyond its limits against the Galemaw's tough hide. It was his fault, actually… or was it?

BOTW was praised for many things; in fact, there would be many that would consider the game to be nothing less than a masterpiece. But nothing is flawless. Often, a critique of the game was the infamous 'weapon durability' system it used. Breaking away from the franchise's combat formula, weapons in BOTW would break over time, requiring the user to find more or fight bare-fisted.

It was a system many disliked, while others tolerated it, and some enjoyed it. Noah was among those who tolerated it, though he never really lacked weapons to use in the first half of the game. It required him to use thought of what sword to use for what enemy, and of course, it was still annoying at times.

Did the same system apply in this world? Or was Noah simply an idiot? It was disturbing to think both options were equally likely.

The soldier standing in front of him had mistaken him for someone of rank, perhaps an officer. Noah wasn't familiar with the chain of command in this reality, but he had no intention of correcting the error.

"Thank you, soldier you've done well. Whats your name?" Noah let the useless sword fall with a heavy sigh and hefted the axe. An appreciative grin spread across the soldier's face.

"Boulk, Sir." Boulk replied, before continuing. "Sir, with due respect, what's the plan?" The soldier's hopeful gaze returned, yet Noah also felt as if it was sizing him up. It made him slightly uncomfortable. "We both know those reinforcements aren't coming."

Finding amusement in the Boulk's question, Noah unconsciously managed to tune out the mayhem around them as he tilted his head in curiosity. "Care to elaborate?"

Boulk's eyes widened slightly, likely at Noah's sidestep. "When we were attacked, we couldn't send out the flares for reinforcements before we lost our footing. Turns out, some of the beasts had more than rudimentary intelligence…"

He trailed off, voice resolute, "If help was on the way, Sir, you wouldn't be here alone. And trying to retake this fortress with barely a hundred men is a near-impossible recovery."

"Sharing your plan would assist me in knowing your actions…"

A smirk formed on Noah's face. 'Not an idiot, then. This one might be useful.'

"You're right. Reinforcements aren't coming," Noah admitted. He stepped off the Galemaw's head and surveyed the pandemonium. "But I'm here to make sure they become a possibility."

"You plan on calling reinforcements yourself?" The soldier's voice carried a hint of scepticism.

Noah nodded. "Not me, but my allies. Our objective is to buy time." His gaze swept the courtyard, his mind racing as a plan took shape. "We need to start by seizing control here, forcing those monsters back into the Wall. Blockade the doors, recover... then we start pushing into the hallways, bottlenecking them for the kill."

Boulk paused, a troubled look furrowing his brow. "Sir, with respect… you've only just arrived. I apologise for doubting your plans, but..." His voice hardened. "We must avoid the hallways. There's something... a creature in there. It's deadly, cunning and efficient at killing in numbers. It's the reason we lost the fortress in the first place."

Noah absorbed the soldier's words, choosing his words wisely before replying. "Don't worry Boulk." he said, a hint of enigmatic knowledge in his voice. "We can't kill that creature - I suspect its main body lies in the Squabble River - but it has a weakness. Fire. Have the soldiers carry torches, and light any vines they find within the walls."

The soldier stared, confusion warring with a flicker of recognition. "Vines?"

Noah nodded firmly. "The creature's body is made of them. Burn them all."

The soldier's eyes widened as he seemed to recall something. With a respectful nod, he dropped to one knee. "I'll carry out your will, sir." He rose and rushed off.

Noah watched him go, the strange thrill of power fading, replaced by a tightening knot of dread in his stomach. He wasn't sure how much faith a low-ranking soldier could inspire, but if his message reached a commander... that was enough.

His mind raced as he looked back to the wall he'd been on, the watchtower with the flares so agonisingly out of reach. The original plan was to unlock the cages, grab the flares from his side and then meet with the girls on the opposite wall, but Noah couldn't leave the courtyard now.

Even if he could, his injuries were burning with renewed intensity. He was beginning to miss Christa's abilities now. 'Guess this is what it feels like to lose my pocket medic.'

He turned his attention to the monsters. They'd halted their relentless charge, forming ranks with a chilling discipline. Bloodlust gleamed in their eyes, yet they held back, their guttural roars echoing a malevolent intelligence.

Noah frowned. Why were they doing this? What was their strategy?

Noah watched as a few Hylian officers, their voices hoarse from exertion, desperately attempted to rally the troops. Sweat and grime streaked their faces as they barked orders, trying to create a semblance of order from chaos. Soldiers huddled together, eyes wide with terror, their weapons trembling in their hands.

Their haphazard formation looked feeble against the monsters' organised ranks. Only a quarter of the men even seemed to be heeding the officers' commands, the rest a scattering of panicked figures across the courtyard.

Noah wasn't a soldier, didn't understand battlefield tactics, but even he could see the futility here. He wasn't confident this pitiful defence would last against the malice of the monsters. He sighed as he walked towards the formation, assessing his injuries. His side throbbed from the Lizalfos' strike, sharp gashes from the Galemaw's talons crisscrossed his skin. Noah had bandaged his leg as best he could, but the dizziness was getting worse. Noah gritted his teeth, a surge of adrenaline and Link's resilience the only things keeping him upright.

He maneuverered through the crowd, aiming for a spot behind the main ranks of soldiers. He was ignored, a faceless figure amidst the chaos. 'I'm no soldier,' he reassured himself, 'I don't need to be on the frontlines.' And yet, guilt gnawed at him, a persistent echo in his mind. He saw the Bokoblin's, their grotesque glee barely contained. Behind them the slinking forms of Lizalfos, eyes filled with deadly calculation. And finally, the hulking figures of Moblin's, crude weapons gleaming.

Noah squeezed through the final few soldiers, finding a spot just behind the main line. He was still close enough to hear the ragged breathing, the muttered curses, the stench of fear and blood. But now, he was an observer, a hidden presence behind the desperate shield of Hylian soldiers.

He closed his eyes, the chaos momentarily replaced by a swirling darkness. And within that darkness, terror bloomed. He was within an army, monsters looming, yet his feet defied his will. Why was he here? Why risk his life for strangers in a world he barely understood? This was madness! In his old life, he'd never have done this. Was it Link's influence seeping through, warping his sense of self? The thought sent a new wave of fear through him.

He wouldn't be controlled. His feet rooted to the bloodstained ground; his eyes fixed on the grotesque figures of the monsters. He was no soldier. He had no duty. Guilt and panic warred within him; a battle just as fierce as the one about to erupt...

Then, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He jolted, heart pounding, and turned to find himself looking at a different soldier. This one had a mop of orange hair, a scattering of freckles, and a surprisingly gentle smile amidst the grim lines of fear on his face.

"Hey... you're hurt, aren't you?" the soldier's voice was surprisingly soft, cutting through the din of battle preparations. "Don't worry about this. Let us handle it – it's the least we can do."

Noah exhaled sharply; a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. This soldier... hadn't he been in the same cage as Boulk who threw him the axe and the annoying priest? A wave of recognition washed over him, tempered with relief.

His grip on the weapon unconsciously loosened. He managed a shaky nod, unable to find his voice. The freckled soldier grinned, squeezing his shoulder, then pushed past him to join the frontline.

'I don't need to fight,' Noah thought, a strange sense of peace washing over him. 'It's okay to just survive.'

The world swam into focus once more. A few soldiers near him glanced his way, some with dawning recognition – they'd seen his arrival. But most were consumed by their own fears, lost in the desperate struggle for survival about to consume them all.

The same soldier pushed through the crowd and stepped onto a makeshift platform – a broken cart hastily shoved against the wall. His hands shook slightly as he raised his sword, the sunlight glinting off the battered blade.

"Men of Hyrule!" His voice boomed, cracking with strain. "Today... today we stand against the darkness! They may outnumber us; their claws may be sharp..." He swallowed hard, his gaze darting nervously towards the organised ranks of monsters. "But they don't have what we have. Courage! The spirit of Hylia!"

The soldiers below shifted uneasily. Some exchanged uncertain glances, others simply stared at the dirt, their shoulders slumped in defeat. The officer's gaze flickered back to Noah, a desperate plea in his eyes. It was clear – even he didn't quite believe his own words.

"For the Kingdom of Hyrule!" He shouted as he slowly marched.

At the soldier's command, the formation of soldiers begun to march slowly with their weapons faced forward, the soldiers' faces were all but utterly terrified, with a few fleeing as they approached.

And just like that, Hylians, plus one human clashed with the monsters.

The battle to decide the occupants of the Wall had begun.

The two forces met like a storm crashing against a cliff. The stench of blood and sweat, a nauseating miasma, choked the air as steel gnashed against monstrous flesh and bone. The screams weren't just sounds; they were shockwaves that vibrated through Noah's very being. Hylian cries of fear merged with the guttural bellows of the monsters, creating a discordant symphony of terror and rage.

"Hold the line!" the leading soldier barked; fear barely masked behind the forced bravado of his rallying cry. "For Hyrule! For the King!"

The two forces continued on, the Bokoblin's, crude weapons raised, screeched their war cry – more animalistic shriek than battle roar. The front line of Hylians wavered, several shields splintering beneath the force. A few soldiers' broke ranks, cries of terror piercing the chaos.

A Lizalfo, taller and wily, darted into a gap like a snake striking. It was over in seconds. Crimson sprayed across the panicked faces around it, and the first bodies of fallen Hylians littered the courtyard.

Noah's stomach churned, and not just from his injuries. He'd witnessed violence before, but this... this was a primeval, bone-deep brutality that ripped through him. People – living, breathing people – died before his eyes, their lives extinguished with terrifying swiftness. All the plans in the world couldn't stop a Moblin's club or a Lizalfos' blade from finding his own flesh.

'Is... this really fine?' Noah thought terrified as he watched bodies fell, whilst he himself stood still.

The soldier rallied his troops again, desperation now a visible crack in his stony facade. "For honour! For your families! Stand fast!"

Noah's hands clenched around the axe handle. Should he charge? Would it make any difference? He wanted to scream, wanted to run, to do anything other than stand there, frozen, as these men fought and died for a cause that wasn't even truly his own.

Guilt gnawed at him like a vicious animal. This was his fault. They were dying because he had sprung those cages wide. And yet, the alternative… to have left them for whatever sick fate the monsters intended… he couldn't bear the thought.

His breath hitched in his throat. Every fibre of his being revolted against the slaughter unfolding before him, yet something else – something primal, perhaps a lingering echo of Link's warrior spirit – strained against his terror. These Hylians, despite their fear, fought with a courage that left him breathless. He wanted to scream, to rage, to fight... and yet, he couldn't move.

Each fallen Hylian was a hammer blow against Noah's conscience. His teeth ground together as he willed himself to move, but his legs refused, rooted in place by a cocktail of fear and shame. It was a monstrous thing, he knew, to watch men die when he held the power to fight back.

A flash of silver caught Noah's eye. A Lizalfo blade glinted in the sun, slick with blood. It arced down towards the neck of a Hylian soldier already locked in a desperate struggle against a hulking Bokoblin. The soldier didn't see it, was too focused on the brute before him.

Rage surged through Noah, a hot, blinding wave. It was monstrous, this slaughter, and he was done being a mere spectator to it. Noah felt as if something, dormant until now, roared to life within him, demanding release. Before conscious thought could reassert itself, the axe was in his hand, his legs propelling him forward.

A bellow, fuelled by fury and a nauseating dose of terror, tore from his throat. The Lizalfo swivelled, surprise flitting across its reptilian features before they twisted into a predatory snarl.

Noah didn't analyse, he didn't plan. Pure, primal instinct drove him. The axe cleaved the air, muscle memory and adrenaline guiding its path. The impact jarred his arm, but the Lizalfos blade clattered harmlessly to the ground. A roar of triumph, tinged with hysteria, bubbled in Noah's chest as the creature shrieked, clutching the stump of its severed arm.

The Hylian soldier, given this breath of respite, twisted and drove his sword through the Bokoblin's gut. The beast staggered, its guttural roar morphing into a gurgling death rattle.

Noah whirled, the axe dripping crimson, and without thought charged into the fray. The makeshift Hylian line buckled under the sheer brute force of the onslaught. Swords and shields shattered; the first wave of soldiers was already devoured in a spray of blood, as the secondary line struggled. Bodies were flung like ragdolls, the ground slick and treacherous underfoot.

Hylian soldiers surged forward, their meagre formation already faltering against the sheer, brutal force of the monster wave. A few brave souls met the Moblin's head-on, their shields shattering under the impact of massive clubs. Spears were swatted aside like twigs, desperate cries swallowed by the hungry growls of the beasts.

Noah pushed through the panicked throng, the axe feeling heavy in his hands despite his unusual strength. The shock and awe of watching soldiers crumble around him was slowly replaced with a strange clarity. This wasn't a game, not some fantasy adventure for him to watch from afar. This was survival - his own and the fragile hope of those fighting beside him.

He reached the frontlines just as the first blue Moblin reared back its massive club. As the monster charted at him, Noah felt time slow down as he felt a surge of power and instinctively leaped. Time stretched out as he spun over the club in the air, his axe flashing in a deadly arc. The Moblin's head exploded in a spray of purple gore. It crumpled to the ground, taking out two smaller monsters in its clumsy fall.

Landing with a grunt, he felt dumbfounded by his own actions, but Noah fought not with finesse or strategy, but with the unthinking ferocity of a man desperately clawing his way out of the abyss. He wretched the axe free and whirled around, his momentum carrying him into the next swing. His side flared in agony, the bleeding worse, but Noah gritted his teeth and kept moving. Another monster down, another... and another. Each impact brought a jolt of pain, but that pain gave him clarity to plan his next move.

The Hylians seemed to rally around his rampage. Instead of running and screaming, they were closing ranks behind him, stabbing and slashing at the flanks of his targets. Every monster Noah brought down bought them a breath, a scrap of the courage they needed.

The line began to solidify. The smarter Moblin's, the ones clad in silver fur, roared and charged. Noah braced himself, his leg screaming in protest. This was it - if he failed, the line would shatter. He had to hold them.

He recalled Neph's words prior to entering the wall, a Moblin's strength had the power to absolutely demolish the Hylians defensive line by the swing of their arms, for as long as he was fighting Noah couldn't let them get close.

Then, a blur of white and silver shot past him, accompanied by an inhuman shriek that cut through the chaos. The nearest Moblin dropped to the ground, a silver dagger protruding from its skull. Its massive form twitched and lay still.

An arrow? No... a dagger? Noah's mind raced. A well-placed arrow from a skilled archer, maybe, or Christa supporting from afar? But a thrown dagger with that deadly precision? Confusion battled with a surge of relief. Someone was backing him up, someone else with the skill to take down the deadliest threat.

Yet, he couldn't afford to be distracted. The other silver Moblin's were mere steps away now. With a roar, Noah lunged, axe raised, desperate to keep them at bay. He became a whirlwind of steel and frantic energy, each clumsy swing fuelled by the knowledge that one slip would mean death - for him, and for the Hylians at his back.

How long had he been fighting? Time blurred as screams and guttural roars pounded against his ears. Noah was a ragged mess – blood caked his face, his arms trembled with exhaustion, and his legs wobbled like those of a newborn fawn. Yet, he remained standing, a lone figure amidst the gruesome ballet of battle. It had gone on for so long he couldn't tell if the blood on his face was his or not.

The Hylian line had finally solidified, Noah was relieved when he noticed that they were pushing the monsters back. The tide seemed to be turning.

But he hadn't stayed with the line. Since the battle began, he'd been a disruptive force in the enemy ranks, a whirlwind of chaotic violence whilst relying on his superior agility to remain elusive. Now, as he caught a brief reprieve, the toll of his reckless fighting crashed over him.

Just as he sucked in a ragged breath, a sharp, burning pain tore into his neck. A yelp escaped his lips as he clawed at the source, tearing a damned Keeze away. The winged monstrosity fluttered backwards with a chunk of his flesh, leaving a trail of blood across the battlefield.

These creatures were the absolute worst. They swooped and dived in packs, taking bites before he could react. And if they chose to attack while he engaged with a larger threat, he was left a vulnerable, bleeding mess for seconds that felt like hours.

He swung wildly at the departing Keeze, but the exhaustion slowed him. The creature evaded him easily, cackling with a sound that scraped at Noah's sanity. He slumped, a frustrated groan tearing from his raw throat.

While he was dwelling a Lizalfo lunged from the side, its eyes burning with predatory cunning. Noah, too slow, barely managed to leap back, the creature's blade slicing through empty air. But his luck had run out. A silver furred Moblin, looming like a hulking shadow, charged forward. Its massive fist swung towards him like a boulder catapulted from a siege engine.

Noah's muscles screamed in protest; his body unable to dodge. The blow caught him square in the chest, a devastating impact that sent him flying. Pain exploded through him, a sickening wave that blotted out the world. He slammed into the blood-soaked ground, the axe clattering from his numb fingers.

He gasped for air, his vision blurring. A lung, broken? Perhaps several ribs – was that even possible? He struggled to rise, his limbs refusing to cooperate. He had to fall back, to re-join the Hylian line, to... safety? That word seemed almost comical now.

But as he choked on a bloody cough, dozens of monsters surged toward him. Their eyes gleamed with the hunger of predators sensing weakness. This was it. The end for the demon who'd wreaked havoc among their ranks.

Noah closed his eyes, a bleak acceptance washing over him. Yet, the deathblow never came. A sharp clang pierced the air, followed by a roar of exertion. Warily, he opened his eyes to witness a Hylian soldier, shield raised, desperately blocking a Bokoblin's crude weapon.

"Quickly! Drag him back!" The soldier's voice was strained, but it carried the weight of command.

Other soldiers, faces bloodied but determined, rushed to his side. Rough hands hauled him up, dragging him back towards the relative safety of the Hylian line. His vision swam, flashes of monstrous faces blending into one grotesque blur. He fought to stay conscious, but the pain and exhaustion were an irresistible force.

As the world faded to black, the last thing he heard was the defiant roar of the Hylian soldiers, the clash of steel on steel. Then, blessed oblivion claimed him.

Sergeant Welsil fumbled with his sword, finally managing to slide it back into the scavenged scabbard. It hadn't been his, of course. One of the few good blades left lying amidst the carnage, pried from a Bokoblin's cold, dead fingers.

He straightened, adjusting his armour wiping the monster blood away and brushing a smudge from his sergeant's insignia. As he approached the courtyard's centre, his gaze snagged on the Galemaw's carcass. A shiver traced his spine. How had the boy done it? Killed a beast like this alone? Welsil had always believed only a Royal Knight could manage such a feat – yet that yellow-haired fighter had shattered the notion into dust.

His eyes shifted to the large table beside the monstrous corpse. Several officers stood in a cluster around it, their expressions grim. Some wore gleaming armour, others patched tunics, but a steely glint unified their gazes as they surveyed battle plans. Welsil marched over, snapped a sharp salute, and waited, his pulse a drumbeat in his ears.

"After our initial successes, we've managed to grow our numbers and push the monsters back into the Wall's internal structures. The Moblins and Lizalfos are our main problems, but the hallways are restricting their movement, giving us the advantage." One of the officers reported, as the others listened closely. His crisp accent had a hint of the kingdom's central region, a far cry from Welsil's own rough, coastal tongue.

One officer, a hulking man crammed into clearly inadequate 'recruit' gear, turned and noticed Welsil's presence. Despite the disguise, Welsil knew better. This was Captain Boulk, a man as imposing as his physique implied. Captains held significant power, leading companies and vital operations. Only knights and generals ranked higher.

"At ease, Welsil." Captain Boulk's voice was surprisingly calm. "Report."

Welsil exhaled in relief. "Sir, about the blond-haired boy, as requested..."

"Yes?" The Captain's tone sharpened slightly.

"Retrieval was difficult, sir. The unkillable bastard fought for over an hour amidst the enemy. We kept a close eye on his condition and the moment he fell, we detached a squadron to retrieve him. We Lost men getting him out, but he's back. Resting in the medical tent."

Another figure, a sergeant if the white stripes on his shoulders were anything to go by, lifted his head from a map. "Speaking of the boy, we found three survivors within the fortress. Two girls and a soldier. They claim they're his allies and were the ones who set off the flares that went off some time ago.

Captain Boulk turned. "A soldier?"

"Being detained, sir. Apparently, he fled before the battle begun, as for the others they... well, their injuries weren't life-threatening. Seems they were also the ones who opened the Sheikah cages. One of the girls was a Hylia priestess. Healed the worst of it."

Captain Boulk frowned, a crease appearing between his heavy brows. "A Hylia priestess? Treat them with the utmost respect. If the Church hears we mistreated their own, we might as well surrender to the beasts now."

The Sergeant nodded briskly and retreated. Captain Boulk turned back to Welsil, and the question hung in the air, unspoken yet echoing in his eyes.

"Well?" the captain prodded. "How was he?"

Welsil hesitated, searching for the right words. "What do you mean, sir?"

"His fighting, Sergeant. Was it any good? Was he... useful?"

Welsil straightened his posture. "Sir, with respect… he was a monster." He paused, the images flashing through his mind. "It was difficult to tell if he was even human. Bokoblin's, Lizalfos... even Moblin's, he tore through them like butter, It was… difficult to comprehend. He wasn't just fighting with skill, sir. It was instinct. Like a wild Lynel tearing through its prey yet elusive like a Hyrule Bass."

"He wasn't just protecting himself," Welsil continued. "He shielded our line eliminating and protecting us from the biggest of threats. Gave us room to rally, to form up properly. By the time he went down, we were pushing back." He hesitated, then added, "The soldiers... his actions inspired them all to fight harder. It wouldn't be unrealistic to say... no, we only won because of him."

Captain Boulk let out a low grunt, a flicker of something akin to approval crossing his face. "Spare no expense and prioritise his recovery above all else. See if he can return to the battlefield as soon as possible."

A chill ran down Welsil's spine. He wasn't sure if he pitied the boy, or the monsters who would soon face him again.

As Sergeant Welsil began his salute, a deafening blast of sound pierced the air. It wasn't a monster's roar, but a horn – its call resonating with a clarity and purpose that cut through the chaos like a hot knife through butter. Everyone in the courtyard stilled, Captain Boulk included, heads swivelling towards the source: the Eastern Wall.

A grin split the captain's face. "Looks like there's no need for that," he declared, interrupting Welsil's salute. "That, Sergeant, is the sound of hope."

Welsil's own heart pounded with a surge of adrealine fuelled optimism. "Sir, does that mean...?"

The Captain's grin widened. "The Knights of Lord Dorian, Sergeant. They've arrived. And not a moment too soon."

"Then..." Welsil breathed, the possibilities flooding his mind. "Reinforcements? We're..."

"Winning this damn battle," Boulk finished. "Pass the word. Tell our soldiers to stop their advance, hold position. Its only a matter of time before the fortress is ours again." He clapped Welsil on the shoulder, his voice a rumble of grim satisfaction. "Now, let's go welcome our saviours and put these beasts back in their cages."

But Welsil couldn't shake the lingering unease. It wasn't just exhaustion or lingering fear – something about the whole situation felt... off.

"Sir," he began, hesitantly. "About the boy-"

Captain Boulk gave him a reassuring nod. "The boy did his part, Sergeant. He earned his rest and then some. Knights handle the rest." He strode away, his voice booming across the courtyard, "Prepare to receive the knights!"

Welsil stood frozen, a mix of relief and disappointment swirling within him. He watched Boulk's retreating form, then his gaze drifted towards the medical tent. He owed more to the enigmatic yellow-haired fighter than he cared to admit.

"Don't agree with the Captain, Sergeant?" A new voice startled him, the Central Region accent from earlier. The officer who had been poring over the map now stood beside him.

Welsil straightened, trying to hide his discomfort. "I wouldn't say that, sir..."

The officer smirked. "Come now, Sergeant, we both saw him fight. The Captain sees the boy in quite the favourable light, he respects him. Especially after conversing with him briefly before the fighting started.

Welsil's unease grew. There was a glint in the officer's eyes that spoke of more than just battle strategy.

"But me," the officer continued, his voice low, "I see something else in that boy. Kid's got something, no denying that. A born warrior, like those stories of old. But something about it... felt uncontrolled, don't you think?

"He got us this far, didn't he?" Welsil ventured, more to himself than the other officer.

"He did," the officer conceded. "But there's a fine line between a weapon and a wild beast, wouldn't you agree? We have soldiers and knights for a reason. Disciplined. Trained. They're reliable. As a weapon, the boy was great."

"But sometimes," the officer continued, his voice low, "the best weapons are the ones you can break when their job is done."

Desiring not to argue with the officer, and wanting to get away from him as soonas possible, Welsil could only offer a grim nod. The horns of victory no longer sounded quite as sweet.