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Data & Magic Chapter 103: Attack Orders
🕑 Added 2025-05-16 11:26:56 +0000 UTCFrom his perch high in the ancient observation tree, William watched the goblin shaman work, a knot of ice forming in his stomach. This wasn't random chanting. It was focused effort. The skull-topped staff pulsed with that nauseating green light, moving in slow, deliberate sweeps as if tracing unseen patterns in the air. William pushed mana into EMMA, focusing its sensors on the shimmering boundary where the illusions began. MP: 140/165. Analyse Ward Integrity... Detecting localized energy fluctuations... Interference pattern consistent with targeted dispelling magic... Projected time to barrier failure: Decreasing rapidly.
The shaman wasn't just aware of the barrier. It was actively unravelling it. The realization hit William with cold certainty. Thalorin's elegant strategy relied entirely on that initial confusion. If the barrier fell before the main force engaged it, the disciplined goblin ranks wouldn't scatter. They would charge, focused and direct, into the heart of the elven defences. The carefully prepared kill zone would become a chaotic melee, negating the elves' ranged advantage and playing directly to the goblins' overwhelming numbers. Strategic assumption invalidated. Primary defence mechanism actively countered. Alert status: Critical.
“He's breaking it!” William yelled down, his voice tight with urgency, directed at the impassive elven scout assigned to him. “The shaman! He's dispelling the barrier! We have to attack now, before they break through!”
The scout, initially startled by William's outburst, followed his frantic pointing. His keen elven eyes narrowed, likely perceiving the subtle warping of light, the unnatural stillness around the shaman that William’s EMMA confirmed as magical interference. He gave a sharp, comprehending nod. “Understood. Thalorin must be warned.” He gestured towards the main trunk. “Descend. Quickly but carefully.”
Carefully? There wasn't time for careful. Every second the shaman worked weakened the wards. William glanced down the dizzying eighty feet to the forest floor. Climbing down normally would take agonizing seconds, maybe half a minute. He activated EMMA again, feeding it parameters. MP: 138/165. Calculate optimal rapid descent trajectory. Target: Patch of clear moss below. Obstacles: Minimal. Variable: User's questionable athletic capability.
EMMA's response flashed instantly. Optimal Path: Controlled Jump. Angle: 30 degrees forward. Required Action: Tuck and Roll impact absorption. Probability of Minor Injury (Bruising/Scrapes): 75%. Probability of Significant Injury (Fracture/Sprain): <4%. Estimated Time Saved vs. Climbing: 18-22 seconds.
Less than a five percent chance of breaking something important? Acceptable risk parameters for mission critical update delivery, William decided instantly, adrenaline overriding caution. Those twenty seconds could be everything.
“I'm jumping!” he shouted to the scout, who looked momentarily bewildered.
Then, William leaped. He pushed off hard, angling his body forward as EMMA dictated, the ground rushing up with terrifying speed. He hit the mossy patch with a jarring thump that knocked the wind from his lungs, instinct and EMMA's trajectory guidance forcing him into a clumsy but effective shoulder roll. Pain flared through his joints, but nothing snapped. HP: 190/200. Landing executed. Grace score: 1.5/10. Survival score: 10/10. Net result: Positive. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the blooming aches, the furious pounding of his heart, and sprinted towards Thalorin's last known position near the stream bed line.
He found the Commander conferring intensely with his lieutenants, their faces grim, likely discussing the goblin army's disciplined halt just outside the illusion field, wondering why the trap hadn't yet sprung.
“COMMANDER THALORIN!” William gasped, stumbling to a halt before the imposing elf, ignoring the startled looks from the elven officers. “Attack! Order the attack now!” His voice was hoarse, desperate. “The goblins know about the barrier! Their shaman is actively dispelling it! He's almost through!”
Thalorin spun towards him, annoyance flashing across his stern features at the panicked interruption from the F-Rank human. “What madness is this? The wards are…” He stopped mid-sentence. His head snapped up, grey eyes narrowing, focusing on the air towards the goblin lines. William saw the commander's posture change instantly, sensing the subtle shift William’s EMMA had confirmed, a weakening, a fraying at the edges of the immense illusionary field. Thalorin didn't need EMMA. Centuries of commanding magic-infused battlefields provided their own internal sensors. He knew William was right.
There was no hesitation. No questioning. Thalorin trusted his senses, trusted the raw urgency in William's warning. He spun back towards his forces, drawing his own gleaming sword, its length catching the filtered sunlight.
“ATTACK!” Thalorin roared, his voice infused with command magic, cutting through the forest's quiet tension like thunder. “ALL UNITS! VOLLEY FIRE! TARGET THE SHAMAN! REAR RANKS, PROTECTED BY RIDERS! DO NOT LET THEM BREACH! LOOSE!”
The elven response was instantaneous, a coordinated storm unleashed. From the canopy and the ravine banks, arrows hissed downwards, dozens, then hundreds, forming dark streams converging on the goblin ranks. Simultaneously, bolts of raw magic erupted from the hidden mages, crackling lightning, searing fireballs, concussive blasts of pure force, slamming into the unprepared goblins.
The effect of the first combined volley was devastating. Goblins who had been standing, waiting, confident behind their shaman's efforts, were abruptly annihilated. Bodies were thrown back, pierced by multiple arrows, engulfed in flame, shattered by force. Screams, cut short, mingled with the whistle of arrows and the crackle of spells. At least a hundred, maybe more, fell in that first terrifying moment. Initial Salvo Effectiveness: High. Enemy casualties significant.
But amidst the chaos, William’s EMMA-enhanced gaze tracked the core threat. MP: 135/165. Shaman status? The bear-skinned figure remained standing, shielded by a near-solid wall of worg riders who had reacted instantly, absorbing arrows and spells meant for their caster. Some riders fell, smoking or bristling with shafts, but others immediately surged forward to fill the gaps. And behind them… William felt sick. Goblins were dragging the bodies of their freshly fallen comrades forward, hoisting them crudely to form a grotesque, fleshy barricade. Enemy adaptation: Utilizing fallen personnel as ablative shielding. Tactical Efficiency: High. Moral Implications: Critically negative.
The elven archers adjusted, their second and third volleys seeking gaps, targeting the worg riders specifically. More fell, riderless mounts bolted or turned on their own kind, but the shaman remained untouched, its staff still weaving, the sickly green energy pulsing, now focused intently on the weakening barrier.
A fourth volley rained down. And then, William felt it more than saw it, a deep, resonant snap, like ancient ice cracking under pressure. The air shimmered violently. The subtle hum of the elven wards abruptly ceased.
The illusion shattered.
Where moments before there had been only deceptive trees and confusing shadows, the path forward now lay clear, starkly revealed. The elven defensive line along the stream, previously concealed, was now horrifyingly exposed.
For a heartbeat, stunned silence fell. Then, the goblin army, perhaps seven hundred strong now, let out a single, unified roar, a wave of guttural, triumphant sound that promised violence and death. They surged forward, no longer marching, but charging, a chaotic green tide of hate and crude steel flooding towards the exposed elven line.
The battle for Lumenar had begun in earnest. And the elves had just lost their primary defense. Situation Update: Critical. Primary defensive strategy: Failed. Enemy advancing on prepared position. Recommend immediate fallback to secondary defensive protocols… assuming any exist. William gripped the hilt of his own sword, the polished metal suddenly feeling terrifyingly real, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against the integrated crystal. Showtime.
