Star Rail: Starting with a Lyre, Living off Busking [14]
"Silvermane Guards, charge with me! We cannot let a single monster through our line!"
"Yes, sir!"
Urgent footsteps shattered the silence of the night, a battalion charging forward in response to the young commander's rallying cry as they plunged into the desolate, empty wasteland.
Ahead lay a newly opened rift—a festering spatial tear that steadily expanded, releasing streams of corrosive energy.
Inside the growing void, monsters spilled out, their presence pulsing in rhythm with the rift's twisted movements.
The first wave was composed of Faceless Masks—floating, soulless creatures made from the distorted faces of victims corrupted by the rift. They had no thoughts, no emotions, and what little humanity remained in them had long been lost.
The dark, hollow spheres at their centers drew energy from the rift, casting a faint glow over the Frostspawn Fiends that crawled out in their wake.
Before the guards, the humanoid creatures' sluggish movements grew alarmingly swift, and their icy, shard-like heads locked onto the Silvermane soldiers who formed a human wall to stop them.
As they advanced, their twisted armor crackled, and their frosted blades glinted in the night—each swing powerful enough to exact a steep price from anyone who dared underestimate them.
But before they could strike, a young blond man wearing a silver helm and wielding a shield fashioned from a giant lyre stepped forward with a burst of speed. His boots left an imprint on the ground as his fist landed squarely on the nearest fiend's face.
"Take this—!"
A sickening crunch resounded as the Frostspawn Fiend was hurled backward from the blow, its icy head splintering and its neck twisting grotesquely as it slammed into the monsters behind it, throwing the horde into disarray and blocking the rift's exit.
The young commander waved his hand to signal the troops.
"Prepare suppressive fire!"
Silvermane artillery troops stationed in the rear raised their steam cannons—more like large-bore muskets than actual hand cannons.
As soon as the barrels finished heating, they aimed at the monstrous horde that had spread in mere seconds. After a brief pause, the cannons boomed, the recoil jolting the soldiers back.
Supporting the artillery were the Silvermane sharpshooters, whose long-barreled rifles were loaded with rift-piercing rounds to pick off the monsters that the artillery blasts hadn't reached. Each shot precisely felled an airborne crystal elemental creature attempting to escape.
These bird-like monsters, simple in intelligence but with bodies that continuously lowered the surrounding temperature, posed a significant threat if they escaped into populated areas. The sharpshooters kept a vigilant watch, ready to down any strays.
When the artillery stopped to reload, the Silvermane melee troops roared and surged forward.
This straightforward tactic often worked well against these low-intelligence creatures.
Yet, the young commander sensed that something was off.
It was as though they'd been thrown into a boiling pot—the usual chill brought by the Frostspawn Fiends and crystal creatures had vanished, replaced by an oppressive heat.
After smashing a crystal creature with his oversized lyre-shield, he glanced toward another street where his fellow soldiers fought in another skirmish, bolstered by a distinguished presence.
"…Is that the true frontline?"
The young commander, Gepard, muttered under his breath.
"Sir! Guard Captain Gepard! Void creatures are emerging!"
One of his lieutenants quickly warned him, raising his spear in readiness.
Void creatures—aberrations from another dimension with twisted, sickly limbs—had entered reality, their power able to bend it to their will.
With a swipe of a jagged claw, one Void creature unleashed a surge of energy, sending a nearby Silvermane guard hurtling through the air. His light armor offered little defense against the creature's corruption.
The two forces collided, and before the wounded guard could scream, his armor shattered as he hit the ground, blood spurting from his helmet's visor. He convulsed a few times, then lay still.
After the Void creatures appeared, the front line quickly devolved into chaos.
The Silvermane Guard's defensive line fractured as more monsters poured through the breach, exposing the gunners who hadn't yet reloaded to direct attacks.
Yet, not a single guard retreated. To fall back would break their formation and collapse morale.
In the fray, a squad captain roared, "Close the breach! Don't let them through!"
Despite the high casualty risk, the guards pushed forward, creating a chance for their comrades to survive.
Gepard had no time to waste. Even though he worried about the other front, providing support would mean resolving this battle here, and fast.
Making his decision, Gepard shouted:
"In the name of Landau—!"
He charged, raising his lyre-shield high. A surge of his protective power flowed through him and into the shield's resonance, triggering its defensive field as a wall of ice erupted from the shield's base.
"Through snow and frost, forged in resolve, unyielding!"
In an instant, a towering barrier of ice rose, pushing back the horde while a translucent shield coated every Silvermane guard on the field.
Attacks from the remaining monsters glanced off the shield, leaving nothing but minor ripples.
"To all Silvermane Guards! Charge!"
With Gepard leading the charge against the Void creatures, his courage ignited the spirit of the other guards.
They followed his command, mounting a coordinated counterattack that hit the rift creatures with overwhelming force, scattering their ranks.
No one noticed a refreshing breeze sweeping through the stifling battlefield, clearing away the stifling heat and invigorating the soldiers.
The warriors grew stronger with every clash, while on the other battlefield, their comrades were locked in a grueling struggle.
Across town, a monstrous beast emerged from a rift—a towering creature clad in thick armor, roaring flames radiating from within.
The Silvermane troops standing guard had steeled themselves to face death. Only the valiant figure at their head kept them from despair, directing them with impeccable precision and tactical prowess.
Yet no amount of tactics could erase the gap in strength, and the young woman on the front line grew paler, her face flushed with fever, her throat raw from shouting.
Her gaze darted frequently to her comrades, many of whom bore severe burns and were nearing exhaustion. Anxiety and a forced calm warred within her.
And yet, a grim thought lingered in her mind, one she didn't want to consider:
…Had her mother's plan gone wrong?