Battle of Swan Lake

The first sound that Terem heard was a stampede of feet, signifying how dire the human side's situation was. Stamping and beating and trudging, the green cloud approached from the fog, reminding Terem of a classic survival game set in a dystopian townscape.

The next was Tom. The swarthy old man valiantly bellowed his commands and seized control of the battlefield for the human side. The first strike would be theirs, and it was.

The sound accompanying this was a whistle or a hum. A flock of arrows graced the skies as the thrum of bowstrings shook the same air that the countless arrows pierced. Darkness descended upon the land, but Terem liked the dark. So he smiled a little, for the first time in the presence of anyone that wasn't Tom.

Soon after the vibrations ceased, another noise rose to take its place. The screams and wails that signified death throes. The arrows must have been sharp because not even a dull thud reached Terem's keen ears.

Tom shouted another command to the archers, and hundreds of arms hoisted the wooden instrument in tandem. Another volley of bees alighted the night air.

'Are some bees nocturnal? Maybe wasps?' were the only two thoughts that passed through Terem's empty mind.

Another fading whistle led to another round of goblin screeches. And Tom issued two additional orders. It was quite a lot in Terem's mind, but thankfully, they weren't directed at him. Otherwise, he feared that his mind might be too cloudy to understand both orders at the same time.

As the command left Tom's lips, the archers jumped into action, marching behind the line of magicians. Once there, they each drew their string and started hurling arrows by the fistful in the general vicinity of the goblin horde.

Finally, it was the mage's time to shine. Or so Terem thought. He wanted to draw blood. Just a bit. But, his desire wasn't as strong as before. His blood was pumping in anticipation of the glorifying scene to come, yet his blood remained cold. The mind was as calculative as always.

"Mages! Prepare for a bombardment!"

Just the words Terem was hoping to hear. He prepared one of his few destructive spells and held the mana on his fingertip, ready to cast at Tom's command.

"Fire!"

50 trained wizards lit up the night sky with their spells. It was beautiful. Fire spells lit up the battlefield, raining sparks upon the masse of goblin flesh and charring the grass below their feet. Balls of condensed water shot forward at the speed of a bullet before curving down due to gravity, breaking bones as the accelerated mass of liquid smacked into the crowd. Hefty blocks of stone crashed down like an amplified water spell, splattering blood onto the ground. Finally, a small cyclone ripped through the battlefield.

Clearly, another high-level spellcaster aside from Tom resided within the once dainty town of Merilin. But Terem wasn't inclined to learn their name or ask them for help. He didn't need to. As the battle raged and Terem lobbed Water Bolt after Water Bolt into the oncoming horde. Simultaneously, he analyzed and memorized one spell from each branch of magic so he could break it down on his own time.

This was one of the few reasons he stayed behind to help.

Once Terem finished viewing the spell structure and had properly ingrained it into his mind for future reference, he turned his attention back to the ongoing war. Specifically, he watched the front line.

His reason for this was simple. Terem was curious about the two-lined formation the melee fighters were in. Based on the efficiency in which they lined up, it was reasonable to assume that every person knew of this peculiar tactic. Hence it should be a common battle strategy within this world of swords and magic.

Soon the efficacious formation produced its desired results, flaunting its might under the strain of hundreds of oncoming enemies. All were slaughtered in front of the wall; however, it was a fairly simple method of attack even though it was frighteningly efficient.

Each knight was essentially in a buddy system with the person behind them. As one fought, the other would help make the fighter's life easier by throwing in a well-timed thrust, dealing with a second attacker, and deflecting potentially harmful blows when the frontliner was in danger.

However, the goblin horde was unending and unrelenting, so eventually, casualties and mistakes will creep into each fighter's form as they grow tired. This is when the buddies would switch places.

This was all Terem really remembered. At least of the early stages of the battle. This repetitious early stage lasted for the eternity of one whole hour. Nothing changed in the battle's momentum. No hero or villain charged into the frontline to alter the tides of war. And the knights kept switching and spinning and turning like the figurines on a merry-go-round.

This was only possible thanks to the miraculous drug known as the Remsbud. Terem was once again impressed by the sheer healing power it possessed. However, nothing could cure exhaustion. So soon enough, the green tidal wave pushed back the frontline, gaining ground step by arduous step.

After another hour, the defenders had lost 30 feet of ground to the waves. In American Football terms, this was an unacceptable loss that allowed the Orgless Green Goblins to reset their downs, or whatever they're called.

Terem took note of this fact, but once again, he didn't care. As long as the line wasn't entirely lost, he wouldn't run.

Tom, however, was keeping track of the entire battlefield. He had yet to cast a spell that was above the tier of a simple Water Bolt. And this was for a very specific reason.

"Fall back on my command!" His bellow reached across the din of the battlefield and was heard by every man.

Gradually, a light emitted from Tom's fingertips as he prepared a massive spell structure.

Curious, Terem tried to unravel the spell blueprint within his mind. The only problem was that network of mana threads was too complex to memorize in one sitting. He would need months just to properly understand the entire spell's structure, much less recreate it.

The surrounding air vibrated as high-density mana leaked out from the spell, causing every person not locked in a death struggle to turn their head.

"Fall back!!"

Finally, the long-awaited command arrived. Simultaneously, Tom released the massive three-dimensional construct of mana threads into the sky.

The knights turned and ran after shoving away the frenzied goblins they were previously locked in battle with.

Terem waited patiently, waited for anything. A sign that the world was ending, a thunderstorm brewing directly above their very heads, the crackle of electricity, literally anything.

But nothing happened. At least not in the sky.

The drumming ended. That was the first key. The next was a peculiar squishing and slashing sound. It was as if hundreds of feet were running through a bog.

But it didn't stop there. The sound changed once again from a splash into a slosh.

Terem looked ahead at the approaching goblin horde. Sure enough, they were wading through knee-deep water. The knights, however, were not.

Somehow, the waterline ended right behind the last retreating knight allowing every one of them to properly retreat while slowing down their pursuers.

The water level rose at a shocking rate and was held back from the human forces by an invisible forcefield extending the entire length of the wide canyon. The hunchbacked creatures were offered an ultimatum by the supreme magus: sink, swim, or jump into Merilin Lake. The choice was entirely theirs to make.

Funnily enough, most of the goblins drowned while the ones outside the spell's effective range were either pushed into the water tank by their comrades or forced to halt their advance.

After five minutes of downtime, the spell held strong. More than a thousand bloated and bloodied carcasses floated in the goblin brine. The remaining forces were forced to retreat from the spell's border and wait for another day to attack, pillage, and rape.

Like this, the battle ended. The human side sustained 20 fatalities while the injured soldiers were all healed by the miracle drug.

The invaders, however, didn't go home empty-handed.

That night a rowdy, emotional, and generally exaggerated report fell into the Orc Lord's grasp. Of course, the messenger was decapitated after being interrogated for details, but the content of the report left an evil smirk upon the Orc Lord's face.

"Bolg, tell everyone to follow me. We are hunting tonight."