The battlefield was a churned field of broken earth, ruptured fences, and scattered debris. Villagers watched from afar with bated breath as Walter Grefen, sweat-streaked and bleeding from a cut on his temple, stood firm with what remained of his militia.
The Rock Golem loomed ahead, a lumbering mass of chiseled boulders and ancient glyphs, unmoved by the flurry of magical bolts that burst against its stone hide in useless sparks of color. It swung its massive arm down again—a slow, grinding motion—and the very ground beneath its target screamed, buckling into a crater as two militia dove aside, barely escaping pulverization.
Walter's chest heaved. His men were exhausted, and the creature wasn't even scratched.
"Gods help us…" he murmured, gripping his longsword tighter even though he knew it was no match for enchanted stone.
Suddenly, a crackling burst of energy split the air—and Sir Raleigh arrived in a flash of mana-flame and authority.
"Everyone, fall back!" Raleigh shouted, his voice like thunder undercut with icy control. "Retreat fifty paces. Do not engage."
The town soldiers spread out like trained wolves, forming a perimeter as they kept their weapons raised but held fire.
Walter, stunned but relieved, stepped toward Raleigh with open arms. "Sir Raleigh! Thank the Heavens—"
But Raleigh didn't return the greeting. He didn't even look at Walter.
"Retreat now," Raleigh snapped, already raising his hand to the air, his fingers glowing. "This is no time for formalities."
The rebuke stung, but Walter wasn't prideful today—he turned and shouted for his men to comply. "Retreat! Fall back to the second line!"
The village militia, ragged and dust-covered, obeyed instantly, panting as they regrouped behind the stronger town soldiers. All the while, the rock golem slowly twisted its hulking frame, turning toward its new adversaries with a deep, grinding groan.
Raleigh's hand moved swiftly, etching glowing symbols in the air—Runes of Delay, Bind, and Anchor—woven together in real time like a spellcaster painting with starlight. Each stroke left a gleaming line in the air that shimmered with pressure and intent.
Walter peered at the runes. "Are those… stasis chains?"
Raleigh finally acknowledged him—his voice sharp but level. "No. Too unstable for full stasis. I'm preparing an interlaced gravity mesh. It won't hold it for long, but it'll drag the creature's movement into a choke point."
Walter blinked. "So you mean to trap it—"
"Exploit it," Raleigh corrected. "The golem's defense is absolute, but it can't react quickly. The moment it's hemmed in, I'll channel a fissure spell under its core joints. Enough concentrated pressure at the right spots… even enchanted stone has its limits."
Walter couldn't help but marvel at the man's precision. This wasn't just brute-force magecraft—this was strategy born from mastery.
Behind them, the rock golem raised one fist again, preparing to strike down the taunting figures retreating from its path. Its massive foot rose—and that's when Raleigh snapped his fingers.
The runes in the air detonated in silence, spreading out in a wide arc of blue light beneath the golem's feet. The very ground beneath the creature hardened and flexed unnaturally, locking it into a spatial loop.
The golem brought its fist down—but its target had already moved. And for the first time, the monster missed by seconds rather than inches.
Raleigh narrowed his eyes. "Now we probe. Then we break it."
As the dust swirled around his cloak, and his soldiers took formation with renewed hope, Walter Grefen realized something:
This wasn't the battle of desperation anymore.
It was a calculated hunt.
---
The battlefield groaned beneath the weight of clashing forces—one side desperation, the other stone and fury. But suddenly, it shifted.
With the completion of the glowing rune in the air, Raleigh's fingers flared with light, and with a sharp flick of his wrist, the spell activated. A burst of radiant pulses burst forth, shooting skyward before cascading down—hundreds of finger-sized orbs of light humming with ethereal energy.
They zipped through the air like streaking fireflies.
And then—a sound like twinkling laughter filled the air.
Tiny, glowing creatures began to manifest, flitting about in impossible patterns. Fairies and soul wisps, summoned from the outer veil of the spirit realm, flooded the battlefield. They were harmless to the touch, yes—but their movement, their sound, their brightness—all of it agitated the golem's instincts.
The massive creature snarled—or at least let out a grinding, tectonic groan—and began to twist violently, trying to swat the darting fairies as though they were locusts biting at invisible nerves. Its massive arms carved wide arcs through the air, but the fairies scattered like wind-blown embers, unharmed, never ceasing.
Raleigh's eyes were cold, analytical. He took a single step forward, his cloak fluttering in the backdraft of his own summoned swarm.
"Now," he said without raising his voice, "hit its legs. Only the legs. We drop it from the base."
Walter Grefen, still clutching his runed blade and halfway into a charge, faltered. "Its legs? What—"
Raleigh didn't even glance at him. "Don't be an idiot. This isn't a dueling ring, it's siege warfare. Blades are nothing against stone unless you know where to cut."
He turned to the soldiers and militia gathered behind the hastily erected barricade. "Everyone with range-based magic items or enchanted projectiles—target the joints. Ankles. Knees. Nothing else. Save your charges. Make them count."
There was a pause—then the first volley launched.
Crack! Whirr! Fwoosh!
Enchanted arrows laced with fire magic streaked through the air.
Small magical bolts from crossbows hit with flashes of light.
Tier 1 spellstones cracked and burst into exploding frost or flame against the golem's massive calves.
At first, nothing seemed to happen.
But then—
A thin fracture line appeared across the golem's right shin. Barely visible. But it spread slowly like a hairline fracture in glass.
The monster roared again, flailing in multiple directions. Yet with each massive swing, the fairies distracted it just long enough for another barrage to land, and another. Discipline began to replace panic.
Walter watched in awe. The chaos had turned into a machine of war under Raleigh's command.
"How long can those fairies hold it?" Walter asked, cautiously.
Raleigh frowned. "Five minutes. Seven if I strain. That's the maximum."
"And if it doesn't fall by then?"
Raleigh's voice was ice. "Then we run. Or we die."
A particularly sharp strike from an enchanted javelin sent a large chunk of rock flying off the golem's left ankle, making it stumble slightly, one leg buckling.
A cheer erupted from the militia—brief, raw, desperate.
Walter finally stepped beside Raleigh, lowering his blade but keeping it close. "You're only a Tier 0 mage. And you've already cast a swarm spell of that size…"
Raleigh didn't look at him. "I'll hold as long as I have to."
His eyes narrowed. "But this thing didn't just wander in. Someone summoned it. And when this is over, I intend to find out who."
And with that, the second volley fired—striking the weakened leg with even greater precision, cracking it deeper, closer… closer to collapse.