...No. This might actually be the perfect opportunity.
I had to crush it here. The unstable factor. The psychological shackle that kept getting in the way of her true potential.
If her trauma was the problem, then right here, right now, I would force Elisha to confront it.
I can do this.
It wasn’t going to be easy. Overcoming deep-seated trauma required imnse effort, both internally from the victim and externally from soone pushing them. If I couldn’t buy Elisha the ti she needed externally, we were both going to die in this room.
But I had grown stronger since the Academy.
In the original tiline, the protagonist Kael was the one who broke her out of this panic attack with a heroic, self-sacrificing speech. I didn’t have a speech, but I could at least mimic the tactical pressure.
"Wake up on your own, Elisha!" I shouted, keeping my eyes on the horde. "I’ll hold them off as long as I can! I expect cover fire, and I expect you to pay back for that damn coffee!"
As the Wraiths sward the entrance, I pushed my combat focus to its absolute limit.
I drew my heavy combat knife with my left hand, keeping the Reaver secured in my right.
Combat is just mathematics. Control the spacing, manage the numbers, and exploit the enemy’s attack patterns. Even if the rushing Wraiths looked like an overwhelming tidal wave, the physical space of the corridor ant I only had to face a finite number of them at any given second.
"Co on, you half-dead freaks," I muttered.
I clashed with the vanguard of the horde.
I smashed the first Wraith’s jaw with the heavy steel stock of the shotgun, pivoted, and drove my combat knife straight up through the chin of the second. In an instant, two more piles of sand hit the floor.
I sidestepped a sweeping shamshir with minimal movent and launched a brutal front kick into a Wraith’s chest. My enhanced leg strength hit like a battering ram. The Wraith stumbled backward violently, collapsing the enemies behind it like bowling pins.
There are too many of them.
Six Wraiths recovered and charged simultaneously.
I raised the Reaver and fired from the hip.
BOOM!
The spread of armor-piercing buckshot shredded the front line, blasting three Wraiths apart and staggering the rest. Before they could recover, I racked the pump, stepped into the gap, and fired again.
Cover fire?
I threw another glance back. Elisha was still completely frozen, clutching her bow to her chest, her eyes wide with terror.
It was severe. Her trauma was far deeper and more paralyzing than I had originally calculated.
Should I just wipe them out myself?
My left hand drifted toward my ammo pouch. Sitting inside were the highly volatile gem rounds rle had crafted, and the specialized explosive shells I had saved as a trump card. If I loaded them, I could blow this entire army to ash without taking a single scratch. Simple and perfectly efficient.
...Wait.
I pulled my hand away from the special ammo and grabbed standard buckshot instead.
I rapidly reloaded the chamber and charged back into the lee.
Let’s do this the hard way.
This was a necessary trial, not just for Elisha, but for myself. Hadn’t I resolved to push my physical limits? If I relied entirely on overpowered equipnt every ti things got tough, I would never develop the raw combat instincts needed to survive the late-ga disasters. I needed to be strong enough to beat Kael in a fair fight, not just outgun him.
If I had co down here alone, I would have spamd the gem bullets without hesitation. But Elisha was here.
This was an opportunity to shatter the shackle holding her back. All I had to do was hold the line and refuse to give up until she snapped out of it.
"Cadet Elisha!" I roared, ducking under a blade that nearly clipped my ear.
I parried another shamshir with the barrel of my shotgun, shoved the Wraith back, and fired point-blank into its chest.
"Without your support fire, I can’t hold this chokepoint forever! Snap out of it!"
I didn’t look back. I couldn’t afford to.
"Elisha! You are a Ravenscroft! Are you going to let your family na crumble in a pile of dirt?!"
BOOM! Another deafening blast echoed through the ancient hall as buckshot tore through the advancing line.
I aggressively racked the pump. The smoking, spent brass shell ejected from the chamber and tumbled through the air.
"Elisha!" I scread her na one last ti as the horde surged forward.
The brass shell hit the sandy floor behind , burying itself in the dirt without a single sound.
*****
"Elisha!"
Lucien’s desperate shout echoed through the cavernous hall, but to Elisha, it sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a deep, murky ocean.
The deafening blasts of his shotgun, the screeching of the Desert Wraiths, the clashing of steel—it all faded into a high-pitched ringing in her ears. Her vision blurred, tunneling until all she could see was the horde of shadowy monsters swarming a lone figure desperately holding the line.
Her hands, gripping her red compound bow, shook uncontrollably. Her knuckles were white. Her breath ca in short, hyperventilating gasps.
She wasn’t standing in an ancient ruin anymore.
She was eight years old.
The mory slamd into her with the force of a physical blow.
It was a winter hunting trip in the northern woods that had gone horribly wrong. She and her older brother, Arthur, had been separated from the main Ravenscroft hunting party.
The shadows between the trees had twisted and warped, giving birth to a pack of massive, mutated Shadow-Hounds. They were entirely surrounded.
Elisha had been holding a small, custom-made training bow. Her hands had trembled exactly like they were trembling now. She was too terrified to nock an arrow, too paralyzed by the sheer malice radiating from the beasts to even scream.
Arthur was only fourteen, but he had stepped in front of her. He drew his hunting blade, his own hands shaking, but he didn’t take a single step back.
"Elisha, listen to !" Arthur had yelled, his voice cracking. "When I charge them, you run! Do not look back!"
"Arthur, no—!"
"Run!"
Arthur had thrown himself directly into the pack of Shadow-Hounds, swinging his blade wildly to draw their attention. The beasts had sward him instantly, burying him under a mass of snapping jaws and black fur.
Elisha had run.
Ran away like a coward. Ran for her life.
She had run through the snow, clutching her useless little bow to her chest, sobbing as the sounds of her brother’s agonizing screams echoed through the silent forest. By the ti she found the hunting party and brought them back, the snow was stained red, and there was nothing left to save.
That was the root of her trauma. The suffocating guilt. The visceral, paralyzing terror of watching soone she cared about fight a hopeless battle to protect her, while she stood frozen, entirely useless.
"Cadet Elisha! Without your support fire, I can’t hold this chokepoint forever!"
Lucien’s voice ripped through the mory.
Elisha blinked, her cloudy vision snapping back to the ancient throne room.
Lucien was standing exactly where Arthur had stood. He was bleeding from a shallow cut on his cheek, his breathing ragged as he violently swung his shotgun like a club to push back three Wraiths at once. He was fighting a hopeless battle against a horde, completely alone, just so she could stay safe.
He is going to die.
The thought struck her with absolute, terrifying clarity. If she stood here trembling, Lucien was going to be torn apart, just like Arthur. She would have to watch it happen all over again.
"Are you a Ravenscroft?! Are you going to let your family na crumble in a pile of dirt?!"
Lucien’s harsh words echoed off the stone walls.
Elisha looked down at her hands.
She wasn’t eight years old anymore. She wasn’t holding a wooden toy. She was holding a master-crafted compound bow. She had trained every single day since Arthur’s death until her fingers bled and her muscles tore, all to ensure she would never be that helpless, useless little girl again. I won’t let such tragedy to repeat again. I will protect everyone.
Why was she trembling?
The guilt and the terror suddenly ignited, transforming into raw, blinding anger. She was angry at the Wraiths. She was angry at the mummified lord on the throne. But mostly, she was furiously angry at herself.
I am Elisha Ravenscroft.
She forced her shaking fingers to move. She reached over her shoulder and pulled an arrow from her quiver.
I will not let anyone else die for .
She nocked the arrow onto the string. The violent trembling in her arms ceased instantly, replaced by a rigid, unbreakable tension.
She took a deep breath, drawing the heavy bowstring back to her cheek. She channeled her mana directly into the arrowhead, causing it to glow with a brilliant, compressed crimson light.
User Comments
0 comments from readers