The Extra is a Genius!? Chapter 607 - 608: Against the Horde [II]

The initial moments had been grim, yet the defensive line was rapidly learning the art of survival.

Soldiers nearing exhaustion were hauled back the instant their strength waned, with fresh warriors filling the gaps before the breach could even be perceived by the enemy. Though the process was jagged and lacked finesse, it proved effective. Weapons and shields were swapped in a frantic cycle. Mages, pale-faced and trembling from exertion, retreated to the rear as fresh casters stepped forward, mana already coalescing in their palms. The battlefield remained a chaotic, deafening swirl where focused thought was a luxury, but at the very least, a rhythmic rotation had finally taken hold.

One sector of the front line displayed this tactical shift more clearly than the rest.

Against all expectations, the warriors and mages hailing from the Northern Isles were holding firm. The reason became clear with the briefest observation: to survive in their harsh, unforgiving home was to be inherently formidable. The Isles were beset by violent, icy seas, and those who endured them were anything but soft. Their combatants moved with the unerring balance of those accustomed to unstable terrain, while their mages demonstrated a level of control forged by years spent channeling power amidst storms capable of devouring vessels whole.

Water magic dominated this particular front. Compressed streams erupted in violent, precise bursts—dense, blue glass-like lances that punched through the mass of charging beasts, tearing through layers of flesh before detonating in sprays of crimson. Broad, thin sheets of water swept across the dirt, sharp as rolling blades, severing joints and tendons with ease. Monsters lost their equilibrium instantly, collapsing into the mire where standard infantry dispatched them. Elsewhere, swirling columns of water ensnared larger targets, tightening their hold until bones shattered and monstrous carcasses were flung aside like driftwood in a vortex.

Yet, many Northern Isles mages employed more than just brute force. They flooded the terrain ahead of the horde, transforming solid ground into pits of viscous, sucking mud. The beasts, driven by blind instinct, plunged forward, only to flounder and collapse into clotted, tangled clusters. Fire rained down upon them; stone spikes pierced their hides from below; lightning arced through the grouped masses, leaving smoldering corpses half-buried in the filth. It was a strategy of savage simplicity, yet it persisted for the same reason bait lures a starving predator.

Monsters lacked the capacity to hesitate.

That was the status quo until the shadow wolves arrived.

They did not mirror the mindless onslaught of the rest of the horde. There was no reckless charging, no wasted energy, and no animal panic driving them into the mud traps. They observed. They calculated. They navigated around hazards with the chilling patience of apex predators that grasped exactly what the battlefield sought to inflict upon them. In this, they were far more dangerous than the ogres or the skeletal monstrosities, which knew only the singular, suicidal drive to kill until extinguished.

Their physical similarity to Noir made the sight all the more unsettling. While not identical, the resemblance was close enough to be jarring. They possessed the same dark fur and the same eerie ability to exist, seemingly, both within and outside the light. Witnessing them felt less like encountering a beast and more like staring at a perverse reflection of something Noel’s side understood far too intimately.

The muddy quagmires that ensnared other monsters proved little hindrance to them. A patch of ground might appear empty save for churned sludge and shattered debris, only for a shadow to ripple beneath a fallen barricade, stretching in impossible ways before a wolf materialized several meters ahead. They traversed the battlefield by threading between the shadows of overturned supply wagons, corpses, and ruined fortifications, slipping from one patch of darkness to another like ink bleeding through cracks in stone.

When they moved, death followed. A soldier, retreating behind the primary line, turned just in time to see motion at his feet; a shadow wolf surged from his own silhouette, tearing at his throat with enough ferocity that blood sprayed across his comrade’s shield. Elsewhere, a Northern Isles mage prepared a spell, only for dark, elongated jaws to manifest behind him and lock onto his neck. He fell silent, his water spell dissolving before it could ever take form.

Worse still, they hunted in packs. While the front kept the defenders' gaze locked on the main surge, these wolves exploited every broken angle and weak flank, moving with such predatory swiftness that veterans barely had time to scream a warning before the rear line found itself under direct assault.

As the carnage deepened, the field underwent a transformation. Near the rear, agents of the Holy Capital moved among the wounded, their hands radiating warmth and blessings. Their voices, low and resolute, pulled hearts back from the brink, forcing men and women to their feet. Despite their trembling, those restored soldiers grasped their weapons and dove headlong back into the fray.

From the high ground overlooking the main lines, the war appeared less as a singular conflict and more as a chaotic mosaic of smaller, overlapping battles. Troops shifted across the Thorne Territory, cycling through pressure points amidst the vibrant hues of spellwork. Water lashed across one flank, fire consumed another, and walls of earth erupted to reinforce the crumbling line—all while the horde surged forward in relentless, unending tides.

Noel stood watch, observing the flow of men, monsters, and mana with intense focus. From this height, the strategic patterns were clear. The opening phase had been disastrously messy, but the defenders had shown remarkable grit. Both the troops and the allied factions had adapted with speed. Though the line was under constant strain, it possessed the virtue of order.

Beside him, Noir watched the chaos with narrowed purple eyes. "Those shadow wolves remain a significant threat," she remarked. "They infiltrate our flanks with infuriating ease. They will be a persistent nuisance."

"Indisputably," Noel replied. "I share your assessment. They are not easily deterred." His gaze lingered on the wolves darting through the shadows below. "Even so, compared to your nature, they seem unrefined—mere cubs in the grand scheme."

Noir stood taller, her chest rising with evident pride. "So, you’ve finally realized my true potential, Father?"

A faint smile touched Noel’s lips as he reached over to gently stroke her hair. "Naturally. I have always been aware of it."

Selene stood on his other side, her hand hovering near her wand as she surveyed the battlefield. "My mother is fighting well, I see," she noted. "I am pleased she came to our aid. It was what I hoped for, so I am glad she is present." Her gaze drifted across the line. "The warriors from the Iskandar Peaks display impressive strength. They may, in fact, outclass the soldiers of House Thorne."

"That is fortunate," Noel said. "Though I cannot speak much to the Thorne forces, as I am not well-acquainted with them."

Selene glanced at him. "When do you intend to enter the fray?"

"When the situation deteriorates further, or when Roberto reveals his hand," Noel replied, his voice devoid of tension. "For now, patience is the prudent course. I could utilize Shadow Step or Spatial Shift to reach him, but an early intervention would invite unnecessary destruction. Roberto would surely exploit that chaos to swell the casualty count."

Selene nodded. "Agreed. I shall remain by your side. I will provide cover and clear your path when the time is right."

Her eyes drifted back down, seeking out Elyra, Elena, and Charlotte among the shifting lines. "I only hope they do not reach their limits. It has not been long since they gave birth. Despite their outward recovery, they remain vulnerable."

Noel’s expression darkened slightly. "I acknowledge the risk. We discussed it at length, yet none were willing to remain behind. They know better than to overextend themselves." He scanned the battlefield once more, settling into silence. "For now, we must place our trust in them."