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Crack, snap. A strange sound that shouldn’t be heard here seemed to echo, brushing past the minds of everyone who had just peeked their faces out. The sound didn’t stop at just one.

Crunch, crack, snap.

The successive sounds of something forcibly shattering. Those who instinctively looked up at the sky could see it—no matter who they were. The sky trembled like a city gate being struck by a siege ram, resonating pitifully from beyond.

And within that trembling, the crack in the sky grew increasingly visible. A crack spreading like a spider’s web. Suddenly, an alien sound began to emanate from beyond the crack.

A deep, rumbling bass tone. The faint sound of a low, heavy wind instrument and the slow, rhythmic beating of drums. Those unfamiliar might wonder what it was, but those well-versed in military affairs would stiffen at the aura carried by those tones.

“Is that… the war horn?”

“Tch, it’s the war drums. Seems like something damnable is about to happen.”

At their muttered words, those unfamiliar with military matters asked, “What is that sound?”

“What sound? It’s the sound of preparing for war. We’d better get ready ourselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“No time to explain. Just stay alert.”

The oppressive, uneasy tone, as if containing ferocity within calmness, finally began to subside. Those who realized what was coming next quickly began preparing, seeking out those who could match their pace.

And then, the next moment.

As the fading wind instrument and drum sounds exploded with ferocious intensity, thunderous roars accompanied the collapse of the sky, revealing a passage connecting to another sky beyond.

An alien wind began to blow from beyond the space.

+++++

Whoosh, roar!

Fizz, crackle.

The first to strike were the green fireballs pouring out from the opened space.

The ominous green flames fell like meteors, emitting a sharp, unpleasant odor as the air burned, scattering the surrounding atmosphere with intense heat. But for those gathered here, that was the least of their worries. What troubled them was something else.

“Ugh, this attack isn’t just fire magic!”

Alexander Dean, the Spell Tower Master of Plymouth, who had been deploying protective spells to prevent the green flames from spreading to the buildings, suddenly shouted in alarm as he sensed a curse trying to seep through the spell lines.

“Be careful! It’s a curse that affects the soul!”

As Alexander Dean severed the spell lines and dodged, the protective spell, now structurally unstable, began to explode. Naturally, the green flames and the curse were caught in the explosion and dissipated, but…

Not everyone was so lucky.

“Ugh… ah…”

An adventurer who had tried to block a green fireball with a spell in his hand collapsed, convulsing, and was soon engulfed in flames. The curse, seeping through the spell lines, had roasted his spirit from within, beginning to affect his physical body.

“Don’t block them head-on! Like that spellcaster, keep your distance and intercept them!”

Experienced adventurers tried to coordinate the chaotic scene, but the situation wasn’t so easily resolved.

Adventurers’ knowledge is often hoarded rather than shared, so even the so-called “experienced adventurers” here had highly biased knowledge and experience. What chance did the less experienced have?

Efficient control and response were out of the question. Disorderly panic and fear spread instantly, and the damage became their own responsibility.

Following the green fireballs, a battalion of giants clad in dazzling armor appeared. With the wind instruments and drums behind them, about thirty giant soldiers charged out through the collapsed gate, descending from the Beanstalk and forming ranks, then advancing toward the disorganized adventurers.

Already disrupted by the carpet bombing of fireballs, the adventurers could only watch as the giants descended and formed ranks, unable to properly interfere. And before the advancing giant battalion, they paid the price for their lack of preparation.

The giant soldiers, armed with large shields and spathas, were as well-trained as if they had been organized for war from the start. Their unbroken ranks even in rapid advance proved their strict discipline.

In contrast, the adventurers were lacking in every way. Whether in individual skill, physical prowess, or the organizational strength needed for battle, they were far from equal.

Still, having some experience in irregular warfare, they tried to communicate and coordinate organic attacks, but against a trained army, this was tough. The giant soldiers began cutting down the ground-bound enemies like mowing grass.

Stepping forward to block the giants’ advance were the guards under Hildegard’s command and the spellcasters led by Esiocles.

“Surraz (strength)! Andraste (battle wisdom)! Bahram (victory)! Grant us the power and courage to oppose tyranny!”

Boosted by Hildegard’s “Hymn,” the guards’ physical abilities and combat senses were enhanced, and they resolutely stood before the giant battalion.

Though their small shields were laughable compared to the giants’ large shields, and their spears and curved swords seemed frail against the giants’ towering frames, they didn’t easily back down.

Because before them stood a nun knight with a halberd, her back turned, standing firm. Inspired by her imposing presence, the guards felt as if they themselves had become elite soldiers, deploying a flawless spear formation to meet the giants’ charge.

As the dwarf-like figures dared to block their path, the giant soldiers sneered. But the guards, following Hildegard’s commands, thrust their spears, clenched their cores, and roared.

“Stab!”

“Ah!”

“Hold!”

“Ugh!”

Bang!

Despite tears streaming down their faces, the guards’ desperate spear formation surprisingly managed to halt the giants’ advance. The giant soldiers, seeing the guards’ spears hold against their large shields without breaking, were momentarily stunned.

And the butcher didn’t miss that moment.

“Cha-at!”

With the halberd’s hook, she swept aside the large shield and struck the neck with the axe blade. A simple tactic, but its effectiveness varied greatly depending on who executed it.

Hildegard’s halberd moved like a whip, its flexible trajectory precisely reducing the giants’ numbers.

When the giants began to recover from their momentary shock, the guards’ spear forest targeted the unprotected parts of their armor, distracting them.

A flicker of unease crossed the giants’ faces.

As Hildegard and the guards held off one squad of ten giants, Esiocles and the spellcasters faced another.

“Hmm!”

As Esiocles struck a pose, the ten giant soldiers momentarily mistook the size difference between him and themselves. For a moment, the muscular spellcaster seemed much larger than them. Of course, Esiocles was only human-sized, but the illusion caused by his aura was enough.

Following Esiocles, the spellcasters, cloaked in Light Power and bulked up with Ethereal Muscles, began unleashing their martial arts and spell techniques. Working in threes, they fluidly coordinated against each giant.

Unlike the guards and spellcasters, who were holding their own, the adventurers were struggling more than expected.

First, their initial proximity to the Beanstalk due to dungeon entry rights issues meant they took the brunt of the surprise attack, significantly dampening their morale. But even that alone wouldn’t have been insurmountable given their experience.

The more critical issue stemmed from their individual and organizational traits.

They lacked a leader to rally their spirits like the guards, nor did they have the bonds and organizational strength of the spellcasters. As adventurers who had grown through individual experience, they were ill-prepared for a clearly organized enemy force.

Facing an unprecedented situation, anyone would be at a loss.

Whoosh! Slash.

“Ugh!”

An adventurer, whose wrist was slashed by the mechanical thrust of a spatha, swallowed a suppressed groan and hastily retreated. The giant’s spatha, comparable to a two-handed greatsword by human standards, had mangled his wrist as if crushed by heavy machinery.

Ancient swords were primarily designed for thrusting rather than slashing. They were meant to pierce from below or strike downward from above. Slashing edges risked reducing the weapon’s durability, so ancient weapons rarely had sharp edges.

The giants’ spathas were no different in this regard.

The difference lay in the size of the wielder.

Giants, having fought smaller races in ancient battles, knew how to effectively use their size advantage.

In duels between equally matched opponents, slashing was taboo, but with the size difference between giants and humans, even the unsharpened parts of the spatha became devastating weapons.

The giants mechanically repeated their tactics: forming ranks, blocking with large shields, and thrusting with spathas. When the ranks faltered, they swung their spathas like clubs to push back the adventurers, then reformed.

Despite its simplicity, the adventurers couldn’t counter this mechanical tactic and were forced into continuous hardship.

Mr. Gordon Goodman, the Plymouth Adventurers’ Guild branch leader, pushed back the adventurer with the shattered wrist and barely managed to entangle the giant’s spatha with his trident, his expression grim.

Looking around, the adventurers’ formation was in disarray against just ten giants. While they were managing to avoid catastrophic losses, their struggle paled in comparison to the guards and spellcasters, who were holding their own.

But regardless of his feelings, the battlefield never stops. As Mr. Gordon Goodman dodged the giant’s large shield and barely held the spatha with his partisan, Alexander Dean’s shout reached his ears.

“Hold it there!”

Feeling the mystical energy gathering behind him, Mr. Gordon Goodman tensed his obliques and calves, counting slowly in his mind.

‘One…’

The giant’s relentless assault. The large shield repeatedly tried to dislodge him, and the spatha constantly threatened to break free from his trident. Moreover, he wasn’t just facing one giant; his comrades were struggling to hold their own.

‘Two…’

Amidst this, trying to gauge the timing of Alexander Dean’s spell was nerve-wracking.

But Mr. Gordon Goodman had no time to dwell on his frayed nerves. He could only swallow his saliva repeatedly, narrowly avoiding each crisis while doing his best to hold the giant. That was all he could do.

‘Three…! Now!’

“Move!”

Before Alexander Dean’s words fully left his mouth, Mr. Gordon Goodman twisted his trident and flung the spatha away, then pushed off the giant’s large shield to retreat. The next moment, the space around the giant twisted, and chains of lightning erupted, binding the giant’s limbs.

The giant roared in pain, thrashing, but the spell-forged chains held firm. In response to the giant’s struggle, Alexander Dean unleashed a second spell.

“Rosgi-Ufern Flam-Garwi, Cross-Isgaphen (Purgatory Flame Cross Light)!”

With a deafening roar, the giant’s body was engulfed in a cross-shaped blaze, disappearing into the searing light.

“Succession-v Sequence (Chain)! Combination Eruption (Synthetic Explosion)!”

But Alexander Dean’s spell didn’t end there. He had prepared a triple-chain spell for this moment, deliberately stepping back from the battlefield to stockpile spell energy. His experience as a mercenary allowed him to gauge the giants’ physical and armor durability.

The overlapping explosive force, meticulously controlled by Alexander Dean, spread horizontally in an arc. Naturally, the giants in formation couldn’t avoid the damage.

[Whoo, hmm!]

Thud, thud!

Through some unknown communication, the giants minimally retreated, avoiding major damage. But Alexander Dean wasn’t disappointed.

‘Not as good as I hoped, but at least one’s definitely down.’

As the flames subsided, only the giant’s charred remains and melted armor and weapons remained. The spell had incinerated every bit of flesh.

But the problem lay elsewhere.

‘But if I have to pull off another spell like that, it’ll take a while. Guess I’ll have to hold out and hope they finish quickly and come help.’

Alexander Dean’s brow furrowed with worry. Fortunately, Hildegard’s guards and Esiocles’s spellcasters were steadily subduing the giants. If things continued smoothly, despite the adventurers’ heavy sacrifices, they might still manage to quell the situation.

But his expression changed when a second wind instrument and drum sound echoed from the still-open crack in the sky.

 

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