The Transmigrated Villain Claims the Heroines!

The dead of night had settled over Ravenhold, yet the treeline at the empire’s edge showed no sign of yielding its horrors. The beasts kept coming, an unbroken tide of fangs and claws that surged from the darkness without pause.

But even in the deep hours, there was no darkness here. No silence, either.

The ramparts blazed with light, gout after gout of cannon fire, the flash of rifles, the flicker of oil-soaked torches illuminating faces smeared with sweat and blood. The night air rang with the constant crack of gunfire, the scrape of steel on scale, the roar of beasts, and the shouts of men trying not to die.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

"Rinse and repeat! Don’t let the barrage stop! First battalion fires, then the second, then the third. That gives the first enough time to reload and fire again!"

Anastasia’s voice cut across the rampart, commanding cannons and riflemen alike to maintain their relentless bombardment.

And she was absurdly effective.

Crimson eyes. Black hair. A deep, resonant voice that carried through the chaos. And beauty that could halt battles in their tracks, which she absolutely exploited. In this case, she wielded it as a weapon for morale, giving every soldier on the rampart a sliver of hope that if they impressed her, they might earn her favor.

Of course, that favor would never come. But they didn’t need to know that.

"Faster!"

She cleaved through a beast’s throat as it clawed over the wall, kicked the corpse off the rampart, and sent it tumbling into the seething wave below, all without missing a single order.

BOOM!

Another cannon volley sent chunks of stone and beast flesh spraying across the rampart. The soldiers didn’t flinch anymore. Days of this, and they’d learned that hesitation meant death.

Anastasia wiped blood from her cheek, not hers, and scanned the treeline.

The horde was thinning. Not gone. Not even close. But thinner than this morning. The endless tide had slowed to a steady current, and for the first time in days, she could actually see the ground between the bodies.

"Report!" she shouted.

A runner appeared at her elbow, breathless and spattered with mud. "East wall holding, my lady. South wall reports heavy activity near the gate, but General Rerick is holding them back."

"And Edward?"

The runner’s expression flickered. "General Edward engaged a B-Class beast three hours ago near the western forest. No word since."

Anastasia’s jaw tightened.

Three hours was a long time, even for Edward. Even for a B-Class beast.

"Send a scout. I want eyes on that forest within the hour."

"Yes, my lady!"

The runner vanished back into the chaos, and Anastasia turned her attention to the rampart before her.

Thirty men, give or take. Too few. Always too few. They fired in rotating volleys, the rhythm drilled into them over days of combat, but their movements were sluggish now. Exhaustion was setting in.

She could see it in the way their hands trembled when they reloaded, in the way their eyes stayed fixed on the treeline even during the brief moments of respite.

"You there." She pointed at a young soldier whose uniform marked him as a corporal. "Rotate your second squad to the inner wall. They need rest and food. Pull the reserve squad forward to replace them."

The corporal blinked at her, surprised by the direct order. "My lady, the reserve squad is—"

"I know what the reserve squad is. Do it."

He saluted and ran to obey.

Anastasia turned back to the wall just as another wave crested the top. Three beasts this time, leaping over the stone with filthy claws extended. She met the first with her dagger, driving it into its throat before it could land.

The second she sidestepped, her boot catching its hind leg, sending it tumbling back over the edge.

The third she didn’t even see, a rifle shot from somewhere behind her put it down mid-leap, its body crumpling at her feet.

She glanced back. A young soldier with a smoking rifle met her eyes, swallowed, and looked away.

"Cannon teams!" she called out. "Shift aim to the eastern ridge. I want that treeline cleared."

"Yes, my lady!"

The massive guns cranked, barrels swinging toward the distant tree line. The roar of their fire shook the stones beneath her boots.

***

Rerick met the next wave with his greatsword.

The eastern gate had become a charnel house. Bodies, beast and human alike, piled high against the stone, and the stench was something he’d never get used to. But he didn’t have time to think about the smell. Didn’t have time to think about anything except the next swing, the next block, the next beast that tried to claw its way past him.

"Shields!" he roared.

The line of soldiers behind him raised their tower shields, locking them together to form a wall of steel. The beasts slammed into it, claws scraping, teeth gnashing, but the shields held.

"Spears!"

Long, sharp blades darted between the gaps, stabbing and withdrawing in a brutal rhythm.

"Push!"

The shield wall advanced, driving the beasts back, and Rerick stepped around the flank to cut down the ones that tried to circle around.

His greatsword was a blur, steel singing through the air, leaving trails of black blood in its wake. He’d lost count of how many he’d killed today. Dozens. Maybe more. His arms burned, his shoulders ached, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Behind him, he heard the distinctive crack of Anastasia’s voice carrying across the battlefield, ordering cannon fire, directing reinforcements, keeping the whole machine running. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"She’s holding quite well!"

Rerick laughed, cleaving another beast from shoulder to sternum. Black blood sprayed across his armor, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop moving.

While Anastasia commanded the ramparts, directing cannon fire and coordinating volleys, Rerick had taken charge of the gate. His section wasn’t as high as hers, but it was wider, far wider, with murder holes carved into the stone above to pour oil and arrows down on anything that tried to climb.

The gates themselves were another matter.

Massive iron-banded things, reinforced, but still vulnerable. Every time a beast slammed into them, the impact shuddered through the stone, through the men bracing from the other side, through Rerick’s own bones.

It didn’t take long for it to completely shatter and have Rerick completely abandon gunpowder in favor of pure physicality.

He had the opposite problem as Anastasia. She fought from above, directing, controlling, turning the rampart into a killing field.

He fought from below, standing in the gap, making sure the line didn’t break.

Even with three elite generals holding the line, it was still a difficult battle.