Chapter 371: One Hour to Die

The strike came from behind. Eleanor never saw the blade, only felt the burn slice between her shoulder blades, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. She lurched forward, a muffled cry escaping her throat. Before she could recover, something solid, a fist or maybe the hilt of the weapon, slammed into her ribs.

She crashed into the snow, the impact forcing the air from her lungs. For a heartbeat, the world spun. The cold seeped through the gaps in her armor, and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

When she lifted her gaze, a distorted silhouette loomed ahead. Nearly invisible, its outline shimmered in the air like heat over ice. Falling snow began to cling to it, revealing its shape piece by piece, a Warden Captain.

“So there was another bastard…” she muttered, forcing her body upright.

The monster stepped forward, and something crunched beneath its foot. Eleanor’s stomach twisted. Her bow lay shattered in the snow under its weight.

“Looks like you’re a little pissed off,” she said, meeting its gaze and keeping her voice as steady as she could.

Far ahead, she could still see the archers supporting the soldiers locked in battle with the general. Calling for help would be pointless; the storm swallowed every sound. She was on her own.

The Warden raised its sword, the metal catching the pale glow of the blizzard. When it leveled the blade at her and charged, Eleanor’s instincts took over.

The rhythm of its steps, crunching through the snow, sharp and steady, became her guide. She sprinted through the ruined camp, dodging torn tents and collapsed barricades. A wooden shelter exploded behind her as the creature’s strike reduced it to splinters.

Twisting mid-run, she touched the bracelet on her wrist. A flash of mana, space warped for an instant. From the small dimensional pocket, a new bow materialized.

[Orc Forest Bow (Rare)]
Crafted from the sturdy wood of trees torn from the Orc Lord’s territory. The material is remarkably resilient, able to channel magical energy with precision and stability. Its deep green hue stands as a reminder of the wild forest it came from and the monsters that once ruled beneath its canopy.

“I always carry a spare,” she said, drawing the string and firing.

The arrow sliced through the storm and struck the Warden Captain square in the chest. He staggered but didn’t fall. Then a sharp crack split the night as a lightning-tipped spear came in from the side, driving straight into the creature. Electricity danced across its body as it stumbled in the snow.

Eleanor didn’t waste the moment. Another arrow, a breath held, a clean shot.

[Enhanced Arrowhead (Common)]: The Archer refines the metal of each arrowhead until the edge gleams with a perfect shine. The flight becomes steadier, and the impact hits deeper. A simple improvement that makes a difference with every shot.

The arrow flared with light before it flew. It hit the creature’s helmet with a ringing crack, splintering the metal. Eleanor reloaded fast, sweat and melted snow running down her face. Another arrow. Then another. Until the Warden Captain finally collapsed backward, the ground trembling beneath his weight.

Eugene emerged from the haze, sprinting across the field. He wrenched his spear from the creature’s corpse. “Are you alright?”

“Never better,” Eleanor replied between ragged breaths. She pulled a potion from her pouch and downed it in one go. The liquid burned down her throat; it was her last one.

Her eyes flicked toward the general still locked in combat. “We need to help the others.”

Eugene nodded, scanning the perimeter. “I have to move. I’ve been going from camp to camp, relighting the bonfires. It’s bad out here. If this storm keeps getting worse, we might not even know where the castle is anymore.”

***

The forces had split beneath the roar of the wind.The maids, along with Erza and Anne, headed east. Mason, Evangeline, and a handful of soldiers pushed west. That left Luke, with Ronan and the rest, to take the central path—the most exposed, and the most dangerous.

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The plan was simple, and suicidal. While the others hunted down Warden Captains and Generals to weaken enemy lines, Luke’s group would handle the evacuation. One hour. That was all they had—one hour to survive the white inferno. Up front, Ronan led the soldiers with steady steps, his sword caked in frost. The wind lashed their faces, freezing the sweat before it could fall. Every breath scraped the throat raw.

Luke kept his eyes ahead, calculating. That gives me about two hundred mana.

He recovered naturally—two hundred and eight per hour. It was survival math: spend the least, preserve the most. That was the golden rule. Luke was the only one who couldn’t afford to waste mana.

“This reminds me of the old days,” Allison said, running beside him.

“You mean the trek toward the wall?” Luke asked, his tone light despite the cold. “Now that was insanity.”