Chapter 642: Taren Cuts Through

Taren stepped through pooled water in the drainage trench, keeping his gaiters clear of a broken rail as artillery fell overhead toward the grounded station.

Overhead, the whine of falling artillery bolts mingled with the distant crackle of magical wards detonating along the viaduct apron.

Taren moved along the revetment with silent, low-slung footsteps, his right hand resting on the grip of his curved saber.

Behind him, eight veteran scouts followed in single file, keeping their crossbows leveled beneath the trench lip.

"The ground station sits fifty paces ahead," his sergeant whispered, peering through a gap in the wicker fascines.

"Their commander deployed eight halberdiers across the approach ramp... long formation weapons designed to sweep cavalry."

"Long halberds are useless in a four-foot trench," Taren answered quietly, adjusting the scabbard at his hip.

"They train their soldiers to fight in parade squares, not in muddy culverts where you cannot swing an elbow."

"Keep your squad in the lateral ditch and cut off their retreat when the fighting spills into the open."

"What about their archers on the upper palisade, captain?" the sergeant asked, checking the tension on his crossbow string.

"The elven archer silenced their sniper nests during last night’s watch," Taren assured him, glancing briefly at the upper aqueduct arches.

"The sky above this approach belongs to our side now."

The sergeant pointed toward a slit above the trench where an artillery bolt split the wicker without striking anyone.

"Keep your heads below that lip until I signal. Do not trade eight scouts for one officer."

"We could fire through the wicker..."

"And announce ourselves to his whole garrison? Wait until they commit to me."

Taren studied the trench walls, noting where the commander’s billhook would catch if he tried a parade-ground swing.

He signed the rear scouts toward the lateral ditch, keeping their crossbows trained on the station’s only clear exit.

He accelerated forward, his feet finding purchase on the slick clay without splashing the standing water.

The service trench narrowed sharply as it intersected the subterranean conduit feeding the viaduct’s lower machinery.

Two sentries stood at the dogleg bend, holding short spears and peering out toward the open river valley.

Taren closed the distance in three silent strides, striking the first sentry with the weighted pommel of his saber. ℯℯ𝑙.

The man collapsed without a sound, and before the second could shout an alarm, Taren’s palm clamped over his mouth.

A sharp knee to the solar plexus knocked the wind from the guard’s lungs, allowing the scouts to disarm and bind him.

The scouts secured the captured sentries with stout hemp cords, gagging them with strips of clean linen.

"Two down," Taren murmured, waving the squad forward to secure the doorway leading into the main control room.

The first sentry stirred against his bindings, his eyes flicking toward the signal drums beyond the dogleg bend.

Taren followed that glance and found a tripcord looped around the threshold hinge beside the station door.

"Do not touch the door yet."

The sergeant cut the line while another scout caught its loose weight before it could strike the alarm plate.

"They expected someone to enter by this trench," Taren observed, testing the freed latch with his saber tip.

"Then they know we are coming?"

"They knew a route. We still choose how to use it."

At the junction stood the enemy ground commander, a broad-shouldered officer clad in reinforced cuirass and steel greaves.

The officer held a seven-foot billhook, its hooked blade scraping against the earthen walls of the trench.

Seeing a single swordsman advance, the commander attempted to swing his billhook in a wide, sweeping horizontal sweep.

The crescent hook slammed directly into the packed dirt wall, lodging three inches deep into the clay with a dull thud.

"Damn this ditch!" the commander cursed, abandoning the wedged polearm and drawing a stout broadsword from his scabbard.

He was no ceremonial officer, recovering his combat posture instantly to lunge with a vicious, compact thrust.

Taren did not attempt to parry the heavier blade directly, pivoting smoothly on the ball of his foot to let the steel slide past.

The commander adapted with surprising speed, using his armored forearm to deliver a savage elbow strike toward Taren’s temple.

Taren leaned his upper body backward, feeling the wind of the blow graze his jaw as his left hand slipped beneath his tunic.

The officer reversed his sword in the cramped space, striking the wall and sending a curtain of clay across Taren’s eyes.

For one breath the shorter blade owned the trench, and Taren could not retreat without crowding his waiting scouts.

"Your ditch cuts both ways," the officer snarled, pressing the advantage.

"Then I will stop running straight through it."

Taren scraped his foot across the wet clay, testing how far the commander’s plated heel could turn before the walls trapped him.

He shifted toward loose earth, drawing a thrust that left the officer’s sword exposed to a closer counter.

He drew his concealed parrying dagger, catching the commander’s returning sword stroke in the notched crossguard.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, Taren locked the two blades together, stepping inside the commander’s reach.

"Good recovery," Taren muttered calmly, his gray eyes steady and focused as he drove his heel down onto his opponent’s foot.

The commander grunted in pain, his balance faltering for a crucial fraction of a second.

Taren drove the pommel of his saber into the man’s throat, staggering him backward and sending him crashing into the mud.

Before the commander could rise, the point of Taren’s saber was pressed firmly against the leather gorget at his throat.

"Yield your command," Taren stated, his voice flat and unyielding as the northern mountains.

The commander choked on his own breath, looking up at the stern and uncompromising face of the seasoned mercenary captain.

"I... I yield the station," the officer wheezed, dropping his broadsword into the muddy trench floor.

The metallic clatter of dropped weapons echoed through the lower gallery as the surviving garrison surrendered their post to the scouts.

The scouts separated the captured commander from his crew along the wall, keeping every hand visible as the station changed owners.

One halberdier hesitated at the far stair, still looking to his captain for a command that never came.

"You yielded the station," Taren reminded the officer. "Tell him whether you intend to get him killed for a switch."

"Stand down," the commander rasped, and the halberdier set his weapon flat against the flags.

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the cracked embrasures, illuminating the brass control levers and signal drums of the secured ground station.

"Station secure, captain!" the sergeant reported, kicking the billhooks away from the kneeling prisoners.

"The enemy reserves are retreating toward the secondary culvert... give the order and we can hunt them down!"

"No," Taren replied immediately, sheathing his saber with a crisp, decisive click.

"Our mission is to hold this ground station and secure the first tracing position... not chase routed stragglers into the brush. If they return, we meet them from behind these walls."

"Leaving this platform unmanned invites their infiltrators to retake the signal mechanism while our backs are turned."

He stepped up to the mechanical signal lantern mounted upon the exterior parapet, checking the brass shutters.

The mechanism was undamaged, its oil reservoir filled and its three lenses aligned with the viaduct redoubt.

Taren pulled the primary lever three times in the agreed sequence, flashing three bright pulses of amber light across the gorge.

Across the valley, an answering silver flare rose from Hajin’s command redoubt, acknowledging the successful capture.

The flare reflected in the signal lens before fading behind the viaduct smoke, proof that the redoubt understood his code.

"Keep the shutters open?" the sergeant asked, his hand still resting on the lantern housing.

"One slit. Close the others until we need to signal again."

The scout obeyed, then checked the oil reservoir while Taren watched the captured exits instead of the retreating enemy.

"First tracing station secured and operational," Taren reported to his scouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Two positions remain before the summoner can complete the circuit."

A young scout walked over, looking through the embrasure at the swirling tempest that hovered over the central span.

"Do you think the summoner can really shatter an embodied god with this setup, captain?" the youth asked nervously.

"Hajin does not make promises he cannot fulfill," Taren replied, his face softening with genuine respect.

"He gave each of us an independent job... our duty is to hold this ground until he finishes his."

The scouts moved into position along the embrasures, setting their crossbows onto the ledges with practiced speed.

"Check the locking pins on those blast doors," he ordered the squad, turning back to the internal control levers.

"If the Incarnation tries to vent pressurized steam down this conduit, we need these valves sealed tight."

The youngest scout reached for the valve wheel, eager to prove useful after missing the duel in the trench.

"Stop there. Mark its current position before you touch anything."

He drew a chalk mark across the handle and the plaster beside it, leaving the original setting visible.

"If the line turns, I want proof of whose hand turned it, not a guess in the smoke."

The scout nodded and moved to the blast doors, treating the station as a job to hold rather than a trophy.

A cool gust of wind swept through the observation slits, carrying away the lingering smell of sweat and damp clay.

Above the captured fortification, the celestial broadcast interface glowed with an avalanche of admiring messages.

[ Seoul_Tactician: "Taren’s disciplined tactical mindset on full display! Refusing to abandon the station for cheap pursuit kills!" ]

[ StarlightScholar: "’Our mission is to hold this ground station, not chase routing stragglers into the brush!’ Pure veteran wisdom!" ]

[ IronVanguard: "Using the narrow dimensions of the trench against the commander’s long polearm... that was textbook tactical genius!" ]

[ HearthKeeper: "Hajin acknowledging the amber signal with his silver flare... the trust between these commanders is unbreakable!" ]

[ ShadowMage44: "First tracing station secured! The outer approach still has a restraint engine to break!" ]

Taren checked the perimeter guards one last time, keeping his hand resting comfortably on the pommel of his blade.

The first anchor was locked in mortal hands, and the foundation of their ultimate victory grew stronger by the hour.