Idelt saw the Draug break through the wood. The huge undead man punched through the wooden wall with his bare hands. He had torn away the flesh on his fists, exposing sinew and bone. But the Draug’s body was reinforced. And he had always been…

“Girel. Is that you?”

The monster didn’t respond. But only one man had ever been that huge in Qet. Girel, the giant fellow with a drop of Giant’s blood in his ancestry. Near seven feet tall; just a drop of the blood, but wide. With

[Lesser Toughness]; the ability to shrug off sparks from his skin.

Now—dead. Idelt’s blood chilled. He was exhausted. He had taken up spear-duties with his daughter on the walls this morning; being stationed here was meant for rest. His arm felt far more tired than when he swung a hammer for longer. The [Warriors] said that was the battle-excitement wearing off.

There were two dozen men and women at the gates. All reserves. Ser Dalimont with his broken arm in a cast and a sword in his other hand. Two fighters who’d broken bones in their legs falling off the walls.

One of Grishen’s wounded retainers.

Townsfolk, some who had never fought in a battle before. Idelt saw the monster that had been Girel fight through the broken wood. Other undead tried to follow it. The gates were only broken in one place.

They could stop it. But the undead were surging across the walls. Someone—the [Necromancer] had noticed the breach and was sending them forwards. Lord Lantal screamed from his point on the walls.

“Hold the line! Hold them back!”

The [Lord of the Fields] was fighting towards them. But too slow. Idelt saw the Draug charge forwards.

“Hold! With me! Take its legs down! [Blade of Gl—”

The monster swung an arm, and Ser Dalimont slashed desperately. The impact knocked the gilded

[Knight] across the street like a rag doll. Idelt raised his hammer.

“Girel! For the love of Afiele! Stop!”

He brought the hammer down with all of his strength. [Enhanced Strength] was his Skill. The blow had all of his strength and weight behind it. He saw Girel turn—the hammer swung at his head—

And the Draug blocked the blow. Idelt felt the tremendous impact; he saw Girel’s arm jerk and the arm and bones snap with the force. The Draug staggered back, arm broken. But it didn’t care.

The collision had torn the hammer from Idelt’s grip. He stared at his hand in shock; he was wearing his gloves and he never lost control of his hammer. But—his trembling fingers. He looked up, and the Draug raised its arms, roaring with spit and decayed breath. Idelt raise his arms—