The Last Banner

Hadrian's mind raced as they approached the keep, the enormity of the situation weighing on him like a physical force. He couldn't afford to falter now—not with so many lives depending on him.

The streets of Thrace were deathly quiet, the kind of silence that came only after chaos. Hadrian stood amidst the wreckage of the orc assault, his sword sheathed but his mind still racing. Around him, his men moved with purpose, though exhaustion was etched into their faces. The acrid scent of blood and smoke lingered in the air, heavy and unshakable.

The crackle of distant fires was interrupted by the hurried footsteps of a scout, the sound sharp against the cobblestones. Hadrian turned toward the noise, his gaze narrowing as the figure stumbled into view.

The scout was young, his face pale and streaked with soot. His tunic was torn, revealing fresh wounds on his arms and chest. He reached Hadrian and fell to one knee, gasping for breath.

"Lord Hadrian," the scout rasped, his voice raw. "The keep—"

Hadrian's heart sank even as his expression remained neutral. "What about the keep?" he asked, his tone sharp but measured.

The scout swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "It's been breached, my lord. The orcs—they broke through the inner defenses. The Duke... he's trapped."

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt. Hadrian's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his chest tightening. "How many?" he asked, his voice quieter now, though it carried a dangerous edge.

"Hundreds," the scout replied, his eyes downcast. "They've taken the inner keep. The guards inside—they were overrun."

Murmurs rippled through the soldiers around Hadrian, their faces a mix of horror and anger. Even the seasoned veterans shifted uncomfortably, their exhaustion now mingled with unease.

Hadrian exhaled slowly, his mind racing. The keep. They're not just here to sack the city—they're here to destroy everything. If we lose the keep, we lose Thrace.

He drew himself up, his voice cutting through the rising fear. "This isn't the end. We've beaten them before, and we'll do it again. They've taken the keep, but they haven't won. Not while we still stand."

The murmurs of the soldiers grew louder, a ripple of uncertainty spreading through the ranks. Even the most seasoned fighters cast uneasy glances toward one another, the weight of the scout's words sinking in. The keep, the very heart of Thrace, was under siege, and the thought of their Duke trapped within it threatened to unravel their hard-won resolve.

Hadrian stepped forward, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "Enough."

The men turned to him, their gazes heavy with expectation. The air around them was charged, the moment teetering between despair and determination.

"They've taken the keep," Hadrian said, his tone calm but unyielding. "That much is true. But they haven't taken us. And as long as we stand, this city doesn't fall."

He gestured toward the smoldering ruins of the streets around them. "Look at what we've done here. Hundreds of orcs, monsters that thought they were unstoppable—gone. They thought they could crush us with their size, their strength. And yet, here we are."

The men straightened slightly, their grips tightening on their weapons.

Hadrian continued, his voice rising. "They think taking the keep means they've won. Let them think that. Let them believe we're too broken to fight back. And then we'll show them just how wrong they are."

He turned to his officers. "Gather every able-bodied man we have left—musketeers, spearmen, even the wounded who can still stand. We march for the keep. We take it back, or we die trying."

The men exchanged glances, their exhaustion replaced by a spark of renewed resolve. Commander Darius stepped forward, his grizzled face set in a grim expression. "You heard him," Darius barked. "Get moving. This isn't over until we say it is."

Hadrian turned back to his soldiers, his voice sharp but steady. "We're not just fighting for the keep. We're fighting for everything behind it—our families, our home, our future. We've beaten them once. We'll beat them again. Thrace stands."

A cheer rose from the ranks, ragged but determined. The men began to move with purpose, their earlier hesitation replaced by a shared sense of urgency.

The streets of Thrace were a patchwork of destruction and despair. Fires still burned in some corners, casting long shadows against the battered buildings. Civilians peeked out from shattered windows, their faces pale and hollow as they watched the soldiers march past. Others crouched in doorways, clutching makeshift weapons or comforting weeping children.

Hadrian led the column, his sword unsheathed and his gaze fixed forward. Behind him, the ragged remnants of Thrace's defenders marched in determined silence. Musketeers, spearmen, and even wounded men who had refused to stay behind followed his lead, their steps heavy but resolute.

Every so often, they passed the bodies of civilians—some burned, others hacked apart by crude weapons. The sights weighed heavily on Hadrian, each lifeless face a reminder of what was at stake. His jaw tightened as he pushed the thoughts away. Focus on the living. The dead can't be saved, but the living still need you.

As they turned a corner, a group of civilians emerged from a half-collapsed building. An older man with a bloodied headband held a rusted sword, his hands shaking as he approached. Behind him, a woman clutched a crying child to her chest, her face streaked with soot.

"My lord," the man said, his voice trembling. "The keep... is it true? Has it fallen?"

Hadrian stopped, meeting the man's frightened gaze. "It's been breached," he said honestly. "But we're taking it back."

The man nodded slowly, his grip tightening on the sword. "We'll fight, if we must. Just tell us where to stand."

Hadrian placed a hand on the man's shoulder briefly. "Your courage is enough. Stay here. Protect your family. We'll finish this."

The man hesitated, then stepped back, his expression a mix of relief and guilt. "Th-thank you, my lord."

Hadrian turned to his men, his voice rising. "Move out!"

Chapter 29

The soldiers marched on, their ranks swelling slightly as stragglers joined—guards who had been separated, wounded fighters who refused to give up. Hadrian counted every face as they moved. They were battered, broken, and bloodied, but they were his.

They're following me, he thought, his grip tightening on his sword. Because they believe I'll get them through this. I can't let them be wrong.

The keep's towering silhouette came into view, its once-imposing walls now fractured and darkened by soot. The main gate stood ajar, the heavy iron warped from the orcs' brutal assault. Hadrian could hear the distant clamor of fighting—the defenders who hadn't been overwhelmed were still holding on, buying time with their lives.

The towering gates of the keep loomed ahead, warped and shattered by the ferocity of the orc assault. The massive iron doors hung ajar, one leaning precariously against the stone walls, their surface streaked with soot and blood. Fires burned unchecked in the courtyard beyond, their flickering light casting jagged shadows that danced like specters.

Hadrian halted his men just outside the threshold, his sword sheathed but his grip firm on its hilt. Around him, the soldiers readied their weapons, their faces drawn and streaked with grime. The keep's walls were silent now, save for the distant clamor of fighting deeper within—a sound that promised the defenders inside were still resisting, but barely.

A scout approached, his face pale and his tunic soaked in sweat. "The orcs have fully breached, my lord," he said, his voice trembling. "The Duke is still inside... but there's no word of his guards."

Hadrian nodded curtly. The weight of the scout's words settled heavily on his shoulders, but he kept his expression calm. His men needed him steady. This isn't just the keep. This is Thrace's last stand.

Hadrian exhaled and opened his system interface. The glowing text unfurled before him, stark and unfeeling against the backdrop of the burning city. He scanned it quickly, taking in the changes from the relentless battles.

System Interface

Name: HadrianLevel: 21XP: 0 / 5,000Unused Stat Points: 30Attributes:

Strength: 15

Dexterity: 12

Constitution: 14

Command: 20

intelligence: 14

Charisma: 15

Mana: 10

New Ability Unlocked: Command AuraEffect: Allies within 30 meters gain increased morale and combat effectiveness.Spells:Orc Physicality (Level 1): Temporarily enhances physical strength and durability to rival orcs for 1 minute. Mana Cost: 10

Hadrian's eyes lingered on Orc Physicality. The name felt alien—wrong—but it was functional. He clenched his jaw as unease prickled at the edges of his thoughts. This is what the system chose to give me. A piece of what we're fighting against. I'll take it if I have to.

The unallocated stat points hovered at the edge of his vision like a silent accusation. He knew they could make him stronger, faster, better equipped for what lay ahead. But allocating them now, in the heat of battle, felt reckless. He dismissed the screen with a flicker of thought.

He turned to his men, their eyes heavy with exhaustion but lit with determination. He raised his voice, the tone cutting through the tense silence.

"This is it," he said. "We take back the keep, or Thrace falls. There's no middle ground here. No second chances."

The men stood straighter, their weapons held tightly in hands blistered from hours of battle.

"Spearmen, you'll hold the line at every choke point. If they're already inside, we force them back. Musketeers, stagger your volleys—every shot has to count. Once we're inside, stay close. The keep is ours, but only if we fight for it."

He pointed toward the warped gates. "The Duke is inside. The families we're fighting for are behind these walls. This isn't about surviving—it's about winning. Thrace stands because we stand."

A low murmur of agreement rippled through the ranks. The murmurs grew into words, and then into a cheer—a ragged, determined sound that carried through the courtyard.

Hadrian drew his sword, its blade catching the light of the nearby fires. He gestured toward the gate with it, his voice sharp. "Move!"

The soldiers surged forward, their steps heavy but purposeful as they charged toward the shattered gates. The roars of orcs grew louder, the fires burning brighter as they prepared to storm the keep.

The shattered gates of the keep loomed before Hadrian like the maw of a beast. Smoke billowed out from the ruined entryway, and the faint sound of orc laughter echoed within. The air was heavy with the scent of death—metallic, acrid, and clinging to the back of his throat.

He tightened his grip on his sword, his knuckles white beneath the blood and grime. His men stood behind him, their faces pale but set with grim determination. Every step they had taken to get here had been paid for in blood, and now they stood on the precipice of the unthinkable