Chapter 43: Stampede (Part 2)

“Evacuate, quickly! A stampede’s broken out!”

“Hurry—get to the church! Take shelter!”

…Something serious was happening.

When I first heard the noise outside, I thought it was just the usual bustle of the streets. But the moment I stepped out of my house, I was met with chaos—panic, shouting, people running in every direction. It didn’t take long to understand why.

A tide of monsters was surging toward the city like a living storm. The officials were out in force, their faces pale but resolute as they bellowed orders, waving their arms to guide civilians toward safety.

“You there—run! Don’t stand around, get moving!”

“Y-yes, sir!”

I nodded reflexively, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t just abandon my home.

After all, Milk was inside.

She looked like an ordinary white-furred cat at a glance, but in truth she was a Snow Panther—a magical beast. There was no way I could take her with me into the crowded evacuation routes without causing a scene.

And honestly…

“Well, I can always teleport straight to the Second Home Garden if things get dangerous.”

With that comforting thought, I decided to stay put.

Sena wasn’t home anyway—she was deep inside a dungeon expedition at the moment. Which meant it was just me and Milk here in the house.

“I wonder how big this stampede actually is…” I muttered, half to myself.

To get a better grasp of the situation, I climbed atop my Mega Golem’s head and turned my gaze toward the western gate.

By luck—or perhaps misfortune—our home stood fairly close to it.

“Hmm… the wall’s too tall. Not high enough from here.”

My golem stood about five meters tall, but the city’s outer wall rose closer to six. I couldn’t quite see over it.

So, I summoned another golem beside the first one, had it crouch down on all fours, and ordered my own golem to climb atop it—stacking them like a living tower.

“Whoa… that’s really high up…”

The height made my stomach tighten for a moment, but the view was worth it.

Over the wall, the land stretched into a haze of dust—and within that haze, I saw them.

“Ugh… that’s a lot of them.”

A cloud of dirt and smoke billowed across the plains as a mass of monsters thundered closer. Hundreds—no, possibly a full thousand of them.

And facing them, holding the line before the gate, were the domain soldiers—no more than two hundred in all.

“Oh, but they’re using mithril weapons,” I murmured.

Those shimmering blades and gleaming armors—I recognized them. They must have come from Shifa’s father’s workshop.

A moment later, the two sides collided.

“Uooooooh!”

“Guruaaaaah!”

The clash was deafening.

After their long march, the monsters’ formation had stretched thin and uneven, a ragged column charging in bursts. The soldiers, on the other hand, had arrayed themselves in a disciplined horizontal line, shields braced, weapons ready.

The first wave of monsters slammed into that wall of men—and were immediately cut down in a storm of steel and fire.

The opening engagement was decisively in favor of the soldiers.

Their advantage was clear—not only in formation, but in their equipment.

“As expected from a mithril sword—its sharpness is unreal!”

“Even thick-skinned beasts can’t shrug off a hit from this!”

The soldiers shouted in awe and excitement as their blades carved through hide and bone.

Their morale soared higher with each monster that fell.

“Graaah!”

“Guh—!”

“You alright!?”

“Ahh! That hurt—wait, no, it didn’t? It doesn’t hurt at all! I took claws to the gut and I don’t feel a thing!”

“Look, your armor’s barely scratched! Mithril really is something else!”

Their armor, too, was proving its worth.

Even the crushing blows of monster claws were deflected harmlessly.

“We can hold them! Keep fighting—for our city!”

“Now! Magic unit—fire!”

“Fireball!”

From the rear ranks, the adventurers—those forcibly conscripted for defense—watched the organized ranks of the soldiers with wide eyes.

“Were the domain soldiers always this strong?”

“No… I think it’s the gear. Look at them—every single one’s decked out in mithril weapons and armor. The lord must’ve bought it all for them recently.”

“Heh, guess it pays to have a rich dungeon-lord for a boss.”

Their role was to take down any monsters that broke through the main line—but so far, there hadn’t been a need.

At this rate, it almost looked like they wouldn’t have to fight at all.

“Think we’ll get through this without lifting a finger?”

“…No chance. The real battle starts now.”

And indeed, that adventurer was right.

The soldiers’ formation was beginning to waver.

As the rear monsters caught up, the enemy’s sheer numbers began to press down like a crushing tide.

Even mithril armor had its limits—it couldn’t block every blow. One by one, soldiers fell, wounded or exhausted.

“Gaaaah!”

“Fall back! Get treatment!”

Whenever someone went down, the man behind him would immediately step forward to fill the gap, while the injured were carried—or staggered—back to the rear for healing before returning to the line.

It was a strategy to keep the formation alive for as long as possible—something adventurers, who usually fought in small, uncoordinated parties, would rarely see.

“You’re gonna be fine—hold still, I’ll patch you up!”

“S-sorry…”

As the wounded soldier collapsed near the backline, a medic sprinted toward him, clutching a vial of recovery potion.

He examined the wound—a deep slash across the abdomen—and spoke in a quick, reassuring tone.

“This one’s the potion that’s been making waves among adventurers lately. It’s classified as a low-grade potion, but supposedly far more effective than it should be. The lord stocked up on tons of it for emergencies like this. Now… let’s see…”

The medic’s words trailed off as he took a closer look.

The wound was deep—bone-deep.

No ordinary potion could heal that. Even if it worked, it would take far too long.

Still, with a silent prayer to the gods, the medic uncorked the vial and dripped the shimmering liquid over the torn flesh.

Then—

“Wh—what…!?”

Before his very eyes, the torn muscle knit itself back together, smooth and unblemished.

A miracle.

The kind of healing only a high-grade potion could achieve—instant and complete.

“It’s healed…? That can’t be…”

“Hah! It doesn’t hurt anymore! I’m fine! I can fight again!”

The soldier sprang to his feet, shouting his gratitude before charging back into the fray.

And it wasn’t just him. All across the rear lines, the same phenomenon was unfolding.

Wounded men and women—no matter how badly hurt—were rising, whole and unscarred, returning to battle as though nothing had happened.

“…But these are supposed to be normal potions,” the medic whispered, disbelief shadowing his face.