Cain watched the battlefield unfold from his vantage point, eyes darting between each skirmish with a predator's clarity.
On the western front, Ragta still held his ground, unmoved and unflinching.
His younger brother tangled with the golemite — a clash of weapon and iron.
At first, it was nothing more than brutish hammer swings, wild arcs without rhythm or form.
But then, three exchanges in, the creature's iron arms began to mold, mirroring the shape of the hammer in the beastman's grip.
Another three, and its strikes grew sharper, more deliberate, a crude mimicry of the hammer arts.
Cain's brow furrowed.
'It's starting to learn...'
To the north, the lion and the rhino engaged their own opponent — a separate golemite of towering iron.
The lion moved like a tempest, switching stances with each breath — claws, fists, palms, fingers, chops.
Eighteen different forms in rapid succession — its movements were too erratic for the golemite to track, too chaotic to imitate.
But the rhino? That was different. Its strikes were direct, methodical, and the golemite's metallic frame thickened with each hit, its surface hardening as if to ward off the lion's unforgiving assault.
'A defensive instinct... The creature's core was protecting itself. Instinctively choosing which form to imitate for survival.'
The precision, the coordination — these were methods honed through blood and repetition, designed not just to dismantle, but to harvest.
Quality cores didn't come from blind slaughter; they came from understanding.
"These aren't first-timers."
In the distance, the ballista was finally set atop its tripod, its angle fixed and menacing. Cain's gaze lingered on it for a moment.
From here, it didn't seem to pose a threat, but instinct told him otherwise.
'The way it was angled, the way it gleamed with anticipation. It felt like a coiled viper waiting for its chance to strike me. I better create contingencies.'
Across the field, Midi and Dilim joined the fray, their presence less about dominance and more about refinement.
They chipped away at the golemite's body, each blow a lesson in dexterity.
On the eastern side, two wolves nipped and struck at another golemite, its iron arms rising with each blow — parrying, adjusting, learning.
Cain's watched their movements refine, growing sharper, more deliberate with every clash.
The natural learning curve of their kind — beings descended from the essence of an Old God.
In mere moments, they reached the skill of a warrior two years in training, the battlefield their forge, each strike a lesson carved into steel.
Cain's eyes darted across the battlefield, his mind a whir of calculation. Each clash, every exchange, he counted in silence.
'One. Two. Five. Twenty. One hundred...'
The golemite's movements grew sharper, more deliberate.
He could see it — the way its iron limbs mimicked the rhythms of combat, the subtle refinements in its form after every bout.
It was learning, evolving with each blow. His eyes narrowed.
'How many battles would it take for me to do the same?'
To understand the ebb and flow, the instinctual reactions that came only through repetition.
Perhaps he needed to throw himself into these kinds of clashes — to understand their tempo firsthand.
A thousand exchanges in — Cain's fingers danced along the trigger of his rifle in a steady, metronomic rhythm.
Each shot precise, measured, like the ticking of a clock. Sweat beaded under his helmet, despite its internal climate control.
He ignored it, forcing himself to focus.
There was too much going on — too many variables to track.
He couldn't afford to slip.
The golemite on the giant's side had progressed to the level of a fighter with four years of experience, its iron limbs now moving with intent and fluidity.
Meanwhile, the golemite on the beastmen's side had reached the equivalent of six years of training.
Their team already striking with primal qi — fists and claws weaving through martial stances that spoke of tradition and violence.
A sudden screech jarred him from his thoughts.
His gaze flicked to the left — the three rat beastmen, small and hunched, were squeaking frantically, their clawed hands slapping against the ballista's frame with wild abandon.
Cain squinted, confused for a split second, until they started pounding the ammunition box too, their high-pitched squeals almost desperate.
'They wanted enchantments.'
His finger hovered over the trigger.
'Was this a ploy? A setup to catch him in the crossfire?'
He hesitated, heart hammering in his chest. But instinct and calculation collided — less than a heartbeat later, the decision was made.
He channeled the enchantments through his rifle, the magic thrumming along its length before surging toward the ballista, binding with its mechanisms in a crackle of arcane energy.
Whatever happened next, he was committed.
Cain watched the beastmen work in perfect, primal rhythm.
The three rat beastmen scampered around the ballista as they started charging it with primal qi.
Wisps of energy coiled and danced along the weapon's frame, illuminating inscriptions that flared to life.
Then, the flame conjurer stepped forward, his hand igniting the mechanisms with a touch.
Rings of flame flickered into existence, spinning into place one after another, hovering in front of the ballista like spectral halos.
They wobbled at first, shimmering with unstable energy, but soon their alignment snapped into perfect symmetry — a targeting system made of pure fire.
The air grew heavy with tension, thickening as arcs of light spiraled brighter and brighter around the ballista.
The lion beastman moved first, a flick of his wrist sending a burst of wind that swept both wolves off their feet — swift, yet gentle as they were carried away from the battlefield like leaves in a storm.
With a resounding clap of his hands, a lotus of ethereal light bloomed across his back.
Meanwhile, the rhino beastman braced behind his towering shields, steel groaning under the weight.
Just as the golemite raised its massive arms for another blow, the ballista fired.
A piercing whistle tore through the battlefield — its spiral of flame slicing through the air like a fiery comet, aimed with deadly precision.
Boom!
The world erupted in fire and smoke, a detonation that split the air with concussive force.
Flames roared outward, curling into pillars of smoke and scattered debris.
Cain's visor dimmed to compensate, but even through the tint, he could see the ripple of devastation spreading across the field.