Chapter 61: War Strategy

Up in the Void, Red watched the clock. He was playing a grand strategy game, and the turn timer was ticking down.

[ T-MINUS: 21 DAYS ] The Golden Army crossed the plains. Red watched their supply lines stretch. He saw the Troglodytes finishing the hidden trench networks in the outer swamp.

[ T-MINUS: 14 DAYS ] The Golden Army hit the Dead-Lands. The terrain grew hostile. Red watched the Omni-Web pulse as the heavy cavalry struggled through the deep mud. Sludge and the Mud-Skippers began burying clay pots filled with Crawler’s Kiss acid along the main chokepoints.

[ T-MINUS: 10 DAYS ] The smog from Bastion’s forges grew so thick it blotted out the sun over the eastern swamp. In the Golden Army’s camp, Aurelius looked up at the unnatural dark clouds gathering on the horizon, entirely unaware that the ’savages’ he was marching to conquer had industrialized.

Red sat on his throne of shadows.

The glowing mass of golden dots on his map had finally reached the true edge of the Spiral’s domain. The vanguard had stopped at the muddy banks of the Black River, the natural border of the deep swamp.

They were close enough now that Red didn’t just see dots on a map. Through the Omni-Web, he could hear the clanking of their armor. He could hear the neighing of their exhausted horses. He could hear the sharp, arrogant commands of the Paladins.

Aurelius had arrived at the front door.

Red pulled up the statistics of his own forces.

→ Troglodyte Heavy Infantry: Armed with Star-Iron armor-breakers.

→ Lizardman Pikemen: Armed with toxic Star-Iron spears.

→ Kobold Crossbowmen & Trappers:

Armed with armor-piercing bolts and acid pots.

→ Shell-Kin & Treants: Positioned as living barricades.

It was still 13,000 against 600. If this were an open field, Bastion would be crushed.

“But you’re not in a field, Golden Boy,” Red whispered, leaning forward and resting his chin on his steepled fingers. “Welcome to the jungle.”

He tapped the communication icon to his Inquisitor.

[ IRON-SCALE. ]

Down in the muddy trenches, Iron-Scale looked up at the dark, smog-choked sky. The Kobold’s yellow eyes gleamed in the gloom.

“We are in position, Lord. The traps are primed. The acid is bubbling.”

[ We only have a few days left, ] Red announced. [ They will soon arrive at the river. Do not engage the vanguard. Let them cross. Let them get their boots stuck in the mud. And the moment the main column is halfway across… ]

Red smiled.

[ …Break the dam. ]

The next day, at the Temple of the Spiral.

The Omni-Web sapling in the center of the cavern pulsed with a rapid, frantic blue light. The root network was vibrating violently, feeling the heavy, synchronized marching of thirteen thousand armored boots miles away.

Krug, Iron-Scale, Gorak

. Old-Shell, Moss-Eye, Razor-Fin, and Root-Father. The Council of Bastion stood in a circle around the Violet Flame, their faces illuminated by the shifting purple and blue light.

The pressure in the room dropped, and Red’s voice echoed directly from the shadows of the cavern.

[ THE GOLDEN KING IS AT THE GATES. ]

The Council straightened up.

[ Thirteen thousand Paladins, ] Red announced. [ They wear enchanted plate armor. They wield weapons of condensed sunlight. And they believe they are marching into a primitive mud-pit to slaughter savages. ]

Gorak growled. “Let them come. My hammer is hungry.”

[ No, Gorak, ] Red corrected instantly. [ You do not meet them in the open. You do not charge the vanguard. Sixteen thousand is a wall of steel. If you strike it head-on, you will break. ]

Red projected a holographic map through the Omni-Web tree, casting glowing blue topography across the temple walls.

[ We are fighting a war of attrition. The moment they step into the Black River, they are on a timer. Moss-Eye, Sludge—are the Crawler’s Kiss payloads in position? ]

“Yes, Lord!” Moss-Eye squeaked, pointing to the map. “Five hundred clay pots buried at the primary river crossings. We wait for them to wade into the deep mud, then the Kobold slingers shatter the pots from the trees.”

[ Good, ] Red approved. [ Razor-Fin. Your Grey-Fins will use the deep water. Do not fight them on the banks. Drag their heavy cavalry under. Water nullifies their light magic. Drown them in the dark. ]

“The swamp will drink their breath, Ka-Lam-Tee,” Razor-Fin hissed, bowing low.

[ Iron-Scale. You are the conductor today. ] Red instructed.. [ Use the Omni-Web’s vibrations to track their command structures. I want their supply wagons separated from their main force. Burn their rations. Poison their wells. If they reach the walls of Bastion, I want them starving, rusting, and exhausted. ]

Iron-Scale smiled, a razor-thin curve of malice. “They will beg the mud for mercy, Lord.”

[ Go. ] Red ordered. [ The Machine must turn. ]

The Council bowed and immediately dispersed.

Gorak ran out, shouting orders to his Troglodytes in a harsh, barking language. Iron-Scale vanished into the shadows, already coordinating his scouts. Moss-Eye scrambled toward the alchemy labs to secure the final batches of acid.

Within minutes, the temple was empty.

Except for two figures. Krug knelt by the Violet Flame, beginning his continuous prayer to fuel the forge-fires. And Root-Father stood motionless near the Omni-Web sapling.

The ancient Treant was the elder of the Plant-Kin, survivor of the Rotting Druid’s territory.

But as he listened to the war plans—acid that would melt the forest floor, fires that would burn the canopy to trap the humans, Star-Iron harvesting that was tearing up the earth—his wooden heart ached.

“Root-Father?” Krug asked without looking up from the flames. “The barricades need your vines. Why do you linger?”

The Treant’s branches creaked. He looked at the Violet Flame, then at the glowing blue roots of the Omni-Web tree.

“The Sun-Men bring fire,” Root-Father spoke, his voice like grinding timber. “The Spiral brings acid. The mud… the mud will die. The roots will scream.”

Krug stopped his prayer. He looked at the giant Treant.

“The mud will burn so that it may be remade stronger,” Krug said firmly, his Kobold eyes unblinking. “That is the way of the Spiral. We must weather the storm to see the dawn.”

Root-Father did not reply. He slowly turned his massive, moss-covered body and lumbered out of the temple.

That night, Root-Father left Bastion and disappeared.

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