Killian was ready when it happened.

The first explosion tore through the city like thunder, shaking the ground beneath his boots. Then came another—and another—until smoke began to rise in dark plumes across Solmere’s skyline. Screams followed. Cries of alarm echoed from the walls as fire licked upward through the haze.

He stood outside his command tent with the nobles and Mages, watching the chaos unfold. The enemy soldiers on the ramparts stumbled in confusion—some running, others shouting orders no one could hear over the noise. They didn’t know what had hit them.

Killian’s jaw tightened. That’s our opening.

He turned toward Duke Blackwood, who stood beside him. “Is everything ready?”

The older man gave a curt nod. “Leopold’s on it. He can be trouble, but he follows orders when it matters.” His gaze flicked toward the smoke curling over the walls. “Is the siege breaker ready?”

“Yes,” Killian said, his eyes glinting.

Duke Blackwood’s mouth curved into something between a grin and a grimace. “Then let’s see it in action.”

Killian raised his hand and shouted, “Let the siege breaker charge!”

The ground trembled.

At first, it was just a deep rumble, then the earth itself seemed to groan as something massive stirred beneath the camp. Shouts rose as soldiers stumbled back, tents collapsing in the wake of heavy movement. Then, with a burst of dust and steel, the siege breaker emerged.

Gasps rippled through the camp.

The golem—towering thrice the height of a man and broad as a gatehouse—pulled itself free from the reinforced tent that had hidden it. Plates of blackened metal glinted under the dim light, seals flickering to life along its arms and chest. It let out a mechanical, grinding roar—half mana surge, half beastly wail—that rolled through the field like thunder.

Killian flinched at the sound, hands going to his ears. Around him, several soldiers ducked instinctively, some dropping their spears as the shriek rattled through the valley.

From behind the golem’s shoulders, he saw Klan—the one controlling the breaker—standing with his arms stretched, threads of glowing mana crawling from his palms to the golem’s core.

The construct’s head jerked toward the city gates. Klan pointed forward.

The golem obeyed.

It turned its massive frame toward Solmere, seals pulsing brighter as its joints locked into place.

Then, with a sound like grinding mountains, it crouched, and leapt.

It landed several feet ahead of Killian, shaking the ground hard enough to throw dust into the air and knock a few nobles off their feet. The men stumbled, staring in awe as the machine raised its arms, light burning through its plated fists.

Golems didn’t normally make sounds other than their gears turning, but Balen had insisted on giving this one a voice. A deep, grinding roar that could shake the nerves out of even the most disciplined soldier. Killian had to admit, it worked.

On the walls, enemy soldiers stumbled back as the siege breaker rose higher, its seals flaring brighter with each step. The metallic screech rolled across the city, and archers lost their aim mid-draw, arrows clattering to the stone. Even from this distance, Killian could see fear spreading through their ranks.

Coupled with the chaos of the earlier explosions, Solmere was in no position to defend itself.

The siege breaker lumbered forward, each step thudding like the heartbeat of a god. It raised its plated arm, runes blazing, and marched toward the gate. A few desperate Mages on the wall flung spells—fireballs, lightning arcs, shards of ice—but the golem’s shriek tore through the air again, and the attacks fizzled against its armor, leaving only blackened smudges.

The golem charged straight at the city ward. But just before it collided, a voice boomed from the ramparts.

“You’re not breaking through that easy!”

One of the enemy Mages stood there, cloak whipping in the wind, both hands outstretched. Two spell structures flared in his palms. The ground beneath the golem cracked, caving in like sand, and the siege breaker stumbled forward. A second later, thick vines erupted from the earth, wrapping around its limbs, glowing faintly with green-gold light as they tried to pin the machine in place.

Killian’s eyes widened slightly. Despite the smoke, the chaos and fear, the man had managed to dual cast.

Duke Blackwood’s voice came beside him. “That’s Serat Vellin. Alparcan Third Circle Mage. He’s a very famous dual caster.”

Killian nodded, gaze fixed on the man. He already knew the name. He’d memorized every report before the campaign even began. The man used earth affinities and was known to experiment with hybrid spells that complement them.

Duke Blackwood’s eyes hardened. “If we take him out, the rest will break.”

Killian’s hand dropped to the hilt of his blade, the corners of his mouth curving in a grim smile. “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

Baron Casten Drel took a few steps forward. “He’s trying to press it down,” he said, voice tight. “He’s forcing the vines to grow tighter. What do we do if it breaks?”

Killian’s eyes stayed fixed on the field. “Don’t worry,” he said evenly. “No Third-Circle Mage can hold the siege breaker for long.”

Almost on cue, the massive golem let out another of its engineered roars—an unholy, metallic bellow that rolled across the battlefield. Its enormous limbs thrashed, shaking free chunks of dirt and stone as the thick, glowing vines strained to keep it contained. Cracks spidered through the bindings, the air humming with mana.

Then the vines snapped.

The golem surged upward, tearing itself out of the earth in a shower of dust and debris. More vines erupted from the ground in a desperate attempt to restrain it, but the siege breaker’s chest seals flared—brilliant white-blue—and lightning arced down its arms. The energy ripped outward in a violent discharge, frying the vines to black ash in seconds.

Killian grinned. “That’s more like it.”

No matter what spells the Mage on the wall threw down, it wouldn’t matter. The siege breaker lumbered forward again, unstoppable, until its glowing fist collided with the shimmering wall of the city’s ward.

The barrier flared to life instantly—an enormous dome of golden light surrounding Solmere, humming as mana surged through its structure. Each of the golem’s blows rippled across its surface, like stones cast into water. Arrows and spells poured down from the ramparts, exploding against the golem’s armor, but the machine didn’t falter.

Killian straightened, knowing it was time to act. “It’s time for the next phase,” he said, raising his voice. “Unleash the drones!”

From the rear encampment, a rising whine filled the air as four metallic orb-like drones lifted off the ground, glowing with the soft blue seals etched into their frames. They shot skyward, slicing through the smoke as they split apart in perfect formation—each heading for a different section of the ward.

Killian knew the enemy hadn’t expected the siege breaker, but the drones were another matter. Solmere’s defenders would know them from during the fief war. They’d know the threat they posed.

Sure enough, the reaction was instant.

The Mages on the walls shifted their focus upward from the siege breaker, raising spell structures. Archers dropped to one knee, drawing their bows toward the sky.

“Mages! Prepare to protect!” Killian shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

A heartbeat later, the air erupted.

Bolts of mana, bursts of flame, and streaks of lightning rained down on the drones. The sky itself lit up with color, a storm of spells hammering against the incoming machines as the real siege of Solmere began.

But the enemy’s counterattack didn’t go unanswered.

Killian’s Mages raised their hands in near-perfect unison, spell circles spinning into existence around them. Fire met ice, lightning clashed with wind—bursts of color and light collided midair, raining sparks across the field. Every barrage the enemy sent toward the drones was intercepted before it could land.

He spotted Ryn Vorr—standing ahead of the lines, robes snapping in the wind. A volley of boulders arced toward the drones, hurled by the enemy’s earth casters. Ryn lifted his hand, and half a dozen spears of condensed water shimmered into existence above him.

The spears shot forward, piercing through the boulders like arrows through sand. Shards of rock burst apart midair, scattering harmlessly before ever reaching their targets.

Each passing second brought the drones closer to the city’s ward, and the siege breaker’s relentless pounding began to pay off. The ward shuddered visibly now, flickering with every impact. Then, with one tremendous blow, Killian saw the first crack appear—a hairline fracture running through the golden barrier.

But victory was never that simple.

Atop the walls, Serat Vellin stepped forward, surrounded by a storm of mana. Killian recognized the spell instantly. His spell structures flared on both hands and sharp stones began to rise around him, floating in a precise orbit.

“Brace!” Killian shouted, even before the rocks flew.

Serat launched them like a storm of blades, hundreds of jagged projectiles slicing through the air toward the nearest drones. Killian’s Mages responded instantly, conjuring defensive barriers that shimmered before the drones in translucent arcs. The first wave of rocks slammed into the shields and shattered, but the next strike came differently.

From below the walls, vines burst upward again, glowing green with mana, twisting and coiling toward the machines.

One drone swerved hard, losing a propeller as a vine lashed across its side, sparks trailing behind it, but it managed to push free. The second wasn’t as lucky.

The vines caught it mid-turn, wrapping tight. The drone’s core flashed violently as it struggled to break loose, but the pressure only grew. With a sharp crack and a burst of blinding light, it exploded in midair, scattering burning metal across the battlements.

Killian gritted his teeth but didn’t flinch. One loss was acceptable.

He watched as the remaining three drones dove toward the wall, reaching their target.

The first impact was deafening.

Flames erupted outward as all three drones detonated in synchronized bursts, shaking the entire wall. The force rippled through the city like thunder, a chain of explosions following in their wake. Through the smoke and fire, Killian saw archers thrown from the parapets, Mages collapsing as the wards failed mid-chant.

For a few long seconds, the sky itself seemed to burn.

The siege breaker didn’t stop. It raised its arm again and slammed its glowing fist against the cracking barrier. This time, the ward didn’t flicker—it fractured!

Long fissures spread like lightning across the dome, its golden light faltering as the roar of collapsing magic filled the air.

Killian’s lips curved into a grim, satisfied smile. “It won’t hold much longer.”

He looked over the ranks—rows of men in armor, spears and swords steady, faces set—and then at Duke Blackwood. “I believe it’s time,” he said.

The Duke’s nod came hard. He turned, voice booming across the camp. “Men, gather into your formations! Mages behind them! Today we take Solmere and show our enemies we are the best army in the land. Do you understand?!”

A single roar answered him. Men clapped shields and stepped into place. Within a minute the camp tightened: pike blocks, shield walls, skirmishers at the flanks, and Mages grouped behind with spells ready. These troops came from different lords, but they moved as one—drilled, practiced, and ready. Killian watched them line up and felt the same cold calm he always felt before a fight.

“Remember—Mages hold the line from behind. Keep the gaps closed. Move fast when the gate falls,” he shouted.

They advanced. Dust and smoke swallowed their feet, but the path cleared with every step as the siege breaker hammered at the ward. The great machine’s fist vanished into the dome and then tore outward, jagged light splintering as the barrier gave. Cracks crawled across the ward like lightning.

“It did its job,” Duke Blackwood said, watching the dome fracture.

“Yes,” Killian answered. “Put it in the rear after this. We can’t risk losing it.”

They watched the golem push through the gap. With a grinding leap it landed before the wooden gate and swung. The gate exploded inward—timber ripped apart in a single, terrible blow—leaving a wide, smoking hole framed with shattered iron.

“Men! Charge!” Duke Blackwood screamed. “We take the city today!”

Spears rose. Horns blew. The formations surged forward as one living thing, shields locking, boots thudding in time. Killian led the charge with Duke Blackwood at his side. They poured through the breach, pushing into smoke and flame, the streets of Solmere opening before them like a wound.

In a siege, half the battle was getting in and they had already done it.

Killian could see it in the enemy’s faces as they stormed through the shattered gate—panic, confusion, the dawning realization that the city was lost. The defenders scrambled to hold the streets, Mages flinging desperate spells, but his own casters met them head-on. Fire burst against barriers, lightning tangled with counter-spells, and the ground itself trembled under the clash of mana.

A streak of light flashed toward him—lightning, fast and precise. Killian’s instincts kicked in. He drew his sword, its edge catching the glow of the storm above. Blue sparks danced along the blade as he wove his own lightning through it, shaping and channeling it like Lord Arzan had taught him. When the bolt hit, he turned the blade just right, absorbing the mana instead of letting it strike. The power thrummed through his body, his Mana heart swelling full—alive and burning.

Duke Blackwood gave him a sharp, approving nod as they crossed beneath the ruined archway where the siege breaker loomed, its massive frame still smoking from battle. Beyond it, the wall stairways rose, crowded with defenders trying to regroup.

“Up!” Killian barked, leading the charge.

They surged forward. A handful of enemy soldiers rushed down the steps, spears lowered, but Killian was faster. Lightning raced down his arm, his sword crackling as he slashed upward. A brilliant arc of blue energy shot from the blade, striking the soldiers mid-run. The shock hit them like a storm; they convulsed, weapons clattering from their hands before they toppled.

Killian didn’t slow. He cut through the next man, then kicked another back into his own ranks, clearing space for his troops to advance. Duke Blackwood was beside him, his blade already red, moving with the ease of a man who’d fought wars long before Killian was born.

Within moments, their forces swarmed the walls. Steel clashed, magic flared, and the defenders broke under the pressure. Arrows fell uselessly; the ward completely flickered out. The Count’s soldiers, stripped of their formation and their courage, looked lost—swinging wildly, shouting orders no one followed.

Just an hour ago, they must have thought they were safe—that this would be another long siege that dragged for weeks. But now the tables have turned.

Killian stood at the frontlines, lightning sparking around his blade as he carved through the chaos. He met the defenders head-on, cutting down anyone who dared step forward. His sword hummed with power, arcs of blue light running down its edge every time it swung. Metal hissed and cracked, and soldiers fell like wheat under a scythe.

Ever since reaching the third rank of Enforcer, his strength had soared. He hadn’t truly tested it since the plague lands, but now he could feel it in every movement. His muscles thrummed with energy, his mana pulsing in rhythm with his heart.

A soldier lunged; Killian pivoted, slicing across the man’s armor. Sparks burst out as the blade tore through steel. Another came at him from the flank, shouting something lost in the roar of battle—Killian turned, his strike faster than sight, the man collapsing before the words even left his tongue.

Bodies piled around him, insignias of Count Avallen’s troops glinting dull in the smoke. But mixed among them were others—their armor lighter, trimmed with silver-green etchings. Alparcan soldiers. They were faster, stronger than the average Lancephil soldier, but not strong enough to kill him.

One of them tried to strike from behind. Killian felt it before he saw it—his instincts flaring like a lightning flash. He ducked low; the blade sliced air just above his shoulder. He spun and drove his gauntleted fist into the man’s chest. The impact sent him sprawling across the stone slabs with a wet crack.

Killian turned to move again, then froze. A sudden, sharp pull locked his legs in place.

He looked down. Vines. Thick, green, thorned, wrapping around his boots and calves. They pulsed with faint mana, tightening with every heartbeat. The thorns dug into his flesh, and blood ran down into the dust.

He winced, lowering his stance as lightning flickered across his blade again. Then he looked up.

Ten paces away stood the Alparcan Mage Serat Vellin. Cloaked in earth-colored robes, eyes glowing faint green with mana, his expression hard as stone.

Their gazes met and Killian knew what he needed to do.

***

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