A runner shouts from the wall, "Mana density is spiking! It's not just charging—it's stabilizing!"
Outside the city, mages scramble.
Dozens of tier 5 mages take their positions around the weapon, slotting glowing mana stones—crate after crate—into massive conduits. Each insertion makes the runes flare, then settle, greedily drawing power.
A nearby soldiers swallows. "That's… that's a lot of stones."
Another mutters under his breath, "Each attack costs a million low-grade mana stones. Gods above…"
On the command platform, Stegran watches the process, expression unreadable.
His fingers tighten slightly at his side.
A million per shot.
Even for the kingdom, that is ridiculous.
Stegran raises his hand.
"Fire."
The Heavenfall Cataclysm answers.
The rings lock.
The pillars align.
For half a heartbeat, the world goes silent.
Then—
The sky drops.
