Toristine-Gallia border, Toth city.
One thousand meters out, the Gallian army — fifty thousand strong with ten thousand Scarlet Flame Tigers at its core — arrayed in a "V" formation.
Atop the walls, twenty thousand of Vallière's legion stood ready, backed by five thousand auxiliary local troops.
Duchess Karina led thirty Academy magicians beside Duke Vallière.
"Madam, the enemy looks disciplined, well-equipped — especially those Scarlet Flame Tigers, one of Gallia's four elite legions. That red scale armor on a thousand of them..."
"Indeed. Magical armor, likely enchanted with first-tier [Fireball]."
"Pity Gramont's thousand guards exhausted their charges in the Albion civil war. Recasting takes a year and a half."
"Don't worry, my lord. Enchanted armor may be a national treasure, but I, Karina of the Gale Winds, am no trifle."
"We rely on you, madam. Before they reach the walls, let's trade some magic."
"As you command."
Karina, in her bright blue cloak, led the thirty mages to the battlements, ringed by hundreds of shield-bearers against arrow harassment.
"Wind and fire elements — forward. [Fireball], [Wind Hammer]. Center on me, five hundred meters out — loose!"
Chants rose; ten fireballs and wind hammers streaked five hundred meters from the wall.
Karina chanted too.
"Hulie Wendy Wendy Jiao." — [Spiral Wind].
Five hundred meters off, fireballs and hammers collided mid-air. Flames swelled in the gale, a ten-meter radius of searing red blooming.
Just as the blaze's energy waned, Karina's one-meter-wide spiraling wind column lanced through its heart, drawing flames inward.
Only she could guide it at five hundred meters.
Lightning-swift, the [Spiral Wind] — gorged on dozens of fireballs and blades — became a fiery-red vortex of wind-fire-air, plunging into the Scarlet Flame Tigers' ranks.
Seven or eight unfortunates it pierced made no sound — blasted apart, bodies charred. On impact, it detonated; the inferno blasted outward, engulfing dozens nearby. Near ones vaporized instantly; farther burned writhing, screaming.
The Scarlet Flame Tigers erupted in uproar. None expected such a strike at a thousand meters.
Sixteen or seventeen severe-burn victims wailed on, faces melted to black-red horror.
Comrades watched in pity and dread — pity for fellows, terror of the distant mage.
Wails sapped morale. The commander scowled.
"Finish them."
Soldiers hesitated.
"Do it — you think they're savable?"
At his snap, they drew longswords, stabbed the strugglers dead.
Eyes on distant Toth, the commander knew he couldn't let such havoc stand — morale killer.
"Scarlet Flame Legion — advance!"
"Here!!" Enthusiastic roar.
A thousand red-scale elites massed before him.
"Target: Toth walls. Charge!"
"Yes!!"
Of the thousand, a hundred formed ten-by-ten square. Each fed a trickle of mana into armor, mind-controlling the triggered [Fireball].
"Thousand meters — loose!!"
"Fire!!"
Phalanx glowed red; a hundred head-sized fireballs erupted, arcing toward the walls.
Mid-air, they merged into six or seven giants — one to three meters wide. Red trails scarred the sky, slamming Toth across a kilometer.
Boom-boom-boom — explosions rocked; nearby troops staggered.
Lucky: armor-spawned, not mage-cast — power dispersed. Else, the one-meter-thick paulownia gate would've shattered.
Flash and roar buoyed Gallia; lost confidence surged. Cheers: "Oh!", "Powerful!", "Scarlet Flame might!"
Commander smirked.
Vallière's face darkened, stunned by the armor's volley.
Karina leaned to his ear: "My lord — [Tornado] next. After, no more magic today."
Vallière nodded.
Karina strode forward, to gate's head. [Float] lifted her skyward, hovering ten meters up, two hundred meters from walls — eight hundred from foe.
"Gruss Wendy Wendy Wendy Wendy Spar." — [Tornado].
Chant deliberate, slow. Winds gathered pre-finish, shrouding her. Air hundreds of meters churned; dust whirled up, contracting inward, dragging folk within.
Hundreds on walls felt rearward shove.
Enemy tents beyond tilted toward her; ground dust drifted to the eye.
The commander — Line-class noble — knew his lore.
No third-tier reached so far. Strategic fourth-tier.
"All forces — disperse! Typhoon prep!!"
Messengers galloped to four angled wings, relaying.
Chant done: ten-meter-high, two-meter-wide tornado engulfed Karina. It swelled, sucking air; she willed it forward slow.
Eight hundred, seven hundred, six hundred, five hundred meters.
Ten, twelve, fifteen, eighteen meters tall.
At five hundred meters, eighteen-meter dust-gray terror loomed, power heart-stopping.
Karina boosted [Float], rising fifty meters above — shoving the brink-of-control vortex foe-ward.
Sky-spanning, it swayed, plowed Gallian lines — hurling soldiers or pulping them in. Thousands of tents uprooted, shredded in the tube.
Troops clustered, speared weapons earthward, clung desperate against pull.
Natural disaster. Fourth-tier met only by fourth-tier.
No Square-class? Fall to one — lose thousands pre-contact. Foe might loose second, third.
Doctrine: post-shot, rush — deny second cast.
Ten minutes' ravage; tornado faded, collapsing air blasting survivors.
Post-cast, Karina reeled from sky to walls — fainted into Vallière's arms.
"Thanks, madam. Medics! Tend her!"
He passed wife to aides, eyed foe gravely.
Tornado-scattered Gallians regrouped. "V" dispersed blast — fewer dead: twelve hundred total, three hundred Scarlet Flame Tigers, two thousand Megans, seven thousand locals.
"Enemy Square loosed fourth-tier — spent. Press — all forces, assault!!"
"Yes!!" "Ooh-ooh!" "Forward!"
Tents gone to tornado, Gallia swarmed relentless — forty-five thousand dense black tide.
Vallière bellowed: "All hold! No city fall!"
"Hold walls!" "For Toristine, Queen!"
Twenty thousand Vallière's defended fierce.
Thirty mages? Advanced archers — long-range punch. Kixiu's group dropped ramparts, rear-supported hotspots.
Casualties mounted. Vallière-Red Flame elites: loyal, fell forward, rear filled. Axe broke? Grab foe's, hack on.
Vallière descended too — Triangle-class, backed Kixiu-students magically. Occasionally ordered five thousand locals as firebrigade to wall gaps.
Afternoon bloodbath; sun half-set, dusk gloomed — Gallia withdrew.
Exhausted defenders lacked pursuit.
Day one: Gallia lost three thousand Scarlet Flame Tigers, five thousand Megans, twelve thousand locals. Toristine: eight thousand Vallière's, two thousand locals. Defender-magic edge — Karina thirty percent kills.
Vallière fretted. Current strength? No repel-confidence. One-to-one parity? Karina disrupts, sortie — better ratio.
When untenable, mages withdraw.
Gallian commander: Toristine rabble gives this? Tough nut. Saved thousand fireballs for armor — may burn all.