Corvis Eralith
I had completely underestimated the scale of this battle. Fuck!
I would need to play this entirely differently. Wraiths? A whole platoon of Alacryan soldiers? Nico and Grey?! Playing it defensively wouldn't work; we needed to break the besiegers before they broke us.
Why in the name of Fate was Seris Vritra spending so many resources on this siege? No—what was Agrona's ultimate goal here? It didn't matter right now.
"Berna will stay here and defend the laboratory," I ordered, opting to place my Guardian Bear as the absolute last line of defence. "As for me, I will be at Xyrus Academy."
"Xyrus Academy?" Cynthia echoed.
"We do not understand your plan, Great Lord," Avier said. Once again, the room exchanged confused glances at hearing Director Goodsky's famous wyvern speak, let alone address me with such a reverent title.
"The Alacryans will invade through Tempus Warps," I explained rapidly. "From Xyrus Academy, I can access an ancient Djinn system to make this floating island a true, impregnable fortress."
It was far easier said than done, and I had no idea how much time it would take me. I risked being unable to join the frontline fights until everything was already over.
I slammed my finger down onto Mana Square on the map.
"After the initial assault of the Farrago of Fiachra, the heart of Xyrus will be our enemies' next primary target," I said, turning directly to Alea and the Twin Horns. "We need more people stationed there to defend the teleportation portal."
If the absolute worst came to pass and Xyrus City's portal fell, I could always order the Portal Frog Avier had hidden nearby to spit out my spare Djinnic archway. But prevention was far better than a desperate cure; Mana Square simply could not fall.
"I had managed to convince King Glayder to lend us a few more troops for the city garrison," Cynthia said tightly. "But he... didn't believe the threat was quite this severe."
Classic Blaine Glayder, I cursed in my head.
"Helen, we desperately need the Adventurer's Guild to help us hold Mana Square," I said.
Adventurers were exclusively mages, which wasn't a guaranteed trait for the normal city garrison—even in a place like Xyrus. To fight Alacryans, who possessed twenty times as many combat mages as Dicathen proportionally, we couldn't skimp on fielded troops.
"After we break the initial assault of this Farrago," Grandpa said, placing his hand over the southern Wind Ward, "I will lead whoever I can muster to reinforce Mana Square from the south."
"We can execute a similar pincer movement with the Bronzhers and Unravelers from the east," Elder Rahdeas added, pointing a thick finger at the Fire Ward.
It was a solid tactical plan. Now on to far more pressing matters: the Wraiths.
"That is not all," I warned the room, my voice dropping. "Seris Vritra has called for support from the Wraiths."
"Wraiths? What, are we expected to fight actual ghosts now?" Gideon asked, throwing his hands up.
"The Wraiths are the private assassination army of the Sovereigns," Cylrit clarified, a shadow crossing his face. "Equipped with technology unavailable even to Highbloods and most Scythes. If a full squadron of Wraiths is coming to Xyrus... I will spare you the terrifying stories told in Alacrya about the High Sovereign's super-soldiers."
I looked up at my perched flock, and finally at Chul, a daring plan already washing onto the shores of my mind thanks to the absolute clarity of the Trucewater.
"Chul," I said. "You are the only one here we can count on to face the Wraiths and survive."
My nephew nodded fiercely, his chaotic, fiery aura barely contained within his mortal vessel.
"Nabyun," a rooster perched on top of one of Gideon's tall iron closets suddenly crowed. It was Milo, the Asclepius tasked with guarding Zestier's Bough of the Movary. "I want to assist Chul."
"You are always far too eager to break your cover," I chastised Milo. "This is the first time I have even seen you in your Sambhogakaya form!"
And what a Sambhogakaya it was. Like every Asclepius (and every rooster) demanding to be respected, Milo looked more like a flamboyant, brightly coloured royal decoration than a bird, puffing up his fluffy feathers.
"What is going through your mind, Milo?" Soleil, who was also Milo's aunt, chirped sharply. "Wraiths are specialised Asura killers!"
"Which means they are the exact ones who helped Agrona Vritra take down Lord Mordain!" Ayden cried out from the opposite corner of the laboratory, flapping his powerful eagle wings.
"You don't know what you are talking about," Soleil hissed, raw trauma bleeding into her voice. "You have no idea. You were not there!"
"Is Ayden wrong, though?" Solleandro, the yellow canary, hopped onto the workbench, fixing a hard gaze on Soleil.
"He..." Soleil hesitated, visibly gulping—or doing whatever a robin might consider gulping.
"We, too, have a right to get our justice," Chantelle murmured from the rafters.
She was met with immediate, agitated support by the rest of the Asclepius Clan, who flapped their wings in furious agreement.
"Okay... you will all assist Chul against the Wraiths, then," I conceded. "But remember: only he may directly fight. The rest of you are strictly support."
Finally, there was the elephant in the room to address—even if it was an elephant only to me: Grey and Nico. The original novel's protagonist and his best friend, carrying their grudges from both their lives on Earth and Pax Coronata.
They wanted to get to Tessia, for a reason I couldn't even begin to fathom. She wasn't the potential vessel for the Legacy anymore; Cecilia was already successfully reincarnated in Alacrya, and Caera had retained her original, fragmented power. Why—why did they want my sister?
The worst thing was that I had absolutely no idea how powerful they could be in this timeline.
Agrona had possessed years to flawlessly nurture both of them into perfect weapons. I already knew from the novel that in just a handful of years, Nico had transformed from Elijah Knight—an unimpressive, bumbling student at Xyrus Academy—into a Scythe.
The weakest Scythe, certainly, but still a terrifying force.
But Nico was not the true problem. It was Grey. On his dystopian Earth, King Grey was considered the absolute apex of humanity, entirely unmatched in the art of the sword. I had the terrifying memories of a twelve-volume novel explicitly warning me of just how dangerous a fully weaponised, Agrona-controlled King Grey could be.
Alwyn was with Tessia, as were Albold and Ashton. Elder Camus had arrived to help as well, based on what I had heard from Grandpa in the aborted loops.
Soleil would obviously remain firmly by my sister's side, offering invaluable support and healing.
If they could just resist long enough for Fatima and me to lock down all teleportation breaking into Xyrus, I could instantly jump to their location using the Portal Frogs.
Yes. That would be the plan.
For the third time, I ended the war council with the only shout that mattered:
"Long live Dicathen!"
—
With Wind Surfing propelling me like a jet engine, I drifted on my wind magic atop Fiorwato's shaft, a green bullet speeding through the chaotic streets of the Magic Capital of the World.
Fatima, what do you need to connect with the Ontic Circuit of Xyrus? I asked the Djinn, as I fluidly cut through the invading Alacryan forces. My Article-empowered spells and cane-sword were the absolute bane of their bestowed magic.
'Where the institute you described to me as Xyrus Academy stands, there was once the mansion house of the island's Judge,' Fatima explained. 'The administrator at the direct orders of the Legal Body and the Grand Tribunal. That is your goal, Justiciar.'
I imagine I need to trigger a REset, then, I reasoned in my mind, though how to actually cause one in a place that was not a dungeon remained a total mystery right now.
The grand iron gates of Xyrus Academy—the pristine, highly decorated doors that traditionally welcomed Sapin's brightest youth—had been violently crushed inward.
A Lavatic Pachyderm and its Alacryan raiders had already breached the greatest school in Dicathen. I could hear the distant, terrifying trumpeting of the massive beast and the sharp clatter of clashing magic.
Xyrus Academy was supposed to be a safe haven.
Many of those who couldn't run all the way to Mana Square were sheltering on the school grounds, where professors and senior students could fight off the invasion while waiting for reinforcements.
But if it had already been breached—
Blood-curdling screams interrupted my thoughts. I pushed the wind currents carrying me even harder, blitzing into the school grounds in the blink of an eye.
"Cynthia!" I called, pressing the activation button on my nautilus-shaped Shell-Radio. "What is the situation at the academy?"
The soothing echo of the Truce-Waters resounded from my device before being replaced by the Director's tightly controlled voice:
"We are rallying as many people as possible in the main lecture hall," Cynthia replied over the din of battle. "As soon as everyone is gathered, we will depart for Mana Square."
The evacuation was going according to plan, then. I switched off the Shell-Radio just as one of those Lavatic Pachyderms, alongside its heavily armed strike team from the Farrago of Fiachra, came into view.
Half of an academy dormitory had already been crushed beneath the sheer weight of the mutant elephant.
I stomped down hard on the lower half of Fiorwato, angling the shaft upward to gain altitude. Mid-air, I triggered REmould and seamlessly shifted into Finn Warend, my somatic traits morphing into my dwarven identity.
From high above, dangerously close to the Lavatic Pachyderm, I noticed a group of young, terrified students trying desperately to fight off the Alacryans.
They were entirely without any chance of success; the invaders were cruelly enjoying playing with their prey.
Their fun was about to end.
I gripped Fiorwato tightly in my right hand and activated Massbinding. The runes of the Kain Clan of Titans flared violently across the backs of my hands, and I channelled raw mana into the elements: both the Quadra-Elemental and Re-Construction Greatrunes lighting up brightly along my lower spine.
Fiorwato forcefully drew upon earth and fire magic, the viridian blade transforming into a blazing, magical drill.
I then launched my weapon directly at the ground, Massbinding's gravity manipulation accelerating it faster than a sniper's bullet.
The incredible recoil of my attack pushed me violently backward, sending me soaring even higher into the smoke-filled sky. As I reached the apex and began to fall, I smirked.
I watched the colossal Lavatic Pachyderm collapse in one single, devastating hit, Fiorwato kicking up a blinding cloud of smoke from the pulverisation of its dense earth-magic coating.
I cushioned my rapid descent with a heavy burst of wind magic and snatched Fiorwato back from the crater.
With one singular, Balance-enhanced swing, I cleanly cut down the Strikers, Sentry, Shield, and Instiller of the Alacryan strike team before they even realised what had hit them.
"Are you all alright?!" I shouted through the settling dust, dropping REmould to instantly transform into the more Sapin-familiar guise of Leòn Leurenzian.
"Yes!" a boy shouted back. As the thick smoke cleared, I recognised the unmistakable maroon-haired Prince of Sapin, gripping a short blade in his hand with a World Lion cub growling at his side: Curtis Glayder and his bond, Grawder.
"Prince Curtis. W-what an honour," I said, playing the part.
Behind the Sapinese prince, a group of about a dozen first-year students sat huddled and injured, but the young Glayder boy had boldly stood his ground to defend them against the Alacryan veterans.
"Professor Glory!" Curtis shouted, completely ignoring me and dropping to his knees beside the injured professor the other students were trying to give first aid.
Vanesy Glory had seen much better days. She had clearly thrown herself between her students and the Alacryans, buying them just enough time for me to arrive.
"Stand back," I ordered, forcing my way smoothly through the panicked students.
"What are y—" Curtis—the arrogant brat—tried to physically block me, but I simply sidestepped him and knelt directly beside Glory.
She was badly injured, but Trucewater would instantly stop the bleeding and pull her far away from mortal danger. I conjured a highly concentrated Bubblespell rich with pure Trucewater and gently passed it directly over Vanesy Glory's deep wounds.
The professor immediately gasped, regaining consciousness. She dashed upright with wild eyes, her hand instinctively reaching for her side to grab a broadsword that was no longer there.
"Calm down," I instructed firmly. "Gather the students. Reach the main lecture hall with Prince Curtis and regroup with the Director."
Vanesy Glory blinked, noticing the brutally slain bodies of the pachyderm and the Alacryan squad, before her sharp eyes turned to me. Her gaze sparked as she finally recognised the protégé of her employer.
"Yes," Vanesy Glory said with impressive, seasoned calmness, forcing herself fully onto her feet. "Torch! Where are you?!"
I couldn't afford to waste any more time with them.
Every single second I spent lingering here was a second Xyrus City was left vulnerable to the Tempus Warp invasion.
I tossed Fiorwato back to the ground, stepping onto it, and sped away with Wind Surfing before anyone could even blink.
—
"Gideon, how is the situation back in the laboratory?" I asked over the Shell-Radio as I finally reached the core building of Xyrus Academy—its grand library, the largest human depository of magical knowledge on the continent.
"Your bear is a living wall, I swear," Gideon Bastius replied over the lulling channel. "The Ancient Mage and I are doing just fine."
"Feed her whatever spare iron, gold, silver, or copper you have if you see her magic reserves dropping," I commanded. "Over and out."
I turned a small swivel on the edge of the device and connected to a different frequency.
"Soleil, what about you and the Clan?" I asked, my eyes scanning the towering shelves of the Xyrus Academy library.
The building itself was far less architecturally impressive than I had expected, but what truly stood out was just how densely packed with ancient volumes it was. Now, during such a catastrophic emergency, it was eerie to see how quiet and peaceful it remained—if one managed to ignore the muffled, apocalyptic noises echoing from outside.
"I am with Lady Tessia," Soleil chirped back tensely. "Chul and the rest of the flock are... seeking bloody vengeance for what happened to the Asclepius."
I ran through a mental checklist. If the Clan took care of the Wraiths, and I successfully locked down the Tempus Warps that continued to flare across Xyrus, and if Cylrit managed to hold off Scythe Seris... then only King Grey and Nico Sever would remain to be dealt with.
I clicked the communication channel shut.
Fatima, I called mentally. I am inside the library. Do you feel anything?
'I do not, Justiciar,' Fatima replied plainly.
I turned around, walking briskly across the library floors. The distant, thunderous sounds of battle constantly called me to fight, but I had to stay focused.
Where do I find the damned Ontic Circuit of this entire island? I asked myself, frustration bubbling.
Then—I suddenly halted in my tracks.
Without hesitation, I conjured a cloaking Bubblespell around myself, perfectly nullifying my footsteps and aggressively bending the light so that I became entirely invisible.
Moving silently within my Bubblespell between the tall, shadowed shelves of piled books, I crept closer to a faint rustling noise I had caught just after turning off the Shell-Radio.
I walked down the aisle parallel to where the potential intruder was hiding. I flourished Fiorwato and kept the viridian blade raised, ready to thrust like a rapier as I carefully displaced a few thick books to peer through the gap.
Through my mana senses, however, I didn't detect any Alacryan signatures, nor any impressive magical aura whatsoever. Was it just a lost, terrified student?
Their mana core barely registered as a pale red.
Sliding the last book aside, I spotted a very familiar face from the novel. With curly green hair, thick round spectacles covering wide yellow eyes, and a face dusted with freckles, Emily Watsken—the future eccentric apprentice of Gideon Bastius—jumped in terror, her nerves clearly fried.
"W-who is there?!" she squeaked at the empty space. "Is that... the spirit of the library?"
I dropped my cloaking Bubblespell. A sudden, violent explosion from outside caused the poor girl to shiver violently in fear.
"Leòn Leurenzian," I said gently, introducing my current disguise. "What exactly do you mean by the spirit of the library?"
I didn't know why, but a strange thought had occurred to me.
Fatima, I called mentally. Is it possible that the lingering Djinnic souls still residing within the Ontic Circuit might have caused... occult phenomena?
'Considering what happened to the Grand Library of Mausoleia to reduce it to the Relictombs, and the sheer efficiency of your Hearth, Justiciar,' Fatima mused, 'I wouldn't exclude residual activities that the modern inhabitants of Focularsa might misinterpret as paranormal.'
"N-nothing, j-just a silly legend," Emily stuttered, flinching as another heavy barrage of spellfire rattled the stained-glass windows. "Y-you are a mage, right? Can I tag along with you, please?! Please! Please!"
"You don't even have to ask," I said calmly. "The Alacryans outside are being dealt with by the Chain of Solidarity. I will personally escort you to Director Goodsky and the other professors, but first, I really need to resolve this legend. Are there any specific sayings about this library's spirit?"
Emily was far too terrified to question my completely unhinged priorities in the middle of a siege. (And how could anyone blame her? A foreign god had just plunged her city into a warzone).
"Some students believe the spirit talks to you when you read the books about the Draconsecrate," Emily said, frantically biting her nails as she tried to avoid looking at the fractured windows. "Praising the Divine Dragon and its grand deeds. Or so people swear they hear!"
"Where are these books?" I demanded.
Emily hurriedly led me to the restricted theological section of the library, an area entirely dedicated to the Draconsecrate, Sapin's official state religion.
Fatima, what now? I asked the Ancient Mage resting inside the red Vaultlamp at my hip.
'Something is definitively here, Justiciar,' Fatima confirmed, her tone shifting. 'I feel... a deep, festering hatred not dissimilar to the agony I have felt echoing within the Grand Library for these last millennia.'
"Help me spread all these books across the tables!" I ordered Emily, not caring in the slightest how utterly crazy I sounded.
Emily, bless her patience—or rather, her desperate fear of being left alone in such a situation—frantically helped me gather the heavy tomes and lay them out across the large wooden tables usually reserved for senior scholars.
Once everything was laid out, with ancient books and religious scrolls snapped wide open, my eyes finally perceived something impossible. Dozens, hundreds, if not thousands of glowing aetheric threads—strikingly similar to the cosmic strings of Fate, but instead of being woven from a skein of golden wool, they appeared rigidly woven like a complex coil of modern electrical wires.
Fatima, what exactly are Ontic Circuits made of? I asked in awe.
'Monodimensional wires of pure aether, Justiciar. A revolutionary invention that made Pacificator-General Ji-Ae considered one of the greatest minds of the Folk of Calm Currents, despite her young age,' Fatima explained, the red Vaultlamp at my hip starting to shimmer violently in reaction as the Ontic Circuit truly woke up. 'I have successfully activated the Ontic Circuit, Justiciar. But my kin... they are not as cooperative or subdued as those resting in your Hearth. They will answer only to the Justiciar they have been waiting ages for. The one who was prophesied to save them.'
"I... I am so sorry," I whispered aloud, gently cradling the strange, glowing wires—the only tortured afterlife for so many Djinn who had barely escaped the total erasure of their souls by the ruthless hands of the Indrath Clan.
They, too, were Dicathians, Focularsan as they called my home continent. I had to do something for them.
'Do not be sorry, Justiciar,' Fatima said softly, her singular voice suddenly mixing with a thousand whispering echoes as she translated the raw, emotional meaning of the Ontic Circuit. 'It is not your fault you were born in this age of war and barbarism.'
"Help me. I desperately need your help to prevent another tragedy like the one that caused your extinction from striking again," I pleaded with the Ontic Circuit.
The Re-Construction Greatrune flared to life alongside REstringify, and dozens of brilliant golden strings of Fate erupted from my fingertips, reaching out and seamlessly fusing with the rigid aetheric wires of the circuit.
"I promise I will send you to the peaceful rest of the Truce-Waters once this is done."
'It is... it is...' Fatima hesitated, overwhelmed. 'I apologise, Justiciar. The crude dialect of Asuran you call Common Dicathian is a language that would butcher the profound meaning of my kin's gratitude. But they will help.'
"Perfect," I breathed, as the golden and purple strings completely melded together into a blinding network of light.
Instantly, my senses violently expanded, rocketing outward to perfectly encompass every single square inch of the floating island of Xyrus.
And I became Unity.
Alea Triscan
Since killing Nylith, I had felt a deep, lingering sense of emptiness. The monstrous woman who had brutally murdered my parents, orphaning me and a weeks-old Alwyn, had fallen like a fragile autumn leaf when Cylrit and I struck her and her Caduchil down.
Now, standing in the blood-soaked main plaza of a foreign city and fighting alongside humans and dwarves who bled no differently than any elf, I finally realised just how hollow that vengeance was.
Defending the ancient teleportation portal against stampeding hordes of mutant elephants—their incandescent fire-breath turning this cold winter morning into a blazing, apocalyptic inferno—I understood the true, terrifying stakes of this world.
These Alacryans. This was exactly what His Highness had been preparing for. Since when? How long had the young prince been secretly training for this absolute nightmare?
I launched a compressed Rosedagger at an incoming Alacryan soldier. They had started pouring from freshly torn portals, a relentless tide determined to seize Mana Square from our grasp.
It was brutally clear these were not just the mercenary Farrago of Fiachra that Luchen had warned us about. These were true, disciplined soldiers—troops hardened by endless wars on a scale Dicathen had not seen in years since the end of the Second War between Sapin and Elenoir.
My spinning knife-rose shattered an Alacryan's solid mana barrier, cleanly severing the vital veins in his neck exactly as Aya had taught me.
Realising I was the apex threat among the Dicathian defenders, dozens of enemy mages immediately swarmed me, dividing seamlessly into highly coordinated melee and ranged teams.
I gritted my teeth, tightening my grip on my Courtblade, and slashed open the leather pouch of rose petals at my waist. A sweeping mantle of blood-red flowers instantly became my shroud, rapidly forming fuchsia wings that struck out and defended like secondary limbs.
Lethal spellfire rained down upon me, a blinding cacophony of volatile mana mixing with the desperate war cries of the defenders.
Veteran Adventurers, rugged Unravelers, and ordinary city guards fought tooth and nail to hold the line.
I flared my petal wings, unleashing a shockwave of wind magic that violently repelled the Alacryan vanguard, briefly revealing a scene of wanton destruction unlike anything I had ever witnessed.
The pristine grandeur of Sapin's greatest plaza had been reduced to smoking rubble.
I furiously slashed my Courtblade. Fuchsia petals detached from my shroud, spiralling down the steel of my Courtblade to weaponise the explosive outburst of pure, white-core mana I fired at the enemy lines.
The razor-sharp crescent of mana and petals carved straight towards who I thought was an Alacryan Caster—though Cylrit's concise explanations had left me frustratingly blind to the true intricacies of his homeland's magic system, I still recognized the basics.
A hulking, heavily armoured mage leapt in front of my target. He raised a massive kite shield, proudly bearing the glowing insignia of some foreign noble bloodline.
The steel shield fractured into a hundred jagged pieces under my Lance-tier attack, but the spell beneath held firm. The Alacryans remained unharmed.
I clicked my tongue in sheer frustration. These invaders possessed arms and armour that vastly outclassed even the most legendary dwarven craftsmanship.
Their steel was impossibly light yet unbreakable; their iron resilient; their leather practically spell-proof.
Jagged icicles and crackling arcs of lightning converged on me from every direction, forcing me to snap my shroud of petal wings shut, folding them into a dense, shield-like cocoon.
Spell after spell battered my defences, each impact scattering scorched petals and leaving hundreds more shrivelled, their delicate edges blackened by the relentless barrage of Alacryan magic.
I could feel my mana reserves fluttering lower, yet I still possessed plenty of fighting spirit in me and I refused to remain trapped beneath their storm.
I flooded my legs with mana and sprang skyward, bursting from the heart of Mana Square in a sudden ascent, my tightly folded wings trailing a whirlwind of rose, lavender and tulip as I rocketed into the smoke-choked skies of Xyrus City.
Below, the Lavatic Pachyderm swung its monstrous head towards me, its trunk rearing as it prepared to strike. A torrent of fire erupted from its nose, a blazing lance that tore through the air in pursuit of my rising silhouette.
The concentrated beam struck a towering marble statue of an ancient Glayder king instead, obliterating centuries of sculpture in a single, deafening blast.
The monument shattered from crown to pedestal, its remains crashing into the square like a landslide of white wings torn from some fallen giant. Marble dust billowed through the streets, and the beast's frustrated bellow shook the rooftops as it searched the skies for its elusive prey.
I slipped between the currents of scorching air, banking sharply on a whisper of mana before spiralling above the beam's incandescent edge.
My wings unfurled in a delicate cascade, each petal shifting independently to catch the air, tilting and fluttering as I changed direction.
I darted through gaps that scarcely existed, dipped beneath streaks of fire, then climbed in a graceful arc before the next attack could find me. Every movement was a flicker of colour against the smoke, every turn an unpredictable sweep of painted wings.
The inferno raged around me, yet I never allowed it to touch me. I danced through the devastation like a butterfly drifting through a summer breeze, fragile in appearance, beautiful in motion, and maddeningly impossible to catch.
I dashed my eyes north, east, west, and south. By Winter! They were still pouring in! Where were our reinforcements?
"Triscan!" a gruff voice with a heavy Darvish accent bellowed over the roar of battle.
Olfred Warend—the dwarven Lance that His Highness had so effortlessly conquered with his sheer charisma—was calling for me.
A massive, rumbling regiment of earth golems flooded into Mana Square from a secondary alleyway still free of Alacryan troops. The dwarf took to the skies to reach my altitude, summoning a molten manta ray of magma to command the airspace and observe the chaotic battlefield below by my side.
"Where are the Bronzhers?" I asked urgently.
"Elder Rahdeas ordered me to reinforce your position, while the Bronzhers and the remaining militia defend the outer wards," the dwarf spat, his tone incredibly harsh. "There are too damn many of them. If the kid doesn't manage to pull off whatever miracle he is currently attempting, we will be entirely overwhelmed in a matter of minutes."
In the far distance—thankfully at the edges of the floating island—the loudest, most apocalyptic explosion I had ever heard in my life suddenly erupted, raising a towering, mushroom-shaped nova of hellfire into the stratosphere.
"That absolute beast of a Knight..." Olfred murmured, his dwarven eyes widening in shock. "They will sink this entire island if that fight continues."
"I might have an idea to buy us that precious time," I declared, staring down at the swarming Alacryan ranks below us. "If you order your massive golems to physically shield our soldiers, I can rain every last one of my petals down upon Mana Square in a devastating barrage of Rosedaggers."
"That just might work," Olfred grunted, his grip tightening on his weapon. "I will need to land, though. I have to sink all of my focus into the Stone Soldiers and the Stone Soldiers alone if you want this to succeed."
I nodded sharply. Olfred didn't waste a single second; he plummeted to the cracked cobblestones and instantly raised an impenetrable dome of dense earth around himself.
The Stone Soldiers, who had been merely obstructing the Alacryans, suddenly moved with terrifying, independent sentience, bodily forcing every Dicathian defender to take hard cover behind their rocky frames.
Now!
Every single fuchsia petal in my shroud transformed into a lethal Rosedagger. With a feral scream, I unleashed them in a torrential, inescapable downpour of deadly flowers.
And they spared nothing.
I poured the vast majority of my white-core mana directly into the swarm, creating thousands of explosive magical daggers that annihilated the remaining Alacryan siege engines and levelled the few ruined buildings still standing in the square.
Olfred played his part flawlessly.
His Stone Soldiers—empowered by his own monumental mana core in a perfect mirror to my offensive assault—formed an unbreakable phalanx against the apocalyptic onslaught from the sky.
The only ones left entirely defenceless were the Alacryans.
Their complex mana barriers, all unique and highly specialised, violently collapsed after absorbing one, or perhaps two, of my Rosedaggers. And when their defensive magics finally faltered, not even their vastly superior steel and shields were enough to save them from the slaughter.
I exhausted every single petal, leaving myself completely stripped of ammunition. But when the deafening roar of the explosions finally ceased and the smoke cleared, only a serene, blood-soaked field of fuchsia roses remained of Mana Square, with the tall, pristine archway of the Ancient Mages standing untouched in the very centre.
I landed heavily on the cobblestones, breathless and utterly spent. Never once in my entire career had I forcefully exhausted my white mana core in one single, devastating attack.
The Stone Soldiers cracked and crumbled to fine dust, freeing the stunned Dicathians they had been forcefully shielding.
"Did we... win?" an Adventurer asked, his sword trembling as he observed the utter devastation left of the enemy vanguard.
"There is still a whole damn city left to liberate!" Olfred Warend shouted. His magical exhaustion was clearly visible, yet far less daunting than my own. "And those Alacryans will continue to pour through the warps like a plague of locusts until Prince Corvis is done with his plan! Steel yourselves! Dicathen still needs you!"
A heavy silence fell over the exhausted soldiers of all races. But then one man raised his weapon. Then two. Then three.
Until the entire surviving garrison hoisted their bloodied steel into the air, screaming in one single, defiant, unified cry:
"For all Dicathians!"