Chapter 125: A warning.
The northern border of the Kingdom of Traona had always been a quiet place to die.
Not violently. Not in battle. But slowly, through boredom and cold and the creeping certainty that nothing of consequence would ever happen here.
The border garrison at Fort Everguard was the largest military installation in Traona’s northern territories, a sprawling complex of grey stone walls and iron-reinforced towers that had been built four generations ago to keep the Nexus Empire from marching south. It housed three thousand soldiers at full capacity, though it had not been at full capacity in over a decade.
At the moment, it held roughly eighteen hundred men.
Most of them were asleep.
Captain Aldus Thorne was not.
He stood on the northern watchtower, his hands wrapped around a tin mug of cold tea, staring out at the flatlands that stretched endlessly toward the Empire’s border. The dawn had not yet broken, and the horizon was a thin line of grey separating black earth from a blacker sky.
It was the kind of morning that made a man reconsider every decision that had led him to a military career.
He had been stationed at Fort Everguard for six years. Six years of watching supply wagons arrive late, writing reports that no one in Throneguard read, and training soldiers who were more interested in their next leave than in the theoretical possibility that the Nexus Empire might one day decide to stop being theoretical.
The cold war between Traona and the Nexus Empire had lasted so long that it had stopped feeling like a war at all. It felt like the weather. Something permanent and unpleasant that everyone had simply learned to live with.
Thorne took a sip of his tea. It was bitter and lukewarm, which he considered a fair summary of his career.
The first sign that something was wrong came at exactly a quarter past five.
It was not a sound. It was a light.
A faint, golden glow appeared on the horizon, so subtle that Thorne might have mistaken it for the first breath of sunrise if it were not coming from the wrong direction.
He lowered his mug and squinted.
The glow intensified. Not gradually, the way dawn breaks, but all at once, as though someone had lit a fire the size of a city block on the flatlands and pointed it directly at Fort Everguard.
"What in the..."
He grabbed the telescope mounted on the tower’s railing and pressed his eye to the lens.
What he saw made his blood go cold.
An army.
Not a patrol. Not a scouting party. Not the occasional handful of imperial scouts that crossed the border every few months and scurried back the moment they were spotted.
An army.
Thousands of soldiers marched across the flatlands in disciplined columns that stretched so far back Thorne could not see where they ended. Their formations were tight, their armor gleaming in the light of what he now realized were artifacts. Dozens of them, floating above the marching columns like miniature suns, each one radiating a golden aura that illuminated the landscape for hundreds of meters in every direction.
At the center of the formation, towering above the ranks of infantry and cavalry, was a siege column. Massive war machines built from blackened iron and inscribed with runes that pulsed with mana. They moved on reinforced wheels pulled by creatures that Thorne could not identify at this distance but that were far too large to be horses.
And at the very front of it all, ahead of the infantry, ahead of the cavalry, ahead of even the outriders who normally led a marching army, there was a single figure on horseback.
The figure was not wearing the standard grey plate of the Nexus Empire’s regular forces. His armor was black, trimmed in silver, and etched with patterns that caught the light of the artifacts above in a way that made them look alive. A heavy cloak of deep crimson hung from his shoulders, its edge trailing in the wind behind him like a banner of blood.
He rode slowly. Deliberately. As though the entire army at his back existed solely to provide context for his arrival.
Thorne lowered the telescope.
His hands were shaking.
"Sound the alarm," he said.
The soldier beside him did not move. The young man was staring at the horizon with the blank, paralyzed expression of someone whose brain had decided that processing what it was seeing was not worth the effort.
"Sound the alarm!" Thorne shouted.
The soldier flinched, stumbled backward, and then scrambled for the alarm bell mounted on the tower wall. The clanging that followed was sharp and desperate, cutting through the silence of the sleeping garrison like a knife through paper.
Within minutes, Fort Everguard erupted into controlled chaos.
Soldiers poured from barracks in various states of dress, grabbing weapons and armor as they ran to their assigned positions. Officers barked orders from the courtyard. The gate commanders began sealing the main entrance, the massive iron doors groaning as they swung shut.
But even as the garrison mobilized, even as every man and woman inside the fort prepared for what appeared to be the thing they had spent their entire careers training for, a single truth settled over all of them like a shroud.
They were not enough.
Eighteen hundred soldiers against an army that, by Thorne’s rough estimate, numbered no fewer than five thousand, and that was only what he could see. The columns extended beyond the range of his telescope, which meant the actual number could be double that. Or more.
He turned to his second-in-command, a grizzled lieutenant named Bram who had seen enough false alarms in his career to remain calm during a real one.
"Send a rider to Throneguard. Fastest horse we have. I want the King to know what is happening here before breakfast."
Bram nodded and disappeared down the tower stairs.
Thorne turned back to the horizon.
The army had stopped.
All of it. The entire formation had come to a halt roughly half a mile from the fort’s northern wall. Close enough to see in detail. Far enough to be out of arrow range.
The single figure at the front dismounted.
Even from this distance, Thorne could tell the man was tall. Not the kind of tall that came from good nutrition and a lucky bloodline. The kind of tall that came from a body that had been trained, honed, and refined into something that existed primarily as a weapon.
The man stood beside his horse and looked up at Fort Everguard with an expression that Thorne could not read at this distance but that he imagined was something close to boredom.
Then the figure raised his hand.
Behind him, the golden artifacts that had been floating above the columns began to move. They drifted forward, gliding through the air with a deliberate slowness that felt performative. One by one, they arranged themselves in a line directly between the army and the fort, hovering at a height of roughly fifty feet.
There were twelve of them.
Twelve golden artifacts, each one the size of a man’s torso, each one radiating enough mana that even the non-mage soldiers on the wall could feel the pressure in their chests.
The figure at the front dropped his hand.
The artifacts fired.
Not at the fort. Not at the soldiers. Not at anything that would constitute an act of war.
They fired at the ground.
Twelve beams of concentrated golden light struck the earth between the army and Fort Everguard in a perfectly spaced line. The impact was instantaneous. The ground erupted in a wave of displaced stone and dirt, the detonation throwing up a wall of dust and debris that rose thirty feet into the air before settling into a cloud that obscured the entire northern approach.
When the dust cleared, there was a trench.
A perfectly straight, perfectly uniform trench that ran the entire width of the approach, roughly two hundred meters from end to end, twenty feet deep, and wide enough that no cavalry charge could cross it without siege equipment.
One volley. One command. Twelve artifacts.
And the entire northern approach to Fort Everguard had been rendered impassable.
Thorne stared at the trench.
Beside him, a young officer whose name he could not remember at the moment whispered what every man on the wall was thinking.
"Those are First-Grade Artifacts."
Thorne said nothing.
He did not need to. First-Grade Artifacts were not a rumor or a legend. They were the reason the Nexus Empire had dominated the continent for three centuries. Every military officer in Traona was taught about them during basic training, and every single one of them prayed they would never see them in person.
A single First-Grade Artifact was worth more than Fort Everguard’s entire annual budget. It could level a city block with a single discharge and required a wielder above Level 250 to even activate.
There were twelve of them hovering in the air like golden lanterns. And Thorne had no doubt there were more inside the supply wagons.
The figure at the front of the army mounted his horse again and rode forward. Alone. He crossed the space between his army and the newly carved trench and stopped at its edge, his crimson cloak settling around him as the horse came to a rest.
Then he spoke.
His voice should not have carried that far. The distance between the trench and the fort wall was still several hundred meters. But it carried. Not because of volume, but because of something else entirely. A resonance. A weight. As though the words themselves were being carried on the mana in the air.
"I am General Marcus Harken, Commander of the Nexus Empire’s Northern Expeditionary Force, appointed by the Imperial Throne to oversee the reclamation of the southeastern provinces."
His voice was calm. Unhurried. The voice of a man who had never needed to shout because the world had always been quiet enough to listen.
"I am not here to negotiate with soldiers. I am not here to lay siege to a border fort that my artifacts could reduce to rubble before your breakfast cools."
He paused, and even from this distance, Thorne could see the man’s head turn slightly, scanning the wall, counting the defenders, calculating the resistance he would face if he chose to advance.
"I am here to deliver a message. To King Desmond Altair the Third of Traona, and to whatever creature calls itself the Shadow of Victims."
Another pause.
"The Nexus Empire hereby declares its lawful right to reclaim all territory within the southeastern provinces of this kingdom, including the region known as the Jaun Land and the dungeon designated as the Nameless Dungeon."
He reached into his cloak and produced a scroll. He held it up, though no one on the wall could read it from this distance.
"This is the formal declaration of reclamation, bearing the seal of Emperor Corvinus the Fourth. It has been filed with the Continental Arbitration Council and recognized by three of the five sitting members."
He lowered the scroll.
"I have also prepared a secondary communication. This one is addressed specifically to the entity that has declared sovereignty over the Jaun Land."
His voice dropped, and somehow, impossibly, it became even clearer.
"To the Shadow of Victims. Surrender the dungeon. Disband your forces. Release whatever claim you believe you hold over the Jaun Land. Do this within fourteen days, and the Empire will withdraw without further hostilities. Your subordinates will be granted safe passage out of the region. Your territory will be absorbed peacefully."
He paused again.
"Refuse, and the full strength of the Northern Expeditionary Force will be deployed. Not as a siege. Not as a campaign. As an extermination."
The word hung in the morning air like poison.
"This is not a request. This is not a negotiation. This is a courtesy extended once, and once only."
He turned his horse and began riding back toward the army.
Then he stopped.
He looked over his shoulder, directly at the fort, and added one final sentence.
"You have fourteen days. I suggest you use them wisely."
General Marcus Harken rode back to the front of his army without hurry. His crimson cloak caught the wind as the golden artifacts above slowly dimmed their light, settling back into a low, humming glow that turned the army beneath them into a sea of shadows and iron.
The twelve beams had carved their message into the earth more clearly than any scroll ever could.
We are here. We are ready. And we are not afraid of you.