CH412 Fortress Climax I

***

Alex spotted the sudden shift in the Fortress troops' movement—both through the flow of mana highlighted by his Spirit Sight and the aerial vision Senu fed into his mind.

But contrary to what the Fortress commander and sub-commanders expected…

Alex smiled.

"The Fortress's Gold-ranked commanders are entering the battlefield. Move as planned," Alex ordered through comms, his tone calm and unhurried.

With the Gold ranks finally revealing themselves, the expedition party no longer needed to hide their strength or move with such careful restraint.

Across the fortress grounds, the rampaging expedition force had whittled down a standing three-hundred-man defence unit into barely a hundred survivors. Their desperate situation had forced the fortress's four strongest warriors to finally take the field openly—both to restore morale and to crush the invaders.

But this was exactly what Alex had been waiting for.

Why had the expedition held back their true strength until now?

Yes, the earlier opponents had been weak and required little effort to dispatch. But that was only part of the reason.

The real reason? They had been on guard—waiting for the inevitable ambush from the fortress's Gold-ranked officers.

Those officers were the only individuals who posed any meaningful threat to Alex's core followers.

Now that the Gold ranks had revealed themselves—fully exposed to Senu's aerial vision—there was no longer any need for such caution.

---

Baron Leland descended from the command tower, armour gleaming with golden radiance. Without hesitation, he made a direct line for Alex, five Silver-ranked officers at his heels.

His chosen path cut straight through the section of battlefield dominated by Kavakan and Mogal.

He intended to kill one—or both—before reaching Alex.

Silvery-golden energy surged into the Baron's weapon as he closed in, the aura crackling with lethal intent.

Kavakan sensed the hostile surge instantly and turned around with intent to counter.

With the earlier power embargo lifted, he could finally unleash everything without holding back. Against a worthy opponent, no less.

[Call of the—]!

"He is mine!"

However, before Kavakan could fully release his power, another hulking figure thundered past him.

Mogal.

Unlike Kavakan, Mogal had been less entangled and had sensed Baron Leland the moment he moved. The barbarian launched himself into the path of the incoming Gold-ranked threat without hesitation.

The instant the Baron committed to his attack, Mogal pounced.

[Beast Totem]!

Mogal's body swelled with violent power as he unleashed everything. His aura shot upward—Late Intermediate rank surging to the very cusp of Elite.

A half-step Elite.

Equivalent to a 2-Star Gold rank by Verdantis standards.

Bam!

Baron Leland's fist collided with Mogal's, and the resulting shockwave blasted both men backward.

Mogal glanced down at his knuckles. A thin red line appeared… then blood welled up.

The barbarian—whose fists were his strongest weapons—was bleeding.

Baron Leland's strike had broken through the monstrously trained flesh of a Dravo pugilist. Such a thing had never happened to Mogal, not since he had attained mastery in his tribe's brutal fist arts.

But instead of fear or hesitation—

Mogal smiled.

"Finally! A worthy opponent!" he bellowed before charging again.

---

Baron Leland's expression tightened. Not only had his most powerful blow failed to kill this brute, but the enemy was holding him down.

He turned to order the Silver ranks to assist, only to discover they were already locked in combat.

Held down… by Kavakan.

[Call of the Wild]!

Like Mogal, Kavakan unleashed the full extent of his power, his aura rising explosively—just shy of Elite rank, but unmistakably radiating Gold-ranked combat strength.

With every swing of his axes, shockwaves burst outward, forcing ordinary soldiers back and preventing them from helping their Silver-ranked commanders. Against his bestial, unrestrained ferocity, the Silver ranks could only grit their teeth and endure.

Seeing this, Baron Leland realised grimly:

Unless he defeated Mogal quickly and helped his officers crush Kavakan, reaching the sorcerer would be impossible.

He could only hope his other sub-commanders were faring better.

---

Arvegil, meanwhile, refused to take even the slightest risk when facing Zora.

He gathered all remaining fortress archers and formed a mobile strike unit assigned solely to harass the Ice Mage.

He had no intention of killing her outright—not yet. His plan was far more methodical.

He would force her to waste mana, until she was drained dry and vulnerable.

Whenever Zora reached the crucial peak of casting a spell meant to support an expedition member, one of Arvegil's archers would appear from cover and loose an arrow straight at her.

Each time, she was forced to choose:

Abandon the spell… or tank the hit.

Most times, she chose the latter, letting the arrows crash against hastily formed ice or her mana-shield—losing large chunks of energy with every choice.

Arvegil smirked inwardly, certain it was only a matter of time before she broke.

Yet something about her behaviour troubled him.

Even while losing mana at an alarming rate, Zora stubbornly pushed on, continuing to cast, continuing to intervene… and every so often, she succeeded—unleashing a spell before an archer could interrupt her.

A strange, nagging sensation tugged at Arvegil's instincts.

Why does she fight like someone who doesn't fear exhaustion?

Arvegil's frown deepened.

Things were not progressing according to his expectations. He had assumed the Ice Mage would eventually abandon supporting her allies and instead turn her attention on the archers harassing her. That was the logical decision.

Yet Zora never once did that.

In fact, she never directly attacked any fortress soldier at all—only wide-range crowd-control spells that indirectly hindered the troops.

'Did she take a vow of pacifism?' Arvegil wondered with a scowl.

Little did he know Zora's restraint was anything but pacifism. She had simply calculated that it was the most efficient course of action.

Spending mana on archers who constantly relocated before she could retaliate was wasteful. Better to funnel all her mana into protecting and empowering her comrades—where every spell made a tangible difference.

Besides… every time an archer fired at her, they revealed their general location.

And the hunter assigned to eliminate them—along with their Gold-ranked commander—had finally arrived.

---

Click!

Click!

Click!

Arvegil blinked.

The number of arrows firing at Zora was decreasing.

He glanced toward one of the hidden archer spots and froze.

A body lay slumped, head cleanly severed. Even in death, the archer's expression was one of confusion—unable to comprehend how, or when, he died.

Click!

Another head flew. Another corpse slumped.

Click!

And another.

Finally, Arvegil caught a glimpse of the culprit.

A man moved languidly across the battlefield, utterly unfazed by the chaos around him, a long blade sheathed at his waist. He walked with the slow, deliberate confidence of one who believed the battlefield itself belonged to him.

Havel Landmas.

When Arvegil's gaze locked on him, the ronin paused… and slowly turned his head. Lightning seemed to crackle in the air as the two met eyes from across the courtyard.

Then Havel shifted his stance—one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sheathed katana.

He raised two fingers… and beckoned.

A silent command.

A duel.

A challenge Arvegil knew he was obligated to accept—if he intended to suppress the Ice Sorceress any further.

He could only hope his fellow sub-commanders were having better luck, particularly the two he had entrusted with assassinating the enemy's priestess.

But that hope died a swift death.

For there, in the distance, Franklin and Rodan knelt in defeat before the wolf-mounted priestess—multiple crossbow bolts protruding from their bodies.

***

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