Her declaration slams into the defenders like a war drum.

Archers lift their bows again. Mages press their hands to the runes along the battlements, feeding mana into the city's wards. Even the uncertain among them straighten, their fear tempered into resolve.

Mhazul only watches her for a moment, expression unreadable. Then, a faint, amused breath escapes him.

"So be it," he says. His gauntleted hand rises slowly. "The choice was given. Now, I will take the city."

His hand falls.

The drums of the monster army thunder louder, and the ground begins to shake.

The enemy lines part.

From between the formations, the siege weapons roll forward—massive constructs of blackened steel and rune-carved timber, each mounted on colossal wheels wrapped in scaled monster hide. Even the veterans on the wall mutter curses under their breath.

But these aren't the usual boulder-throwers or crude rams.

Each towering frame carries a crystal sphere the size of a cart, cradled in an intricate cradle of glowing sigils. Elemental runes shimmer across the surface, shifting in color—red for fire, brown for earth, pale blue for wind, and deep azure for water—cycling faster as mana floods into them.

"They're feeding them mana stones," the mage captain mutters, eyes narrowing. "High-grade ones. The output… gods above, that's not siege firepower—that's destruction made manifest."

On Mhazul's order, the first weapon tilts its cradle upward. A surge of light pulses, followed by the deep hum of runes coming alive. Then, with a thunderous crack, the first elemental shot tears through the sky—a roaring sphere of flame wrapped in spiraling winds.

The moment it slams into the shimmering dome of Watervale's shield, the barrier quivers like a struck drum. The heat ripples across the sky, scattering droplets from the waterstorm coiled around the Clan Leader.

"Brace!" the mage on the wall shouts, his voice straining. "They're testing for weaknesses!"

Another boom—this time a sphere of compressed earth—strikes the shield, sending tremors through the ward pylons buried deep in the walls.

A younger soldier grips his spear tight. "The shield will hold, right?"

"It will," the older sergeant says, though his eyes don't leave the siege weapons. "If it doesn't…" He doesn't finish.

The third shot comes—pure water mana condensed into a crushing torrent, detonating on impact with enough force to make the barrier shimmer dangerously thin for a heartbeat.

Clan leader Kore's voice cuts sharply across the battlements.

"Ready the retaliatory batteries! Load the heavy ballistae! Mages—channel for arc fire!"

Gears grind, winches creak, and the clan's siege platforms turn outward, aiming their iron-banded bolts toward the advancing enemy. Mana cannons hum faintly as crystals glow within their housings.

But compared to the behemoth weapons of the monster army, Watervale's engines look almost fragile—fine tools of human craft, not the devastating war machines that roar before them.

The first volley smashes against the shimmering barrier in front of the enemy lines—an oval of pale crimson light held aloft by a towering, horned figure. The shield-bearers doesn't even flinch. Thier skill radiates like molten glass, absorbing every blow and bleeding the energy harmlessly into the ground.

"Tch… they're not even scratched," Kore mutters under her breath.

Far beyond the lines, Mhazul raises a single hand. "Enough stalling. Break their shell."

In the blink of an eye, four figures vanish from his side. The air ripples as they appear above the city's barrier—four Tier 6 commanders, each cloaked in killing intent thick enough to suffocate lesser men.

"Hit it hard," the first snarls, his blade a black arc as he strikes.

BOOM! The dome flares under the impact, runes screaming with strain.

But the Watervale Clan's own Tier 6s are already moving. From the heart of the city, pillars of water erupt skyward, parting to reveal four figures—each radiating enough power to warp the very air around them.

"You dare!" one of them bellows, a warhammer forming from solid ice in his grip.

And then—collision.

The first exchange is blinding. Steel meets steel, magic meets magic, and the skies above the city detonate in sound and light. The shockwaves alone send clouds tearing apart and blast the rain into steam.

One of Mhazul's commanders, wreathed in black fire, drives a flaming fist into the barrier while fending off a spear thrust aimed for his throat. His opponent—Watervale's fastest Tier 6—moves like lightning, each strike sending ripples through the air.

On the other side, a female commander cloaked in shadow draws a crescent of pure darkness, cleaving a water serpent in half. The serpent bursts into a storm of droplets that reform instantly into a coiling wave, slamming her back with crushing force.

The battlefield above the city becomes an apocalypse—blinding flashes, screaming winds, torrents of water turned to vapor by fire so hot it glows white. The air tastes of ozone and blood.

Below, the siege weapons keep hammering the barrier in perfect rhythm with each clash in the sky, trying to force a breach.

And somewhere in the center of it all, Mhazul watches calmly, as though the end of the world is simply the beginning of his plan.

From her vantage on the wall, Kore never lets her gaze drift far from him.

Mhazul stands there, still as a monolith in the storm, his hands folded behind his back, watching the battle above like a man surveying a chessboard.

She knows if he moves, it won't be to test the defenses—it'll be to end them.

Her grip tightens around her spear. Every instinct screams at her to retreat, to flee far from the suffocating aura that coils off him like smoke. Even from here, her skin prickles and her lungs feel heavy.

"That one…" she murmurs under her breath, "…isn't a man I should be near."

The old man beside her hears the tone but not the words. "Lady Kore?"

"Nothing," she says quickly, eyes still fixed on Mhazul.

Because the truth is, she's no fool. She's a high-level Tier 6—one of the strongest in Watervale—but against him? That strength would shatter in moments.

Still… she isn't defenseless.

Her mind flickers to the marks she carries—the bindings that hum faintly beneath her skin, invisible to the eye. A web of oaths and contracts carved into the very soul of her.

A shiver runs down her spine as Mhazul's head turns, just slightly—his gaze sweeping across the wall until it meets hers.

For a heartbeat, the sounds of battle fade beneath the pounding of her pulse. His expression doesn't change, but there's something in his eyes—recognition, or perhaps interest.

"Lady Kore," the commander says urgently, "another volley incoming!"

She forces herself to look away, raising her spear. "Keep firing! Don't let the barrier have even a single crack!"

The fight has raged for an hour now.

Every strike, every explosion, every clash of power has left the city's shield webbed with cracks that crawl like ice over glass.

The barrier groans under the strain. Lines of pale light split across its surface, each one spreading faster than the last. Mages on the walls are drenched in sweat, their faces pale, hands trembling as they keep pouring mana into the runes.

But they all know it—once the shield breaks, the real carnage will begin.

Kore's voice cuts through the chaos, clear and unyielding.

"Be ready, everyone! Defend this place with your life! Protect your families!"

Her declaration slams into the defenders like a war drum. Archers draw back their bows with renewed force. Pike-men plant their weapons against the stone, bracing themselves. Mages grit their teeth, their spells burning hotter. Even the greenest soldier on the wall swallows his fear and sets his jaw.

A deep rumble shakes the air—another volley.

The first elemental sphere, fire entwined with wind, screams down and slams into the barrier. The sky turns white-hot, heat slamming into every face on the wall.

Before the light fades, the second shot—a boulder of compressed earth—hits from another angle, the ground lurching under their feet.

"Hold! HOLD!" a captain roars.

Above, the Tier 6s are still locked in a storm of steel and magic—blinding arcs of light, shockwaves that tear the clouds apart, torrents of water hissing into vapor against searing flame. Every clash sends spiderweb fractures racing across the barrier below them.

One particularly brutal exchange—the two slamming their full power into each other—makes a section of the shield overhead shatter outward like brittle glass before the runes stitch it closed again. The sound of it, sharp and final, sends a shiver through every soldier's spine.

The inevitable happens.

With a sound like a mountain splitting in two, the barrier finally gives way—shards of pale light exploding outward before fading into the stormy air. For a heartbeat, the city stands frozen, the defenders staring in stunned silence at the gaping wound in their shield.

Mhazul's lips curl into a faint smile.

"Advance," he says—no louder than a calm breath, yet his voice cuts through the battlefield as if carried by the wind itself.

The monsters move.

From the breach, dozens of hulking humanoid figures surge forward—each at least twice the height of a man, their bodies armored in chitin and jagged bone. Eyes gleam in unnatural colors—crimson, gold, and sickly green—while weapons forged from the best blacksmith, thier rune-metal gleam under the rain.

The front rank doesn't charge blindly. They move with chilling coordination, shield-bearing brutes forming a wall while lean, long-limbed killers slip between them, their claws clicking in anticipation. Behind them, casters with warped staves lift their weapons to the sky, their guttural chants twisting the air.

"Archers!" Kore shouts, her voice sharp as steel. "Cut them down before they hit the wall!"

The first volley arcs high, raining down on the advancing tide. Several monsters crumple, arrows buried deep in their skulls—but others raise shields of black stone or simply catch the shafts mid-flight and snap them like twigs.

Then the real fight begins.