Aranchar Mountain Range! Roimika Pass!
A natural corridor one kilometre wide cut through the towering peaks of the Aranchar Mountains, connecting the southern plains to the central territories of Encarta. Sheer cliff faces rose 3,300 meters on either side, their jagged profiles softened slightly by stubborn vegetation clinging to crevices. For millennia, this passage had served as both a trade route and a strategic chokepoint—a natural fortress relied upon for defence by humanity.
Spanning the entire width of the pass was Roimika Fort, its massive walls stretching from one mountain face to the other. The fortification rose 40 meters into the sky, constructed from granite blocks each weighing over a ton. The walls measured 20 meters thick at their base, tapering to 15 meters at the top—wide enough for ten men to walk abreast during patrol.
Behind these imposing defences lived the guardians of the pass: 2000 soldiers trained in the arts of siege defence, 40 cooks who maintained morale through hearty meals, 50 cleaning personnel who ensured hygienic conditions, and 60 mages whose powers provided the fort's most formidable protection.
Commander Michain stood atop the central watchtower, his keen eyes surveying the morning drill unfolding in the courtyard below. Archers lined the practice range, loosing volleys of arrows at targets set at varying distances. Infantry units—the monsters summoned by the Summoners—practised formation changes, their movements precise after years of daily repetition.
'They have become disciplined enough,' Michain thought with approval. 'It took three years since the previous Zerg invasion to regain our strength. I can only hope to maintain this peace and development for a few more years, at least until I retire.'
As lord of Roimika Fort, Michain bore the responsibility of keeping this vital passage secure. A three-circle Summoner with decades of experience, he understood the critical importance of their position.
Should Roimika fall, the agricultural lands of Greta City and the production factories of Rheumberg City would be annihilated, which would deal a devastating blow to the southern region.
Every month, supply caravans arrived from these sister cities—massive grain shipments from Greta's fertile fields and meticulously crafted weapons from Rheumberg's renowned forges. This symbiotic relationship had maintained the fort's readiness for generations, creating a defensive line that had never fallen to enemy forces.
The fort's mage complement consisted primarily of junior Summoners—54 young men and women who had mastered just one circle of their Innate and Acquired magics. They were supplemented by four Senior Mages who had achieved two-circle mastery, capable of maintaining two summons simultaneously or casting two spells at once.
Only Michain, with his three-circle mastery, stood above them in magical proficiency.
On the eastern observation tower, a slender woman with copper-red hair sat cross-legged, her eyes closed in concentration. Locra maintained the Wind Dome that surrounded Roimika Fort—an invisible barrier of air that detected any object passing through it. At twenty years old, she had already achieved three-circle mastery of this defensive technique, allowing her to maintain a dome that extended 200 meters in all directions from the fort walls.
Standing beside her, her twin brother Docra gazed across the southern plains, his expression bored after hours of uneventful watch. While physically identical to his sister save for cropped hair and more angular features, his magical specialities diverged significantly.
Where Locra excelled at detection magic, Docra's talents lay in offensive and evasive applications, particularly his four-circle spell of Wind Bullet.
"Another quiet day," Docra muttered, rolling his shoulders to relieve the stiffness. "Three years of watch duty, and we've seen nothing more threatening than the occasional stray Grunts."
Locra didn't respond verbally, but her brow furrowed slightly as she processed information through her Wind Dome. Something had changed in the air currents to the south—subtle disruptions consistent with large-scale movement.
Her eyes snapped open, pupils dilated with alarm. "I feel a movement,"
"It's not within the barrier, but there's been a disturbance in the wind flow. It's probably due to a group of Zergs."
Docra straightened immediately, all traces of boredom vanishing. "How many?"
"It's beyond my range to offer a number," Locra replied, her voice tight with concentration. "The air currents suggest a massive force, at least several kilometres wide. They're disrupting the natural wind patterns with their collective movement."
Without waiting for further explanation, Docra sprinted down the tower stairs. He crossed the courtyard in seconds, interrupting the training exercises as he raced toward the central watchtower where Commander Michain supervised the morning drills.
"Lord Commander!" Docra called, breathless as he reached the top of the stairs. "Locra reports massive movement from the south! Something big is coming!"
Michain turned sharply, his weathered face creasing with concern. "Define 'big,' Mage Docra."
"Unknown, sir. But Locra says the air disruption patterns suggest a force several kilometres wide."
Michain seized his spyglass and trained it on the southern horizon. For several moments, he saw nothing unusual in the hazy distance. Then, a dark line appeared at the edge of visibility, like a shadow creeping across the landscape.
Within minutes, that shadow resolved into distinct forms—thousands upon thousands of olive-green exoskeletons moving in perfect coordination. The Grunt vanguard of a massive Zerg swarm stretched across the entire visible horizon, advancing steadily toward Roimika Pass.
"Sound the alarm," Michain ordered, his voice calm despite the terror building in his chest. "All personnel…! Head to battle stations immediately!"
Horns blared throughout the fort, their urgent call transforming the routine drill into frantic preparation. Archers abandoned their practice to rush to the wall embrasures, donning armour and latching to their hips melee weapons.
The Summoner mages gathered in the central courtyard, forming circles as they prepared their summons.
"I count at least twenty thousand," Michain muttered, still observing through his spyglass. "Possibly more behind them."
Never in recent history had such a massive Zerg force advanced this far north, not while the Summoner Tower stood tall and soaked up most of the invading numbers.
"All mages! To your stations!" he commanded. "Junior Summoners, follow the drills. Be ready to undo your summoning to avoid losing your magic circles! Senior Summoners, lead the juniors to battle!"
He turned to Docra, who stood waiting for orders. "You need to get to Rheumberg immediately. We need reinforcements from all available Mage Towers. I'm afraid this isn't a random attack, but a full-scale invasion."
Docra nodded, his expression tense with understanding. "I can reach Rheumberg by nightfall if I push myself. I'll return with reinforcements by dawn."
"Go now," Michain ordered. "Every minute counts."
Docra sprinted back across the courtyard toward the eastern tower where his sister maintained watch. He would need her assistance to create a Wind Cloud that would carry him over the mountains to Rheumberg. Wind Cloud was a spell that created a cloudy platform to stand upon and be lifted into the sky.
It couldn't move on its own and required external propulsion, which Docra could manage with his Innate Spell of Jet Stream, a wind magic that created a powerful propulsion.
Just as he reached the base of the tower, however, the weather changed with unnatural suddenness. Dark clouds rolled in from the east, obscuring the sun and plunging the fort into premature twilight. Thunder rumbled ominously, and within seconds, heavy raindrops began pelting the stone courtyard.
The rainfall intensified rapidly, transforming into a torrential downpour that reduced visibility to mere meters. Water cascaded down the fort walls and formed instant streams in the courtyard.
"No!" Docra growled, frustration evident in his voice. "Not now!"
Wind magic relied heavily on air currents and atmospheric stability. While the rain itself didn't negate his abilities, it severely hampered them. The chaotic air currents created by the storm would make his Wind Cloud unpredictable and his Jet Stream inefficient. What would normally be a straightforward journey now became a potentially fatal endeavour.
Locra appeared at the tower entrance, her copper hair plastered to her face by the sudden deluge. "The timing is too convenient," she shouted over the storm. "This isn't natural weather!"
The realization struck them both simultaneously. This was no coincidental storm—it was a deliberate magical effect, timed perfectly to cut off their communication with neighbouring cities.
On the southern wall, Michain reached the same conclusion as he watched the Zerg swarm continue its advance, "I never expected them to be capable of an environmental change of such a scale. The rain's impeding their advance too."
"But," He watched the exoskeletons of the Grunts glisten as the water cascaded over them. "However, this rain delays information transfer and our means to request reinforcements."
"They came prepared," he whispered, horror dawning on his face.
Not only was Roimika Fort facing an unprecedented Zerg force, but that force was demonstrating a level of strategic planning never before seen in the swarm. They weren't just attacking, but were isolating their target and also cutting off potential reinforcements with targeted weather manipulation.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the advancing horde for a brief, terrifying moment. In that flash, Michain could see that the front line had already drawn close, tethering within range of arrows.
Twenty thousand Zergs against 2000 defenders. No possibility of reinforcement or evacuation. And if Roimika fell, both Greta and Rheumberg would be completely unprepared for what would come next.
"Defend!" Michain bellowed, his voice carrying across the fort amidst the storm. "For Encarta! For Humanity!"