Arthur woke with his body trembling. Cold sweat ran down his temples, his
chest heaving. In his sleep he had returned to Earth—not to a battlefield, but
to an office full of glowing screens. He saw systems locking one after another,
servers collapsing, colleagues' faces struck with panic. A single word flashed
again and again on the screens: ransomware. He was no longer sitting there, but
the shadow of it felt so real, making his heart pound. Everything was destroyed
not by blows from outside, but by a poison that crept in from within.
He lowered his head, drawing a deep breath. If Draxenhold's barrier could
not be broken with swords and spells, perhaps it could be undone the same way.
Not by force, but by poisoning it from inside. His mind raced, imagining rune
patterns working like parasites, clinging to the barrier's nodes, weakening
them little by little until Solaris' defenses collapsed.
The sun was only beginning to rise, the drums of war ready to thunder. Yet
no order came. Soldiers waited in confusion, murmuring to each other, wondering
why they were still standing beneath the towering walls.
Arthur summoned all generals and the mages of the Magic Tower to the command
tent. Torchlight flickered, weary faces reflected on the canvas walls. The air
was heavy, everyone tense, waiting to hear why their king held back the attack.
One impatient general finally spoke.
"Your Majesty, the troops are ready. If we delay any longer, their morale will
break."
Arthur's bloodshot eyes met his. "I know. Last night I tried to breach the
barrier with standard runes and failed. A frontal assault would cost us
thousands of lives. That is why I've gathered you—to find another way."
He raised a piece of parchment, faint runic lines drawn across it.
"This rune is not a hammer to smash walls. It works like poison. If it clings
to the barrier's nodes, it seeps in, weakens them, and twists their core
strength—until at last the barrier loses control."
The mages muttered among themselves, some frowning deeply. An old wizard's
voice trembled.
"Like a curse creeping through veins…"
Arthur nodded. "Yes. This rune is a curse upon Solaris' barrier. The
question is: how do we get it inside the city?"
"Magic arrows," a general proposed. "We shoot the runes into the wall."
"Impossible," a young mage cut him off. "The rune will burn before it
clings. Better to hide it in supplies—flour, wine, medicine. Solaris always
needs provisions."
A captain agreed. "Or disguise it as a seal on letters. They send messages
every day. No one would suspect parchment."
The tent buzzed. Some hopeful, others doubtful. Arthur let the debate rage
until he ended it with a low, steady voice.
"Whatever the path, today we will not break the wall. Today we plant poison
behind it."
Elsewhere, Veritas had fallen eerily quiet. Of the forty thousand Solaris
troops besieging it, only eight thousand remained. Twenty thousand had already
been sent to Draxenhold with Serath, another twelve thousand followed
yesterday. Behind the walls, the people dared whisper, "Solaris is no longer
eternal." The remaining soldiers hung their heads, as though they too knew the
news of Solaris' crushing losses at Draxenhold had spread through the land.
In Ironvale, the morning felt strange. No major assaults came, only
scattered clashes that quickly faded. King Barthol Van Stones stood on a
watchtower, brow furrowed.
"Why are they so quiet?" he murmured.
The captain beside him bowed. "Perhaps they reel from their losses at
Draxenhold."
Barthol shook his head, unease gnawing. Or perhaps they were preparing
something worse.
At Solaris' camp, Emperor Lucian sat rigid, his face shadowed with anger.
Generals formed a circle around him, voices colliding.
"We must crush Ironvale now!" barked a young general. "Fifty thousand
already surround them. If Sunstones fall, the world will know Solaris still
rules!"
An older general roared back. "And while we waste time there, Arthur will
breach Draxenhold! That city is the key. If it falls, the road to the capital
lies open!"
A scout knelt before Lucian, chest heaving from a hard ride.
"Your Majesty, report from Veritas. Of forty thousand troops, twenty thousand
already sent ahead with Serath, twelve thousand more yesterday. Only eight
thousand remain to hold the siege. The people whisper Solaris grows weak. If we
do not reinforce Draxenhold, this rumor will spread unchecked."
Drakemont stepped forward, voice cold.
"We still have fifty thousand at Ironvale. Pull thirty thousand to Draxenhold,
leave twenty thousand to hold the siege. Eight thousand are enough to pin
Veritas. Concentrate our strength at Draxenhold—do not let Arthur find a crack
in the barrier."
Silence swallowed the tent. All eyes turned to Lucian. His fist clenched,
then slowly he spoke.
"Very well. Thirty thousand from Ironvale march today. Veritas will be held
with scraps. Draxenhold becomes our bulwark. Arthur will break there—or Solaris
itself will fall."
Back at Arthur's camp, Valoria launched limited attacks—not to topple walls,
but to slip poison inside.
Shadow guards moved swiftly beneath the chaos. From the brush, they watched
Solaris' supply carts rumble toward the city. The guards slipped among the
wheels and cargo unseen. In silence, they pressed thin rune papers onto sacks
of flour and casks of wine, marks faint as scratches.
Not a single Solaris soldier realized poison now rode into the city with
their provisions. The wagons rolled on, unguarded suspicion.
In the command camp, a forged letter was sealed. It asked for a truce to
collect the dead. The wax bore a rune so subtle it looked like ordinary seal. A
messenger bird took flight toward Draxenhold.
On the field, Valorian soldiers pressed runes onto broken blades, cracked
shields, even wooden ladders. All deliberately left behind, hoping Solaris
would gather them and drag them inside.
By midday, trumpets sounded. From the walls, white banners rose. Solaris
agreed to a temporary ceasefire.
Arthur lifted his hand. "Halt the assault. Let them through."
Solaris moved out, retrieving corpses, hauling ladders, collecting weapons,
and leading the supply carts. They did not see the poison buried among them,
already inside their fortress.
That same evening, news spread. From the forest came the silver banners of
Silverwood. Ten thousand elves marched into Ironvale, greeted by cheers from
the weary Sunstones.
But scouts brought darker tidings to Arthur: thirty thousand Solaris troops
were on the move from Ironvale to Draxenhold. It was Lucian's gambit—to fortify
the keystone city.
Night fell. Campfires burned in Valoria's encampment. A weary officer
reported softly.
"Today, three hundred of ours fell. Solaris lost one hundred and twenty behind
their walls."
Arthur stared into the flames. His soldiers' faces glimmered in the
firelight—exhausted, bloodied, but unbroken. In his heart he prayed: may the
runes they planted today truly bite into Solaris' defenses from within.