Moroz Magic Tower (1)
As if echoing the opening line of some novel I'd read long ago in a past life.
When the blaze of light faded, what appeared was a snowy wasteland.
A bone-chilling cold seeped through my leather boots. This was no illusion—it was real snowfields.
The Moroz Magic Tower stood tall and solitary amid the blanket of white.
"Welcome."
Her voice was soft yet resonant, burrowing deep into my ears despite its calm tone.
Standing before me was a woman I presumed to be Lusanya Stuzar.
Long, flowing white hair framed eyes tinged with blue and a languid expression. A white cape robe fluttered from her shoulders, adorned midway with a snowflake brooch. She blended perfectly into the surrounding landscape.
"You're the commander?"
"Yes."
Hm? Lusanya—now confirmed—stared at me blankly.
A brief silence stretched between us.
"What's the Wave intel?"
"Two hundred Reflector Golems."
Reflector Golems, huh. The name alone suggested golems with passive magic reflection... but more importantly.
The commander of the Moroz Magic Tower was terse.
She answered questions directly, then just stared with emotionless blankness.
"Why'd you summon me?"
"Reflector Golems are made from a special platinum alloy. They reflect magic or nullify it entirely."
Wouldn't most people mention that upfront...?
"Anything else to relay?"
"Yes. The combat mages we can spare, their firepower, key spells. Wall durability and strategies from past Waves too."
...Is she an AI?
Whatever. She answered faithfully, so for now.
"Defense plan?"
"All hands on defense."
Upside: she never questioned skipped steps in conversation. It meant she inferred my intent from questions alone. Our shared premise—no need to explain firepower roles or defense focus. No hand-holding required. Convenient.
"Time until Wave?"
"Roughly one hour."
Longer than expected. Did she summon early?
"Planning strategy?"
"No. Higher-rated mercenaries tend to be less cooperative. Anticipated time for persuasion."
Ah. Persuasion here too. My cooperation bought this buffer.
To her, I was just another stranger merc.
"If I'd been uncooperative, you'd have countermeasures? Pity."
"No. Data on various mercenaries suggests viable performance. Non-cooperation leads to mutual loss: minor sacrifices for us, low scores for you. Summons prioritize need, so missions suit individuals."
Ah. Realization hit. Why this frigid weather and stilted Q&A felt comfortable.
A battlefield built on pure logic. Not tree-huggers ignoring mages or ghost-fodder calling dagger assassins. Finally, a proper commander. Tears welled up.
And with a commander like this, even more so.
"Mind if I ask non-battlefield questions? Got curious about this place."
"Your cooperation saved time. Any non-problematic query is fine."
Sharp on costs-benefits. She'd answer, but reverse-engineer me from it. Info exchange veiled in politics. Fine by me.
"Is magic limited to certain people?"
"...Unexpected. Yes. Requires innate mana."
Lusanya showed emotion for the first time. Slight fluster. Why ask that? Next question predictable.
"Any acquired way to learn magic? I'm mana-less."
"...There is."
Had to be. Otherwise, why build a magic tower in this snowy backwater?
Warning: Mana-less units cannot use this!
Waiting room alarm. Made me ponder magic briefly.
Fantasy tropes: magic as elite privilege. Logical—mana mostly innate talent.
Hence heretics preaching magic equality for commoners. Such eccentrics flock to remote mountains, not capitals. Like this AI-tower-lord.
Lucky guess seeing magic tower on Wave line.
"Can you grant it to me?"
"Summon fee already paid."
Playing hardball.
"Bloodlines are so outdated, no?"
"No political answers."
Bingo. Mana tied to lineage here too. Silence was answer.
"Let's trade. My blood for your mana."
"What use is your blood?"
Offensive now. Demoted to "you." Emotional. Poison in deals.
"I carry progenitor blood."
Thanks, Rosalyn. I'll use it well.
<...What do you mean...?>
Her icy, emotionless face—sculpted from frost—shifted. Surprise to curiosity. Curiosity to desire. Negatives flip hard.
"No proof, no confirmation."
Hooked. Emotions poison deals.
No words. Dagger nicks fingertip. Extend hand.
Blood Thread Projection.
The thin red line surged, halting before Moroz's face. It coiled around her once, then evaporated.
"... "
"Ponder during Wave. Moroz rests easy this time."
"...What do you mean?"
"My blood exceeds resources used."
I headed for the low walls encircling the tower.
Lusanya stood frozen long after.
"Hello, sir!"
"Yeah. Name?"
"Boris! Studying under Professor Dmitri. Specialty: pure magic!"
Ah... damn.
Nearly burst into tears. Across dimensions, a fellow sufferer... drafted for Wave too. And pure magic? Trouble from the name alone.
"Boris. Hang in there..."
"Y-yes... uh, why the tears...? Sorry!"
The stocky man named Boris flinched at sudden drops, turning away.
Yeah, man. I get it.
In the cramped turret, two men silently gazed beyond the horizon, mana cannon between us.
"You're an assassin, Berga-nim."
"Yes."
Conversation without turning.
"Heard the Wave's Reflector Golems. Two hundred of 'em."
"Yes."
Not all mages like Lusanya. Boris was chatty.
"Your plan? As you know, Reflector Golems nullify magic. Tower support? Zero. No support school here..."
Boris trailed off bitterly.
Expected. Medieval fantasy? Knights exist; support mages wouldn't hole up here.
"Worried about me?"
"Ah, offended? Sorry. Felt... familiar. Overstepped. Truly apologetic."
No. No need for extremes.
"Not at all. Glad, actually. You feel familiar too."
Words came heavy, unintended. Habit lately.
Boris relaxed slightly.
"Truthfully... wondered about tower lord summoning an assassin. For melee? Knight or sturdy type fits better."
Tense, huh. Soldiers doubt commander picks.
Not worry for me—self-doubt. Hence extreme apology.
"No need. Hm... words won't reassure."
"No! It's fine."
"Truth-seekers need reasons. I'll explain. Imagine one armored knight vs. two hundred golems."
"...Yes."
Boris nodded obediently.
"Down one? Two approach. Two? Five swarm. Mounting pressure. End result?"
"Can't win... and if rest hit walls..."
"Exactly. Crushed blocking them. Frontal fighters' fate."
"Then... you, Berga-nim...?"
Boris paled, eyes shaking on me.
"Me? After one slash, I'm gone before two close. Blink—I'm shadow-hidden. Wait, golems got no eyes?"
Like Boris's eyes, the distant blue portal began to waver.