Siege of Sarsen Fortress (2): The Shattered Arrogance of Magic
Ian, an 8th-circle mage, had thought nothing of the ultimatum when it arrived.
'Ordinary humans can never defeat mages.'
It was an absolute law, passed down since the founding of the Empire by the Great Ancestor a thousand years ago. Before such immutable truth, he could not fathom how lowly creatures who did nothing but play with money would ever dare to defy him.
"What could those Southern bastards possibly do?"
In a way, his arrogance was only natural. In this era of sluggish scientific progress, mages—beings who could reshape reality with a mere wave of a hand—were treated as demigods. Wherever he went, Ian was revered. Renowned nobles bowed their heads in his presence, and commoners dared not even look him in the eye.
He was a first-class citizen, chosen by the heavens. Inferior humans who could not even grasp the concept of magic could never hope to defeat him. Ian had believed this with every fiber of his being.
Right up until the Dreadnought spat fire.
Rumble—!
A flash of light sparked beyond the horizon, followed by a deafening roar. It was a sound like the heavens and earth collapsing, a cataclysmic boom that made the very atmosphere tremble and sent violent vibrations rattling through his chest.
"H-Hieek?!"
Stripped of his dignity by a sound that triggered the primal, instinctual terror wired into the human genome since the dawn of time, Ian stumbled backward.
From his vantage point atop the highest spire of the fortress, an unbelievable sight unfolded before his eyes.
Eight massive shells detonated, unleashing a blinding, crimson flash. Half a beat later, an indescribable, earth-shattering roar battered his eardrums. The violent shockwave that followed swept over the spire, tossing Ian's body like a leaf in a tempest.
He staggered wildly before crashing heavily onto the stone floor. The moment he lost his footing, the massive magical barrier he and his fellow mages had erected began to fracture and dissolve.
Sprawled on the ground, Ian stared blankly up at the sky. "T-This... this is impossible..."
He was looking right at it, yet his mind utterly refused to process the reality.
This was a defensive barrier woven by two 7th-circle mages and himself, an 8th-circle mage. It was a defense so absolute that even one of the legendary 9th-circle mages—of whom only five existed in the entire Empire—would have struggled to breach it. How on earth had it shattered so easily?
But he had no luxury to analyze the mechanics of his defeat. If he remained frozen, the next volley would undoubtedly obliterate the fortress itself. Ian scrambled to his feet, his limbs trembling.
'There is no way they can launch an attack of that scale in rapid succession.'
He had to restore the barrier immediately. Once the shield was back up, they would pool their mana and sink those insolent metal beasts to the bottom of the ocean.
Clinging to that desperate hope, Ian raised his staff—
Rumble—!
Once again, a brilliant flash of fire erupted along the horizon.
For the first time in his life, the cold, suffocating grip of true terror seized the mage's heart.
Clack.
His trembling fingers lost their grip, and his cherished staff clattered to the stone floor. He didn't even think of picking it up.
As an 8th-circle mage, Ian stood at the precipice of the ultimate tier. He knew better than anyone that even the transcendent 9th-circle mages could never unleash spells of such devastating caliber at such an impossible rate of fire.
"Ha... haha..."
As the glowing orange shells tore through the twilight of the dawn sky, Ian could only stare upward, utterly hollowed out. This was a power that transcended humanity. Faced with what felt like the wrath of a god, a mere mage was utterly powerless.
"Spare m—"
Before the plea could fully leave his lips, a wall of fire and steel engulfed the spire.
"I-Impact confirmed! Second volley... direct hit!" the lookout reported, his voice shaking violently.
It was entirely understandable. Before their very eyes, the massive fortress that had taken the full brunt of the Dreadnought's broadside was literally disintegrating.
As a towering mushroom cloud of dust and smoke billowed into the sky, the fortress's formidable outer walls crumbled into rubble. It happened so fast that calling it "destroyed" felt like an understatement. It was simply erased.
"That... that massive fortress... just like tofu..."
"It's been completely pulverized..."
Yes, "pulverized" was indeed the more fitting term. To a leviathan like the Dreadnought, engineered to wage war against steel-clad fleets, a fortress made of mere stone was nothing but fragile prey.
Amidst the stunned silence on the bridge, the gunnery officer's crisp voice cut through the air. "Third volley, loaded and ready!"
I raised my binoculars and peered at the target. Though the smoke-shrouded fortress had already lost its original shape, I felt it wasn't quite enough.
For the past three years, Southern merchants had been forced to pay exorbitant tolls just to pass this point. I had to teach them the sheer weight of the price for exploiting the blood, sweat, and tears of our people. Even if it meant erasing Sarsen Fortress from the face of the earth.
"Third volley. Fire."
Rumble—!
Once again, a blinding flash illuminated the twilight sea. Through the billowing plumes of gun smoke, the mangled remains of the fortress came into view. No one on the bridge spoke a word as they witnessed the final moments of Sarsen Fortress.
"Third volley, direct hit!"
Rumble...
A low, grinding roar echoed from the distance. It was a distinctly different sound from the thunder of the main guns or the violent detonation of the shells.
"What is that?" I asked, furrowing my brow.
Lucilla, peerless and deadpan as ever, lowered her binoculars and answered calmly. "It is the sound of the bedrock collapsing. It seems even solid granite cannot withstand three consecutive salvos from our main guns."
"Hmm..."
"You went a bit too far, My Lord," Lucilla remarked. "Land-based trade through the Sarsen-Lutetia region will be entirely blocked for the foreseeable future."
I peered through my binoculars once more. The sight was truly spectacular. The once-imposing fortress had vanished without a trace. The very cliffside it had been built upon had sheared off, sliding into the sea and leaving nothing but a jagged scar. She was right; it would take quite some time before that road could be traversed again.
"It's fine."
Of course, it wasn't my problem. I had already devised a solution for this exact scenario.
"Whatever losses we incur, Count Sarsen will pay for them."
"Pardon?" Lucilla looked at me, her expressionless face showing a rare hint of confusion. "I highly doubt Count Sarsen, having just lost his fortress and his mages, will willingly offer us reparations."
"I agree."
Of course he wouldn't. Having his three-year project, his elite mages, and his garrison vaporized in a mere five minutes wasn't exactly going to put him in a charitable mood. It was bound to be a long, grueling negotiation. But then again, that was precisely what battleships were built for.
"We are heading northwest."
We had more than enough fuel. Sarsen was practically in the South's backyard, a mere half-day's journey away. Staging a brief show of force for a day or two wasn't going to strain our logistics.
I traced a line across the nautical chart. "Our destination is the central port of the Sarsen territory. Helmsman, port fifteen!"
"Port fifteen, aye!" the helmsman barked back, spinning the wheel.
It was time to conduct some proper 'diplomacy.'
Historically, negotiations between the Southern Grand Duke's envoys and Count Sarsen had always followed a predictable pattern. The envoys would practically beg him to dismantle the toll fortress, and the Count would let their pleas go in one ear and out the other.
It didn't matter if the South offered financial subsidies, promised to purchase Sarsen's grain surplus, or dangled the lucrative bait of building modern factories in his territory. The outcome never changed. From the Count's perspective, he had absolutely no reason to cooperate.
Financial aid? Why bother when the fortress acted as a literal cash cow, squeezing tolls out of every passing merchant? Grain purchases? The toll revenue dwarfed any profit he could make from agriculture. Factories? Those would ultimately be run by Southern managers anyway.
Secure in the knowledge that no one in the Imperial Capital would ever side with the Grand Duke of the South, Count Sarsen had simply repeated the same canned response like a broken record.
"In accordance with the Sarsen-Lutetia Treaty, we demand that you halt the construction of this fortress immediately!" the envoys would declare.
"I see. Since you feel so strongly about it, I shall take it into consideration," the Count would reply smoothly.
With that single, empty promise, the Southern envoys were always forced to return empty-handed.
He had fully intended to play the same game during the next round of talks. Right up until Sarsen Fortress was violently erased from existence.
A sudden thunderclap from beyond the horizon had shattered their absolute defensive barrier in a single blow. The next volley had pulverized the battlements, and the final strike had collapsed the very cliffside beneath it. It had taken exactly five minutes to reduce a three-year engineering marvel to dust.
"T-This cannot be..."
With that single engagement, the Sarsen territory had lost its entire military garrison. Every ounce of leverage they had held over the South was vaporized in an instant.
The Count, staring blankly at the empty cliffside, had been unable to sleep a wink.
"My Lord, there is nothing on the horizon. Please, you should return to the manor..." his butler had pleaded.
"No! No, you fool! We don't know when that monster will return!"
Terrified that the same divine wrath that had leveled his fortress would rain down upon his estate, the Count had spent the night shivering in a carriage, catching only fitful minutes of sleep. It was in this half-crazed, sleep-deprived state that he arrived at the negotiation venue—only to have his heart stop once more.
"H-Hieek!"
Floating right in the harbor of Sarsen Port, directly outside the negotiation hall, was a colossal steel leviathan. The sight of those monstrous main batteries slowly rotating to point directly at his city drained every drop of color from the Count's face.
"Haha, there is no need to look so terrified, Count."
Kyle stepped forward, flanked by a disciplined squad of guards. He wore a warm, perfectly genial smile as he approached the trembling noble.
"This vessel was merely deployed to deal with certain... reactionary elements. Those who unilaterally violated the Sarsen-Lutetia Treaty and sought to choke the free flow of trade within our great Empire."
Kyle's piercing blue eyes locked onto the Count, holding his gaze with terrifying intensity. "I trust you are not one of those foolish individuals."
Count Sarsen could not find his voice. Utterly broken and hollowed out by fear, he allowed himself to be led by the hand, stumbling numbly into the negotiation hall.