WM [54] Enchanter of the Seventh Circle

WM [54] Enchanter of the Seventh Circle

The fort was in near complete chaos, as druid geokinetics bore holes that ripped through the mountainside defenses. Tremor sent a cascade of dust and stone through the air, rattling the fortress walls like the slow heartbeat. From his position at the main entrance to the medical ward, Bjorn could feel the mountain’s groan beneath his feet, a horrifying sign of a potential collapse.

The ward itself was a refuge, but also a trap. There were three entrances to the medical ward with people stationed at each entrance looking out for druid forces while reconnaissance teams headed by Sigvard went in search for survivors and taking opportunistic shots at druid forces. The laborantian fortress worked to the wendigo advantage as they were familiar with the purposefully confusing architecture.

Bjorn watched what was considered the main entrance to the medical ward alongside two of recently cleansed Royal Knights. The medical ward behind him was filled with the scent of sweat, blood, and the pungent tang of the cleansing potion. The soft glow of healing magic flickered in his peripheral vision as Tanisha and Jakob worked tirelessly, tending to the wounded. Healers moved between the rows of cots, their hands glowing as they worked, but it was a slow and draining process. Even magic couldn’t reverse the damage done by the druids' toxins fast enough to get everyone back into the fight.

Taking the potion didn’t mean that they could instantly get up and fight again. Some people could and Bjorn and Failsafe it was because of their constitution. The faces of many others were pale skin and slick with sweat and their eyes filled with exhaustion, which told a grim story. Some would be out of the fight for days. Others might never get up again.

However, they also found plenty of people that would be able to take the fight to the druids. Over thirty warriors were combat-ready now, up from the dozen they had started with, but Bjorn wasn’t sure it was going to be enough. The recon teams would be returning soon and then they could begin their real counter assault. The recon teams were their only hope—if they returned with more survivors or if they could take out a key druid commander, it might shift the balance.

Another tremor shook the ground, and Bjorn’s muscles tensed instinctively, his sharp gaze turning toward one of the walls of the ward. Cracks that were once insignificant now looked as if the wall might buckle. Luckily the wendigo forces had geokinetics mages of their own that quickly sprung into action to the damage. It was a patch job of course no one wanted to waste mana when they could be attacked at any moment and their mana reserves could be the difference between life and death.

“You don’t think they are trying to collapse the fort, do you?” Bjorn asked Failsafe.

“What, no they definitely are. I thought it was obvious,” Failsafe said. “Hundreds of millions of tons of mountain above the fort, why fight when you can just drop the enemies’ own base on their heads?”

“Well, yeah, but they're here too,” Bjorn said.

“They also have exit tunnels and three thousand years of pent up anger against the wendigo,” Failsafe said right as another tremor shook the ward. “I am pretty sure everyone else has already figured that out.”

The sound of battle shook Bjorn from his conversation. Ahead of them in the corridor spells flew at an escaping wendigo part. At least twenty guards and fifteen knights all retreated down the hall, Koll and Sigvard alone defended the retreating party. Some of them are not able to walk on their own while having to rely on their fellow partners to retreat. At the same time another explosion rocked one of the other entrances to the medical ward and battle quickly ensued as druid spells went flying. Everyone was quick to react, Joha first amongst the counter assault; the ward was under siege and the druids had come in force.

***

Each step Signe took only filled her with more rage as she saw the bodies of comrades and friends slain in the halls of the fortress. Lillevenn had returned leading Signe, Fuyumi and Birger, the dungeon warden, to the source of the poison and hopefully the leadership of the druids. The air inside the fortress was thick with the scent of blood and burning ozone. Druid magic coursed through the stone walls, sending tremors through the mountain.

Lillevenn stopped at the entrance to the food court where flickering flare crystals cast deep shadows across the stone. Amidst the bedlam chanting could be heard echoing through the halls. They had found them, the druid poison caster. Signe didn’t need to inspect the room before she entered, she already knew how many were present and where they were thanks to her bond with Lillevenn.

She stepped through the doorway Fuyumi on one side of her, ethereal and pale, her ghost-born features eerily calm, while the dungeon warden, clad in black metal armor and gripping his man-catcher polearm, stomped through heavily on her other side, his eyes piercings beneath his helmet. The chanting stopped as soon as they entered the destroyed space.

“It is about time you showed yourself,” a druid man said, he looked to be in charge. “It looks like the poison had no effect on you. Shame, but with you here we can go ahead and cut the head off this little battle. Frode, report to Kara we found the Hand.”

“Sir,” a man said and disappeared into one of the many new tunnels through the mountain.

“As for the rest of you, kill them,” the man said as he picked up a map of the fortress from the table. “I have work to do.”

The druid lieutenant wore a stern expression that read no nonsense as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. He was thin and definitely not the warrior type; he looked more like a tactician than a fighter. He walked casually into another tunnel with several of the druid soldiers trailing him and collapsing the tunnel after them. Signe didn’t care, she looked around the room seeing the headless bodies of the fort guardsman and knights, some of them looked to have fallen in battle while others succumbed to the position and their bodies were mutilated.

“Lillevenn, find out where that man went and bring me his head,” Signe said with a detached coldness.

Runes inscribed on her armored arms and chest pulsed softly, feeding into the magic swirling around her. Her body was no longer just flesh and blood—it was a living enchantment, a weapon designed for absolute destruction. Where once had stood the refined and composed Royal Hand, a figure of diplomacy and grace, there was now something far more terrifying. This was not just a mage. This was the true face of a Royal Hand, an enchanter of immense and devastating power.

Signe turned slowly to face them, her calm, regal bearing unchanged as if this were just another day in the royal court. As the last piece of her veil burned away, her face was revealed—a vision of angular maturity, her features elegant yet cold, as if carved from stone. Silver-streaked black hair cascaded around her face, framing her fierce, pupil-less eyes, which gleamed like pools of obsidian against her dark skin.

The remaining druids had terror in their eyes. They hesitated as they finally realized what they were up against. They saw a monster beyond any savage they had ever encountered before. Signe turned slowly to face them, her form highlighted by the soft glow of her enchantments.

The remaining druids scrambled to regroup. “We can still take her!” one of them barked, desperation creeping into his voice. “She's just one woman!”

The tall druid, still clutching his staff, nodded grimly. “Together!” he ordered, rallying his remaining comrades. “We overwhelm her with magic—she can't stop us all!”

They raised their hands in unison, chanting in a way that had their voices merging into a single, harmonious incantation. The earth beneath their feet trembled, and jagged tendrils of stone white hot stone and poisonous vines erupted from the ground.

Her hand flicked through the air, tracing intricate patterns faster than any of the druids could follow. Blue magic flared to life around her, a shimmering shield that effortlessly deflected the oncoming assault. The constructs with spinning blades shot forward, slicing through the tendrils with ease, their movements precise and deadly.

The druids’ magic, powerful as it was, couldn’t touch her. Their spells shattered against her defenses like waves crashing against an unyielding cliff. One of her constructs darted forward, spinning rapidly before launching itself toward the closest druid. It struck him square in the chest with a few Blinks she wasn’t far behind. She struck a second man with a knife hand that tore through his armor and through his chest until her bloody arm reached through the other side. She threw the corpse to the ground.

One of them lunged at her, desperate, swinging his sword with all his might. She sidestepped effortlessly, her body moving faster than his eyes could follow. Another swung from the side, but Signe deflected the attack with a simple motion; she smacked the blade with her armored forearm sending his blade spiraling out of his hands she spun out of the way of a spear and kicked the disarmed druid in the face at the same time sending him to the ground.

As she landed she had drawn a new glowing enchantment and pressed the magical circle against the chest of one another druid, this one a female. Her body convulsed as the magic surged through her. She gasped as her vitality was rapidly drained in a matter of seconds. She was dead before her head hit the floor.

The final two druids faltered, fear overtaking them, but it was too late. The tall druid that so casually insulted her earlier turned to run. He wasn’t fast enough and with a flick of her finger, the remaining constructs sliced through them, clean, surgical, precise.

Signe stood in the center of the corridor, her once-pristine robes now in tatters, revealing the full extent of her enchanted armored body and the glyphs etched into her skin. The air around her crackled with the residual power of her enchantments, and the stillness that followed was deafening.

“That was... I-I am at a loss for words.” Birger stuttered as he bowed in reverence. “Royal Hand Jet, I feel unworthy to have even seen you fight. I beg you in our next engagement let me show you my capabilities.”

In a second a fresh set of Royal Hand Robes covered Signs body from one of the many she had in her personal magic storage inventory.

“I would ask the same,” Fuyumi said with a monotone chill.

“Yes, it would be for the best.” Signe agreed. “I can not use up all of my mana before securing the border. Currently we do not know how many of these creatures have invaded. I acted out of anger. From here on I will be relying on both of you to prove yourselves.”

There was a large tremor that rocked the fortress as the sound of collapsing tunnel reverberated throughout every corridor. The quake was a bad sign that part of the fortress was collapsing. Signe remembered the druid lieutenant with the map of the fort. She then looked at the tunnels the druids had carved into this one room alone. It was certainly more than they needed. A realization hit her. They were going to collapse the fort. Without the enchantment that once strengthened the mountain it wouldn’t take long to bury everyone alive.

“It looks like you all are going to have to defend me.” Signe said as she looked around at the now many cracks running throughout the floors, walls and ceiling. “I have to remake the enchantment holding this place together or no one is getting out of here.”

“Can you do that?” Birger asked out of admiration, not doubt.

“Yes, but I will take time and I cannot be interrupted.” She turned to the two of them. “Birger, Tsukihana Fuyumi prepare yourselves. We will have more company soon.”