It was on the fifth night of the festival that the Alliance made its move. Soldiers swarmed the streets as the date changed, surging from portals far beneath the surface. The magic was rudimentary, a simple copy paste with only the coordinates replaced. Still, it worked like a charm and provided the invaders with an easy in. Ten at a time, they filed through the portal until the underground was filled.

Three different parties watched the operation in motion. One was, of course, field command. General Hemlik watched over his soldiers as they lined up in the prepared space. His career hinged on the operation's success, for it alone would determine if he went down in history as a genius or a fool.

Second was Canterbell, the master artificer responsible for manufacturing many of Cadria's finest tools. Having spent the last few days studying the Vel'khanese portal, he had finally managed to put together a detector capable of picking up on the school of magic used to arrange for the transport. It'd been a bit trickier than he'd expected. He hadn't realised that it was gravity adjacent, nor that the portal was functionally unpowered post construction—a mistake that had cost him a full three days of pondering. But in the end, he'd solved the mystery and figured out all but the spell's implementation.

And then there were the members of House Augustus. Three different aspects observed the invasion from three completely different perspectives. Constantius, from the ground and sky; his minions eyed the intruders from as many angles as one could reasonably process. Virillius, through his absurd senses; he could feel the change wrought by their magic and pin each signature to an individual. And Claire, with her ears; she drew the world inside her mind and followed the soldiers as they moved.

Despite the many Cadrian watchers, the army showed no reaction. The guards sat around and minded their own business as the enemy marched below their feet. There were 564 soldiers in total, with all but two moving as a massive glob.

The pair that broke off headed into town and shot straight for one of the more popular inns. Unlike the last time, they didn't make the mistake of attacking the wrong place or person. They knew that they were after Gladora the Bloodbreaker and that she was housed at the Three Tails Republic. They didn't bother getting her room number. It was unnecessary for what they prepared.

After all, Hrefna knew that she was the mightiest pure mage on the continent, surpassing even Allegra when it came to large-scale spells. Targeting the building from a nearby roof, she drew a magic circle just large enough to encompass the block in its entirety. The people in the city looked up at the runic light, their drunken eyes blinking as the world was pulled from its sleepy darkness.

Many of the observers assumed no foul play. They simply proceeded as if the circle was normal, another part of the state-planned festivities or perhaps a street performer gone wild.

But the most learned mages and theologians among them soon realised that it was nothing of the sort. Gasping and screaming in shock, they urged the people to flee the scene before they were caught within it, for the spell that Hrefna had cast was anything but original. It was a documented case of divine punishment, crafted by the sun goddess herself to smite a pope that had double crossed her. It was known as the Dawnbreaker's Wrath. Though perfectly optimized, the spell was marked as impractical and only ever studied as an exercise in improving one's overall efficiency; it required five trillion points of magic to cast, and not even a magic-oriented aspect could bring such an absurd amount to the table.

And yet, the spell was whirring to life, threatening to swallow a whole city street the moment its cast was complete.

Mila, Hrefna's friend and keeper, had seen the sight a dozen times before. Still, it continued to amaze her. She couldn't help but forget her bodyguard duties—she was supposed to keep Hrefna safe from interruption—and watch as each of the seven circles around the formation's other edge shifted into position.

Unfortunately, she wasn't given the opportunity to keep staring forever. Cadria's agents immediately pinpointed the magic's source and headed for its destination, but by then, it was already too late. Hrefna lowered her staff just before the first guard arrived and brought the apocalypse down upon the glimmering gold hotel.

It started as a tiny speck of light. Falling at a feather's pace, it almost seemed too gentle to serve as a threat. But then, it touched the circle and erupted into a world ending blast. The fire burned so hot and moved so quickly that it could hardly be recognized as fire at all. It surged into the halls, devouring everything in anyone unlucky enough to cross its path. Not even fire retardant materials were spared. They were eaten right through along with everything else, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

The end result was a 100 meter hole shaped exactly like the once beautiful hotel.

But she wasn't done. Cadrian warriors were far too stubborn for her to simply pack up and be on her way after one measly spell. She grabbed the jug that she had on her back and crammed the whole damn thing into her mouth. She flooded her throat with so much of the sickly blue tar that she thought she was going to drown, but she continued to drink until her stomach swelled to thrice its usual size. Only then, did she release her lips from their ceramic prison and wipe the liquid off her face.

She took a few seconds to catch her breath and fight back her lurching stomach before raising her staff overhead again. Rather than a single massive circle, she formed a dozen small ones and lined them up in order of their size.

A veritable novel escaped her lips as she continued to channel her magic. Tens of thousands of words, all compressed into a single moment in time.

The spell activated after a two-second delay and launched a thousand meter-long spikes, each of which would allow Hrefna to steal one of her target's levels. It was her ultimate, the reason that she was crowned an aspect, and the weapon with which she would hope to kill the man that had wronged her father. The projectiles were equipped with a seeking effect to better serve that exact purpose, but at least for the time being, their tips were not turned towards the Kryddarian king. Instead, they had settled on Cadria's combatant—proof beyond a doubt that she still lived.

Not that it mattered with her thorns inbound.

They dug through the rubble, found Gladora, and impaled her from every which direction. Every blade sprouted a dozen tendrils on contact. They spread through her veins, siphoning from every capillary as they used her blood to further fuel their growth.

And then, after a moment of bloom, they returned to their master's side.

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Each thorn bestowed exactly one of the Cadrian's levels. The first few were the most important. They temporarily bestowed the classes upon the magic caster, boosting her total class count from six to eleven.

But Gladora was not so easily felled.

Flexing her muscles, she broke free of the spell's binding effect and charged straight at her foe. Alas, she never got close. Mila Morales, the hero of petals, intercepted the rush with a blossom blade.

They clashed ten, twenty, a hundred times. Steel met stem over and over, with neither ever bending to the other.

Hrefna prepared another spell in the meantime. It was strictly overkill. Her needles were already chasing the Cadrian down and riddling her body with holes. The massive magic formation was yet another magic flame even more powerful than the last. It was concentrated into a thin, narrow projectile that would expand to engulf her opponent.

She took careful aim as she unleashed it. She knew that it would land on target.

But a bolt from the blue eliminated the spell before it could cross so much as half the distance. Another Cadrian had appeared in the space and obliterated it with a flurry of slashes.

"Am I interrupting?" The half-naked elf—he was without his top as usual—craned his neck over his shoulder. He was their original target. The one who had escaped their assassination purely on account of a wrong turn.

"Depends. Are you all healed up?" asked Gladora.

"My regen's still shot, but my body's mostly fine. Not too sure about my psyche though. Do you know how embarrassing it is to almost lose to a maid?"

"I can only imagine." Gladora laughed. "Alright, you take the caster, I'll get the warrior. We'll have this wrapped up in five minutes and get right back to bed."

Exchanging confident grins, the two veterans dove into combat. On another night, they wouldn't have been alone; a hundred thousand troops would have poured out of the woodwork and prepared their weapons against the invaders. But the army was preoccupied—busy with an attack on the castle.

It happened in the time between Hrefna's spells. Sootbeak, the void hero, strolled through the front gate with a smile. The guards had tried to stop him, of course, but he handled them like children. Grabbing them by their wrists, he wrenched them into his body and sent them off into the infinite abyss. They weren't technically dead. He could still retrieve them if he wanted, and if they did return, they would certainly emerge intact.

Hemlik and his men followed right behind him. Together, they launched a direct attack on the Cadrian castle and marched straight onto its grounds.

It wasn't supposed to be possible while any of the three ducal fortresses were still intact. The shield generators on board were powerful enough to guard against all manner of foe; one could not simply pass them.

But the Alliance had done just that.

Over five hundred soldiers had entered the fray.

All things considered, it was a paltry number. The castle had many, many times the headcount and the average Cadrian combatant was of a higher level. But in the end, all those facts were entirely irrelevant. The point was that they'd proven their ability to invade into the very heart of the enemy's domain. The soldiers present knew that they were sacrificial pawns, resources to be wasted so that Hemlik could sneak away. Still, they marched with dignity.

They were shocktroopers, and they'd enlisted knowing of the risks ahead.

It only took a moment for the garden to turn into a battlefield.

Warriors descended from the walls and heavens, fully armoured and prepared for battle. Sleeping soldiers threw on their uniforms and flooded from the barracks like a surging tide.

The response was so rapid that the alliance's troops had no chance to react; the moment they moved was the moment their leader would lose his head.

It was fortunate then that the void hero was present.

Spreading his non-existent arms wide, he crafted a barrier around the invading force. Like his body, it would teleport anyone that touched it beyond the world's furthest reaches. But with no way of knowing, the Cadrians charged regardless.

They raised their spears and shieldlances, bucked their hooves, and compressed their springy legs as they charged into the fray. Though a few commanders were on site, the men needed no orders. Their one job was to drive away the invaders. If anything, it was not charging that would have proven their folly.

Ten at a time, they were sucked into his spell, checkmated by the powerful ward derived from his class.

Faced with the aspect of the infinite void, their resistance was futile.

And yet, the flow was unending. It wasn't just because the Cadrians had so many on their side. Hemlik was almost sure that it wasn't possible, but he felt like he was seeing the same faces over and over. Somehow, the soldiers cast into the void had returned to march again.

Though confused, Hemlik didn't waste any time stewing over the odd conclusion. He had a job to do.

He waited for the Cadrians to be distracted before slipping away. His position near the back of the army made it incredibly easy—he'd blended into the soldier's lines for that exact purpose. He darted through the garden and into an open window. Luckily, there was a maid standing in the room, attending to some sort of laundry. The perfect guide.

Closing the distance in the blink of an eye, he mounted the centauress' back, placed a hand over her lips, and raised his dagger to her neck.

"Scream, and I'll slit your throat," he said, in a low growl. "Nod if you understand."

The maid did nothing. At first, Hemlik suspected that she was simply stiff with terror, but he soon realised that she showed no such signs. Her legs were steady, her breathing was normal, and her heart was calm. Looking at one of the mirrors on the opposite side of the room revealed a defiant, almost irritated glare, completely unlike anything he'd expected.

He thought for a second that it was because she was stronger than she let on, but that wasn't the case at all. Her flesh threatened to give out when he squeezed and she didn't heal when he pressed his blade into her neck. She was really just a maid, exactly as she appeared. But somehow, she still found the strength to defy him. A smarter general would have likely murdered her then and there. Her lack of cooperation would only hamper his plans. But he couldn't help but loosen his grip and shift his dagger away.

"Lead me to the princess' room, and I will spare you. I promise, I have no intention of doing any harm." He took a breath. "I might even have a cure for her muteness." The lie left an awful taste in the general's mouth. But if lying was all it took to persuade her, then he would happily tell a thousand fibs. Alas, his hopes were dashed. She only met his offer with a furrowed brow, almost as if offended that he thought he could've swayed her with either offer.

Frowning, the dristle smacked her in the back of her head and knocked her out before setting her down beside him. He knew it was better to just finish her off. The fewer witnesses he left, the better off he'd be, but admiring her courage, he'd erred on the side of non-fatal subduction. From there, he wandered out of the room and into the halls. He ran all around the structure, but much to his chagrin, the only stairs he found were in the main hall, and both the second and third floors led straight to dead ends. He scoured hundreds of rooms for possible alternatives and pressed his hands against every depressable tile he could find before finally uncovering a stairwell behind a toilet, but the only thing that awaited was a study filled with books on behavioral psychology. It almost felt like a jab; he couldn't help but groan and press his face into his hands as he scanned the many titles on manipulating one's foes.

He'd heard rumours that the castle was impossible to navigate, but it turned out, it was even worse than in his wildest dreams.

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