Ch. 40 — The Great Encirclement

The air was thick—moist and electric—with the residue of mana left behind by thousands of spells. The forest breathed like a wounded beast, its roots pulsing with life and death at once. From above, the jungles of Central looked almost serene, but within them, chaos was blooming.

Noah stood on the forward observation platform of the Atonement. His left hand clutched the railing, his right tapping lightly against the cane resting beside him. Every knock was deliberate—a tempo of war. The Chrome Hearts were moving exactly according to plan, their formations weaving through the dense canopy below like silver threads across a dark tapestry.

He had drawn the map himself.

"Status," he murmured.

"Colonel Ren reports the east flank has set up the anchors. Illusion wards are stable. Wolf's shock unit has reached the western ridge."

"Good." Noah's tone was quiet but heavy, like the pressure before a storm. "Begin phase two. Collapse the perimeter on my signal."

The comm officer hesitated. "Sir… you're sure? Once the charges are triggered, there'll be no retreat."

"There's no retreat in a circle," Noah said, almost softly. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, or perhaps a confession. "Only closure."

---

Below, the soldiers of the Northern army moved through the underbrush. The Chrome Hearts spread, placing illusion anchors and mana conductors in hidden grooves carved into the roots. Their armor bore no insignia; only pale etchings that shimmered faintly when the sun cut through the mist.

The sounds of battle echoed faintly from miles away—the Southern vanguard testing the line, unaware that they were marching into an invisible cage.

Major Wolf crouched beside a fallen tree, wiping sweat and grime from his cheek. His left arm was still bandaged from the ambush days earlier, but his grin was the same savage slash of confidence as always. "It's like hunting deer," he said to his men. "Except the deer are twice as stupid."

"Quiet," hissed Lieutenant Arden. "You'll give us away."

"Then let them come." Wolf flexed his fingers, feeling the warmth of mana crackle between them. "I've been dying to pay back those bastards from the ambush."

In the distance, the ground trembled. Not from movement, but from anticipation. The illusion wards began to flicker, thin threads of light weaving through the foliage like veins of silver.

Ren Harven, despite the wound on his side, knelt over a series of mana crystals embedded in the dirt. He traced the runes with trembling fingers, whispering incantations through gritted teeth. "North Node ready," he reported into his communicator. "South Node needs another thirty seconds."

"Thirty seconds," Noah repeated through the line, watching the lights on his console. "Make them count."

He could feel the pulse of the entire formation through his bones—the rhythm of hundreds of men and women who trusted his mind more than their own survival instincts. And for a moment, it frightened him how calm he was.

Was this what the system wanted him to become?

Noah's reflection on the glass flickered as the forest below distorted under the illusion fields. The jungle appeared endless, twisting paths looping into themselves—mirages built from mana and misdirection.

He whispered to himself, "It's all about direction..."

---

The Central army was advancing in tidy formations, unaware of the silent doom closing around them. Draven stood motionless—his white armor now dulled with dried blood, his crimson sword slung across his back. His sub-commanders spoke in hushed voices, arguing about routes and supply points, but Draven said nothing.

He had already seen the pattern.

"Seems like our scouts report no resistance ahead.

It might be a retreat."

Draven's crimson eyes narrowed. "No," he said, voice barely audible over the wind.

"They wouldn't retreat.."

The aide blinked. "Sir?"

"Pull back the flanks. Now. He's building something."

But it was too late.

A single flare rose from the heart of the forest—bright silver, streaking across the clouded sky.

Noah's voice echoed over the communication lines, clear and steady.

"Detonate the ring."

The world erupted.

---

The ground screamed as mana charges buried beneath the earth ignited one after another. Shockwaves tore through the jungle like the heartbeat of a god. Trees splintered, soil lifted, and entire regiments vanished under cascades of white-hot flame.

The Central-South vanguard, caught in the middle, broke ranks in chaos. Some tried to run back the way they came, only to find the illusions folding in on themselves—the same paths looping endlessly.

Flames met smoke. Smoke met silence.

And then came the collapse.

The trees—those towering pillars of the jungle—fell inward, pulled by runic chains that Noah had ordered inscribed days ago. It was not a simple explosion; it was an implosion. The forest swallowed itself, crushing men, mages, and machines beneath tons of mana-charged debris.

From the Atonement, Noah watched it unfold. The once-green canopy had become a burning ring of ruin—a circle closing upon itself. His eyes reflected the inferno.

"Report," he said quietly.

"Enemy vanguard decimated, sir. Over three hundred casualties."

Ren's voice came through, ragged but alive. "We've lost half the anchors, but the line's holding."

Noah nodded, his knuckles whitening against the railing. "Pull out the survivors. Leave the rest."

The comm fell silent. Everyone knew what that meant.

---

On the ground, the air was thick with ash and screams.

Wolf staggered through the smoke, half his coat burned away, dragging a wounded soldier across the mud. His vision blurred from blood loss, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. "Up, damn it. You're not dying here."

Ren appeared moments later, leaning on a broken staff, his face streaked with soot. "Wolf! The north line's collapsing!"

"I know!" Wolf shouted back. "We've got survivors trapped under the fallen ridge!"

"Leave them! That was the order!"

Wolf's eyes burned. "The hell with orders!"

He dropped the soldier beside a medic and turned, pointing at the fiery horizon. "You think he cares about us down here? He's turning the whole damn jungle into a graveyard!"

Ren said nothing. His silence was answer enough.

---

High above, the Atonement trembled under the updraft of heat. The sky had turned orange, bleeding into violet at the edges. Noah closed his eyes. He could almost hear the voices below—the cries, the metal, the shattering of lives.

Was this victory?

He wanted to believe it was.

But as the smoke cleared, revealing the burning circle carved into the earth.

---

Far below, Draven stood at the edge of the devastation, his cape torn and armor smeared with red and black. The sunlight pierced through the smoke just enough to cast his shadow long across the ashen soil.

He gazed upon the ruin with expressionless calm, eyes tracing the perfect geometry of the destruction.

Every blast. Every collapse. Every sequence.

It was surgical. Inevitable.

He exhaled, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

"So," Draven whispered, voice soft as the drifting ash, "you finally understand the cruelty of genius."

The wind carried his words upward, through the heat and the smoke, toward the northern airships that still hovered like vultures over the burning forest.

And far above, in the silent command bridge of the Atonement, Noah Ashbourne opened his eyes.

A hollow victory.

And one step closer to obsession.