Once Kai had accounted for every one of Aldrin’s schemes and countered them with solid plans of his own, they didn’t linger long in Solmere. The city was left under a capable watch—enough soldiers to maintain order, distribute food, and ensure the population felt secure again.

Most of the enemy troops were already locked away, and the surviving Mages were bound with Syphon stone cuffs. Kai doubted they’d pose much of a threat even if freed—their mana Heart had been exhausted in the battle, and they knew what would happen to them if they rebelled.

His forces had done well to stabilize Solmere. They’d made sure the people were fed and, more importantly, that they knew they were not under another tyrant’s thumb. Forced conscriptions, heavy taxes, and grain seized in the name of the war had made the city bleed with resentment against the Count. Duke Blackwood had swiftly ordered all such supplies returned, even announcing plans to rebuild the city’s ruined church.

Food and faith were the two simplest levers to win people’s hearts, and they’d pulled both.

So when the main force prepared to leave, there were even locals gathered to see them off. Kai allowed himself a quiet smile. They weren’t being seen as conquerors, but as something better—protectors. It was clearly a stark contrast to the three princes' army, which treated war as a playground for cruelty, blind to the rot such acts sowed for the future.

The road to Fort Valemount, however, was anything but kind. Though there was a direct route, Aldrin’s retreating forces had made sure it wouldn’t be an easy march—littering the path with traps, pitfalls, and sabotage meant to bleed time and men.

Clearing it fell to Killian. And as always, his method was simple—if something stood in the way, it was removed.

But that plan hadn’t held long. A quarter of the way to Fort Valemount, the stonework simply gave out—roads shattered, culverts collapsed—and every “detour” funneled them toward beast nests that had to be cleared before the wagons could crawl forward.

When a span ahead gave way to a crater and forced them along a ridgeline, enemy stragglers tried the old trick: boulders loosed from above, then a quick retreat. Kai was already at the fore. He split the rolling stones with a flick of mana, turned them into harmless gravel, and ran down the ambushers. They didn’t even look shocked to be caught. In fact, they were almost relieved—eager to trade the lay of Valemount’s garrison and other broad information for hot stew and a heel of bread.

Aldrin had sent them knowing they’d be taken. That much was obvious. The scouts hadn’t even found tracks because these men had been living in the hills for days—armor caked with dirt, the stink of cold ash clinging to them. And because they were common soldiers, what they knew was shallow. If any had held specifics, Kai doubted hunger alone would have shaken it loose. In the end, he could only throw them at the back of the force, chained before they started their march again.

The constant vigilance slowly bled at morale as they moved. Eyes were always up, shoulders always tight, waiting for the next trick in the brush or a trap underfoot. Unfortunately, he was the only one who could cover the whole army with a barrier and Kai refused to waste strength by walling their march in mana barriers; that kind of constant shelling would only burn his reserves, and if Prince Vhailor chose to strike early to maim their vanguard or, worse, to wound Kai, he’d need every thread of mana. So he kept the shields only when they took breaks.

Mercifully, no such strike came. They crossed the hills and dealt with minor issues until they wound up towards the road—scarred though it was—that angled toward Valemount’s gray walls on the horizon.

Kai and Duke Blackwood both suspected that Aldrin’s traps were less about inflicting casualties and more about wearing down their minds. The journey to Fort Valemount stretched over nearly half a week—enough time for fatigue and paranoia to take root. Even now, Kai could see it in their eyes: soldiers glancing over their shoulders, fingers twitching near their hilts as if the next ambush lurked behind every boulder.

To break that cycle, he did what commanders rarely did—he took to the sky. Every few hours, his silhouette cut through the clouds, a visible symbol that their leader still watched over them. From above, he’d call down short bursts of encouragement, reminding them that fear itself was Aldrin’s weapon and that they were too disciplined to fall for such tricks. His words weren’t grand or ceremonial; they were simply spoken with the same steady confidence that had carried them through Solmere.

It worked. Knowing the traps were meant to break their spirit—not their bodies—restored some sense of control. And control, Kai understood, was the thin thread that kept an army sane. The moment a soldier felt that thread slip, the mind began whispering of death—slow, inevitable death.

The nobles, too, did their part. Duke Blackwood rode among the ranks, speaking to captains and commoners alike, his tone firm but calm. Together they held the army’s morale steady until, at last, the land began to open up. The false traps ceased, and for the first time in days, the march felt unopposed.

Then they saw it.

Fort Valemount rose from the mountainside like a titan’s ribcage. Hewn directly into the rock, its walls weren’t built—he could tell that they were carved, shaped by decades of magic and labor until stone became a fortress. It was in the middle of two natural cliffs. Terraced battlements spiraled up the mountain’s face, each level dotted with watchtowers that shone due to the embedded seals. A waterfall cut down from the cliffs, its flow redirected through channels to power turbines and irrigation troughs far below.

The central keep jutted out like a spearhead, overlooking a vast courtyard large enough to hold a thousand soldiers in formation. Training rings, forge chimneys, and mana conduits lined the inner terraces. The entire structure radiated strength—a fortress built not just to defend, but to remind any who approached that this was a seat of power.

But Kai didn’t waver, they pushed on and raised a sprawling camp among the boulders. Canvas snapped in the wind. Cookfires smoked low. It wasn’t a fortress—just rocks and rope lines—but Earth Mages sank their palms to the ground, raising barricades in front of them, and Wind Mages stood on the taller stones, eyes narrowed, letting the air carry any hint of movement to them. Kai had the mana cannons hauled into gaps between the rocks, their barrels peeking out like dark eyes, while the crews that were assigned for them made sure it would work as planned.

There was no war council; they’d already argued and agreed on everything. Captains moved with quiet purpose, passing orders that needed only a nod. Kai still wanted words with Aldrin. After a short talk with Duke Blackwood, Kai stepped back, drew breath, and rose into the sky as he had at Fort Glaivegate.

He did not expect an easy win. [Solun] would have smothered a weaker hold, but the enemy Mages here would swat the spell structure apart before he could weave the cloud.

As he neared Valemount, the air rippled. A blue dome bloomed across the mountain, clear as ice and just as hard. Seals ran through it like veins. When Kai focused his mana sense, the pattern didn’t stop at the surface; the sealwork sank deep, rooting under the rock so no one could crawl up from below. Certainly not a ward you topple in an afternoon.

Figures waited on the wall. Aldrin stood at their center. Beside him was Lady Seraphine, a familiar figure he had met once. She had her hands folded in front of her and looked up at him. She had once been a polite guest. But now, she was a still blade at an enemy’s side.

Then he saw the man at her right.

Prince Vhailor was dressed like he was going to a ball. His robes flashed black and red with gold patterns running up; gems winked at his cuffs with every small move. He stood a half-step forward of everyone else, chin lifted, as if the wall were a stage built for him.

He watched Kai the way a duelist watches an opening—patient, amused, and sure in his victory. There were four Mages hugging the prince’s back like a second shadow; their hands twitched with mana and all of them looked at him with a smug expression.

Aldrin stepped forward when Kai drew close enough to touch the ward. His voice carried easily across the wind. “Duke Arzan, I don’t think words to make you surrender will work now.”

Kai met his eyes. “I can say the same about you,” he answered. “You’re making a grave mistake, bringing outsiders into our civil war. I won’t tell you to surrender—but you must understand what that choice means.”

Vhailor’s laugh cut the air sharply. “Alparca is family to Aldrin,” he said and turned to smile at the prince. “And if anyone’s making a mistake, it’s you.”

Kai glanced once at Vhailor, then turned his attention back to Aldrin. He tightened his jaw. “I thought you were smarter than your brothers,” he said slowly, “but perhaps you’re just like them after all. By the end of this fight you will know how wrong you are when you will be in your grave.”

Vhailor tried to answer again. “You will be the one who dies.”

Kai ignored him this time too and kept his voice level as he stared at the wards. “I hope your wards can hold what’s coming next.”

Aldrin’s mouth shaped into a small, confident smile. “They can hold more than you bring, Duke Arzan. There is still time to surrender. The kingdom’s finest Mage need not die. You never showed greed for the throne—Why start now?”

“Because none are worthy. You’ll plunge the kingdom—and the world—into ruins if you step foot on the throne.”

Vhailor barked out a laugh. “Big words from a man who’ll be dead before dusk.”

Despite being ignored multiple times, the man didn’t seem to give up. Kai finally turned to him, annoyance flashing on his face. “This… is between me and Aldrin. Outsiders should keep quiet… Or did Alparca’s royals never learn manners?”

Vhailor stepped forward. Kai saw his face flush immediately. “What did you say, you imbecile?”

Kai didn’t bother to lower his voice. “Do all you princes have one deaf ear that I need to repeat myself?”

The prince’s face burned red and a flicker of mana passed through his eyes. He looked as if he might leap the wall and close the distance with his fists. Aldrin slid a hand to his shoulder to hold him back, voice smooth. “Prince Vhailor is family. He has the right to speak.”

Kai’s mouth tightened. “Then speak better words. You’re a Mage, but you don't seem like you belong anywhere near a battlefield.”

Vhailor’s laugh died. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then show me.”

For a heartbeat there was only the wind and the distant hum of the ward. Then the prince’s mana answered him. It burst out like a struck bell—bright, loud, and sudden. It came from Vhailor first, a raw, hot current that flared around his gloves and climbed the gold threads in his robe. The Mages behind him answered in pieces, sleeves lifting, palms opening; their spells braided into a rush that made the air taste metallic.

Aldrin’s face went pale. Kai felt the shift of mana in the air and smiled. He pushed his mana onto his fingers beginning to form up a spell structure, noting how quickly young Mages bled into anger. They had force, yes, but little of the cautious personality that came with age and experience. Someone like Elias had learned that; these boys had not. Vhailor moved like a spoiled blade, far too eager to cut.

Part of it was probably because Vhailor’s Mage array gave him enough protection to believe he couldn’t die, no matter what Kai did. The arrogance fit him perfectly.

Mana kept pouring out of the prince and the Mages behind him, threads of blue and silver weaving through the air until a glowing pattern formed between them. Kai didn’t interfere. The ward’s dome would block any serious disruption, and it was better to study the array than waste mana.

He watched the array take shape slowly. It was crude work at max, rushed, but functional. As he suspected, Vhailor didn't seem like he could draw on his support Mages’ affinities. Instead, their mana only fed his reserves, turning him into a single, overcharged conduit. Twenty percent of their power went into forming a defense barrier—strong enough to shrug off most mid circle spells. The rest flooded into the prince himself.

Vhailor’s veins lit through his skin like molten lines. His grin grew wider and sharper, the kind of smile that came just before someone did something stupid. Beside him, Aldrin’s expression collapsed into horror. Whatever plan he’d prepared, this wasn’t it.

But it was too late.

Kai raised a hand, pulled a thread of mana together, and snapped out a flare spell. A sharp blue light tore into the sky. A signal for attack.

The ward flared a heartbeat later as Vhailor burst through it with four Mages in tow.

Lightning and water coiled around them, wrapping their bodies in a storm-bright armor. Bolts streaked toward Kai.

He slashed back, his [Wind Blades] meeting theirs midair.

The clash tore open the sky in a white explosion that rattled the mountainside and sent dust raining over the walls.

Kai surged higher, the wind at his feet kept him above the smoke just as an annoying voice spoke from behind. Kai didn’t need to look back to know who it was.

“Where are you running now?”

***

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