45- The Siege of Velthorn

A dense fog blanketed the fields surrounding Velthorn, rolling in like a creeping tide. The city's towering stone walls stood silent in the moonlight, their sentries peering into the mist, shifting uneasily. They had expected a clear night, yet the sudden, unnatural fog had swallowed their vision whole.

It wasn't just any fog.

Aldric, riding at the front of his cavalry, adjusted his breathing, carefully controlling the mana flow around him. He had spent the last hour weaving his magic into the air, using moisture drawn from the nearby lake to manipulate condensation, creating a natural fog bank thick enough to obscure their approach but subtle enough to avoid triggering Velthorn's magical alarm system.

His grip tightened on his reins as he watched the red signal flare ignite the sky—a blazing beacon marking the successful infiltration.

"The gates are open," Gustov muttered beside him.

Aldric didn't respond. He raised his arm, signaling his forces.

"Charge."

The cavalry surged forward, their warhorses kicking up damp earth as they closed the final distance to the city's entrance. The thick fog rendered them ghosts in the night, invisible until the last moment. By the time the defenders on the walls realized what was happening, it was too late.

Arrows loosed blindly from above, but Aldric's control over the fog disrupted their aim. He twisted the mist, thickening it around the archer positions, reducing visibility to nearly zero. Cries of confusion echoed from the ramparts as panicked soldiers shouted orders that no one could follow.

The moment the cavalry breached the entrance, Aldric wasted no time. He extended his hand, feeling the mana in the ground beneath them. With precision, he shifted the moisture content of the dirt, softening it into thick mud beneath the defenders' feet.

The enemy knights barely had time to react before their boots sank into the unexpected quagmire.

"Now!" Aldric shouted.

The first ranks of his men, prepared for the shift, loosed a barrage of spears. The defenders, struggling to move, had no chance to dodge. The deadly projectiles tore through them, collapsing their formations before the melee had even begun.

As the infantry pressed forward, Aldric immediately adapted. He lifted the moisture in the air once more, manipulating it into a thin, slick sheet across the muddied battlefield. The mud froze instantly into a treacherous layer of ice beneath the enemy's feet.

The knights, clad in heavy armor, slipped and collapsed like dominoes. Chaos spread among their ranks as they struggled to rise.

Aldric, however, had already planned for this. He reinforced the ground beneath his own forces, ensuring they had firm footing to advance.

"Cut them down!" he commanded.

Steel clashed as his vanguard swept through the enemy ranks, striking down disoriented foes with practiced efficiency.

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the city, Red and his squad moved swiftly. Their task: block reinforcements before they could reach the battle.

"We need to collapse this street," Red said, signaling his men.

Tobias, already preparing alchemic explosive charges, nodded. "Three charges should be enough to bury this road under rubble. That'll delay their response."

Mara positioned herself nearby, watching the side alleys. "Make it quick. We don't have much time before the city's elite forces get here."

The first explosion rocked the district, sending chunks of stone and debris raining down. The second blast followed, sealing off the main reinforcements route. The third, more precise, struck a key support beam in a nearby watchtower, bringing it crashing down in a cloud of dust and splinters.

"That should hold them," Tobias smirked, wiping soot from his face.

Not far from them, Gerrod and Royce were busy neutralizing the archers.

"Keep them pinned down," Royce ordered as his team scaled the walls, moving with deadly precision.

A group of Velthorn's archers, attempting to regain control of the ramparts, found themselves ambushed. Knives flashed in the moonlight as Royce's squad struck with brutal efficiency, cutting through the opposition and taking the high ground.

Below, Gerrod lit a torch and hurled it into the armory. Within moments, the flames roared to life, consuming the city's weapon stores.

"That should even the odds," Gerrod muttered, watching the blaze spread.

Back at the gates, Aldric continued to command his forces, adjusting his tactics on the fly. His breathing was steady, but he could feel it—his surroundings were growing weaker.

The mana in the air, once abundant, was starting to thin.

He didn't have time to wait for natural replenishment.

Instead, he adapted.

Rather than large-scale magic, he shifted to precision. He directed small but crucial spells—shaping the fog strategically to confuse enemy movements, hardening patches of ground for stable footing, and freezing isolated enemy units in place.

It was a game of efficiency, and Aldric played it with mastery.

But then—

A new presence emerged from the inner fortress.

A squad of elite knights, their polished armor glinting in the firelight, marched onto the battlefield. Their leader, a towering warrior clad in obsidian-black plate, carried a massive greatsword that gleamed with enchantment.

The battlefield seemed to still. Even through the fading fog, Aldric could feel it—this man wasn't just another knight.

This was Velthorn's strongest warrior.

The man raised his blade, pointing it at Aldric. His voice was deep, carrying a weight of unshakable confidence.

"Aldric Ravensbourne," he said. "I have been waiting to test my blade against you."

Aldric exhaled, his grip tightening around his sword. His body was worn, his magic reserves stretched thin, but there was no retreat.

He took a step forward, eyes locked onto his opponent.

"Then let's see if you can keep up."