Chapter 436: The Magical Barrier of Rockhold Fortress
Ever since the last raiding party sent beyond the city walls was brutally crushed and fled back to the fortress in disgrace, the atmosphere inside Rockhold Fortress had plummeted to its lowest point.
The knights, clad in armor and radiating authority, led wave after wave of soldiers to intercept the advancing forces of Cecil, only to be forced to retreat each time, leaving behind the bodies of their comrades. Meanwhile, the Cecil army continued to close in day by day. Two days ago, their banners were still spotted near the hills; today, they were already visible on the plains, as if unstoppable.
Under such circumstances, the southern nobles showed great signs of wavering. Having been frightened once before, they grew increasingly restless upon hearing of the Cecil army’s relentless approach. Their unease only intensified the psychological pressure on the fortress’s defenders—any clear-eyed observer could see that it was precisely the presence of these southern nobles that magnified the threat posed by the Cecil forces and sapped the morale of the garrison.
Sir Mariland even had to personally intervene, speaking with the southern nobles to calm them down and prevent further demoralization. Yet the deteriorating mood inside the fortress was an irreversible reality.
On this day, the Cecil forces finally halted on the southern plains outside Rockhold Fortress and began setting up camp. The mages using their Arcane Eyes to scout the plains soon brought back even more unsettling news:
The Cecil army had taken control of a high ground to the southwest of the plains and were constructing some enormous magical apparatus there.
This device was far beyond the range of the fortress’s catapults, even beyond the reach of any mage tower’s spells.
Inside the fortress’s urban district, in a brightly lit tavern, a scruffy, bearded man slammed his beer mug down on the table with a loud thud, spilling ale everywhere. Reeking of alcohol, he shouted, “That’s ‘Heavenfire’! Heavenfire! I know what the Cecils are up to—I’ve seen it from afar… They’re using that thing, and soon they’ll break into the fortress… No one will survive!”
He then drained the rest of his mug in one gulp and bellowed drunkenly, “Another round!”
This man was a fallen knight from the south, one of the nobles who had fled into the fortress with their retinues. He had been hanging around this place for weeks now. Though knights had some savings and carried a bit of gold and silver, they were no match for the lords and ladies who lived in luxury within the castle walls. So he drowned his battered nerves in the noisy, chaotic tavern, numbing himself with drink.
Since the arrival of the Cecil forces, such down-and-out knights had become increasingly common in taverns and brothels. Usually, no one bothered them, but today, someone finally had enough—a local knight stationed permanently at Rockhold suddenly stood up, grabbed the fallen knight by the collar, and yanked him to his feet. “You coward! What good are you if all you do is drink and spout doom and gloom here?!”
The drunken southern knight glanced at the hand gripping his collar and twisted his face into a strange smile. “You’re not the coward. You can try charging forward when the Cecil’s Heavenfire comes crashing down…”
The local knight’s face darkened with rage. Instinctively, he raised his fist, ready to teach this troublemaker—this southern interloper who was sowing discord inside the fortress—a lesson. Ever since the southern nobles and their followers had taken refuge inside, tensions had been simmering between the locals and these outsiders. Now, in this grim atmosphere, it seemed the conflict was about to boil over.
But before the fist could fall, a distant, muffled rumble like thunder suddenly echoed through the night.
Then came a strange, eerie wail, as if something heavy was hurtling swiftly through the air.
The local knight froze for a moment. The southern knight he had grabbed let out a strange cry and did something that stunned everyone: he broke free, dove under the table, and shouted, “Heavenfire’s coming! Cecil’s magic!”
He wasn’t alone. Several other southern knights and wandering soldiers scattered to the nearest tables, diving for cover while shouting warnings about Heavenfire and Cecil magic.
The local knight was momentarily dumbfounded. He had wanted to scold the pitiful man for his cowardice, but before he could, a deafening explosion thundered from the direction of the southern walls. The blast shook the wooden beams of the tavern, sending dust and debris raining down—the place instantly descended into chaos.
The southern knights hiding under tables poked their heads out and shouted, “Heavenfire! It’s falling! Find cover! Get down! Don’t run around!”
“Stay calm! Keep order! Grab your weapons and report to the walls!” the local knight yelled hoarsely. “Don’t run!”
But the second and third explosions that followed rendered his efforts useless. The blasts kept coming from the southern side of the fortress, the final one sounding as if it exploded right overhead.
Yet amid the relentless, thunderous explosions—like the devastating spells of great archmages—the southern knights under the tables suddenly emerged again, joined by others who had taken cover or dropped to the ground.
“Something’s wrong…” one southern knight muttered. “It didn’t hit the ground… didn’t get inside the fortress…”
The local knight couldn’t catch the low murmur and shouted, “What did you say?!”
“I said something’s wrong! The Heavenfire didn’t get through!”
Suddenly, the southern knight shouted, then, to everyone’s astonishment, several southern men rushed outside.
They ran into the open space beyond the tavern, fighting the fear clawing at their nerves, and looked up toward the direction of the explosions.
What they saw was a massive barrier enveloping the entire Rockhold Fortress.
A faint, shimmering halo rose from the dark, solemn fortress walls. Countless magical runes glowed brilliantly along the battlements, and the energy shield covering the fortress shimmered with radiant light, supported by those runes. Through the translucent glow, the southern men clearly saw several pale blue streaks darting across the night sky, striking the barrier—or the distant walls.
The thunderous explosions echoed, and the southern knights and their companions instinctively sagged, but the blasts only erupted outside the barrier. The enormous flames resembled grand fireworks conjured by illusionists—deafening, air-shaking, and dazzling the surface of the energy shield, but ultimately failing to penetrate it.
More pale blue streaks cut across the sky, striking the barrier and walls, but the southern knights stood firm, eyes wide as the terrifying Heavenfire detonated outside the shield. Their fear slowly gave way to ecstatic relief.
The dreadful Heavenfire had been stopped.
The legendary ancient magical walls of Rockhold Fortress had proven their might.
Inside the fortress, they were safe.
“Heavenfire was stopped by the barrier!” “The barrier held!” “The Cecils can’t break through!” “We’re safe!!”
Cheers erupted first from the southern nobles, then spread to the other soldiers and knights who had been tense and anxious. The nobles and senior knights in the castle district joined in the celebration.
“Ladies and gentlemen! We can finally breathe easy,” Sir Mariland said from the high platform in the great hall, arms outstretched and smiling as he looked over the crowd—at the joyous southern nobles and the relieved fortress knights. “It seems the Cecils’ flashy toys aren’t invincible after all. Against the magical barrier, they can be stopped!”
A southern noble rose, bowed deeply to Sir Mariland with exaggerated flair, then turned to the crowd and declared in a theatrical tone, “Friends—we may now bring out the red wine from the cellars!”
After so long under crushing tension and dread, the nobles seemed desperate for a feast to soothe their nerves.
Before the banquet even began, the relentless Heavenfire gradually ceased. It seemed even the Cecil forces recognized the fortress’s strength, or perhaps their magical device needed to cool down. This only lightened the mood inside the fortress further.
Sir Mariland and his knights managed to keep their emotions in check, but the southern nobles—so long repressed and tense—were ready to erupt into a wild, vengeful revelry once the pressure was finally released.
Sir Mariland smiled and allowed it all. In his eyes, these poor gentlemen truly needed to unwind after the immense strain they had endured.
The castle district was brightly lit as the feast quickly got underway.
The nobles’ celebration came suddenly and with great extravagance, but that was their nature—banquets were not just entertainment but social, political, and everyday affairs. Knowing that soldiers elsewhere in the fortress remained on duty, they felt free to drink and toast boldly in the great hall. Nobles were masters of hosting feasts and accustomed to doing so for any reason, especially one as good as this.
Yet Viscount Carol found the sudden shift in atmosphere overwhelming. After a short while in the hall, he felt stifled and sought an excuse to leave. Outside, he found a quiet spot on the highest terrace of the castle district to breathe in the fresh night air.
From here, the magical barrier was clearly visible.
The magical shield of Rockhold Fortress remained active—a translucent energy dome enveloped the outer walls, faintly connected to the arcane metals embedded within. Drawing on the fortress’s ancient and potent magical focal points, combined with the energy stored in the walls during the day, the barrier could hold until sunrise, when the sun’s rays would recharge it. Even if the sun failed to rise, several large mage towers within the fortress could tap into the subterranean magical core to sustain the shield at reduced power.
The fortress was protected—for now.
Visions of the distant magical barrier stirred an inexplicable restlessness in Viscount Carol, yet paradoxically, it also brought him a faint sense of relief. He exhaled softly and, through the translucent veil of light, cast his gaze even farther.
The assault by the Cecilian forces had ended—so abruptly and briefly that Carol, having endured the bombardment at Shattered Stone Ridge before, couldn’t help but feel something was off. After a moment’s thought, he traced a few runes in the air and activated his “Mage’s Eye.”
His vision instantly projected outward, slightly warped and trembling. Under the cloak of night, he saw the Cecilian camp operating as usual.
Though the Mage’s Eye revealed only limited detail, one thing was clear: the Cecilian soldiers leisurely adjusting their “Heavenfire devices” and chatting around campfires showed no sign of defeat or distress.
Footsteps sounded behind him. Carol immediately dispelled the Mage’s Eye and turned to see Lady Ropeni Grant approaching, her voice cool and composed. “Viscount Carol, what are you doing?”
He faced the formidable woman who had led them out of hell itself and felt a brief wave of relief—only to furrow his brow again. “Lady Grant, something’s wrong.”
Her finely arched brows lifted slightly. “Wrong?”
“The Cecilians wouldn’t just stop with such a minor show of force… At Shattered Stone Ridge, they bombarded us for an entire hour straight. It makes no sense for them to be so lax attacking Rockhold Fortress,” Carol said anxiously. “I just used the Mage’s Eye to look at their camp. Their order is impeccable—there’s no sign they’re struggling at all.”
“Is that so…?” Lady Ropeni’s expression darkened, and she instinctively rubbed a ring on her finger. “That’s deeply unsettling.”
“I need to warn Sir Mariland,” Carol said, frowning. Then, curiosity got the better of him. “But—Lady Grant, why did you leave the banquet hall? Did you notice something too?”
“I just returned from the walls,” she replied coolly. “Did you forget? Sir Mariland assigned us to guard the second wall and part of the mage tower. Unfortunately, almost everyone else is still drinking in the hall, so I had to come out and do some real work.”
“Thank heavens there’s someone like you keeping watch,” Carol said admiringly, stepping forward toward the castle district. “We must inform Sir Mariland—”
His words were cut off.
A soft, slightly cold hand grasped his arm. The ring on that hand glowed with a faint blue light.
A chilling numbness spread from his arm through his entire body. He struggled to turn his head and saw Lady Ropeni Grant’s impassive face close beside him. He tried to speak but no sound came out.
Then, the still-beautiful lady whispered near his ear: “Viscount, do you know that Ilaven years ago, when those rioters stormed my husband’s castle, only one loyal sentinel stood watch in the tower, trying to stop them with his crossbow…”
She stepped back slightly, and with Carol’s horrified gaze fixed on her, she began to push his body forward.
“That sentinel was about your age when he fell from the tower. When your knights returned to report, they probably never mentioned this little detail…”
Carol’s body tilted dangerously toward the edge of the terrace. His eyes darted frantically, but aside from moving his eyeballs, he couldn’t shift a muscle. For a mage, once their spellcasting is suppressed, breaking free from such physical restraint by sheer strength is nearly impossible.
At the last moment, Lady Ropeni gave him a gentle shove.
And in that final instant, the viscount heard a faint, indistinct phrase carried on the wind:
“…That sentinel fell just like this.”
(End of chapter)