Jean landed gracefully on the stone platform beside the towering structure that served as the Mage Corps' headquarters, her boots barely making a sound against the reinforced pavement. The new Mage Tower was a grandiose spire of shimmering stone and intricate magical inscriptions, and it stood as the new Treon's beating arcane heart. Its sigils glowed faintly, humming with power in anticipation of the spellwork to come.

If I had known it was too young to have a Locus Foci, I would have expected it to manifest now. Those things love major magical works. The fact that it took us only a few months to transform it into a Masterwork on its own merit, while so many of the regional Towers still languish proves I was right that it was time to abandon the old ways.

The city's defenses depended heavily on the preparations made by the Mage Corps, and Jean, as Treon's sole Champion and Archmage, held the ultimate responsibility for ensuring those defenses held. Even as the wind tugged at her robes, she could sense the vast, latent energy accumulating beneath her feet, waiting to be channeled into the city's protective matrix.

She barely had time to dust off her robes before she was ushered inside by her subordinates. Senior Enchanters, Wardmasters, and Runewrights hurried alongside her, briefing her in hushed tones as they made their way through the tower's winding corridors. Their excitement and anxiety only increased her anticipation as they recounted what had been done and what still remained.

And to think that when we took it, this city had a tower filled with second and third sons. This shows that the people could always reach for greatness; they just needed a chance.

"Archmage Franklin," one of the Wardmasters greeted her as she stepped into the grand chamber. "We have completed ninety percent of the matrix, and the final integration of the wardstones is underway. We await your approval to proceed with the last phase."

Jean's sharp eyes scanned the ward chamber. It was a vast, circular space at the heart of the tower, with walls adorned by runic arrays, each carefully carved into the precious conductive stone. At the center lay the enormous magic circle—Treon's first and best line of defense. Its glyphs interwove in an intricate, shimmering web, eagerly awaiting the final input of power.

She moved quickly, inspecting the layers of spellwork. Though her mages were highly skilled and had done their best, considering how much of a rush job this had been, she spotted several inefficiencies. A few misaligned runic sequences here and an outdated schema there. She adjusted them quickly and without bothering to punish anyone, her fingers glowing with blue light as she traced over the necessary corrections, etching in modifications that would enhance stability and mana distribution.

"There," she murmured, stepping back after the final correction. "Much better. This will ensure that the ward array lasts significantly longer under sustained assault."

The wardmasters nodded, making rapid notes on their scrolls. Even now, they sought to learn. It was kind of cute.

Jean huffed with a smile, satisfied. "Bring in the mana crystals."

At her command, a procession of levitating carts entered the chamber, each stacked high—it was more wealth in one place than most noble houses of Hetnia could ever dream of. Even Count Luster-Treon would have been hard-pressed to waste that much at once, though she didn't intend to go through the whole stockpile. It's just insurance.

The mages guided them with care, maneuvering the stones into their designated receptacles around the magic circle. These crystals had been harvested from the hills outside Treon, where a massive deposit had been discovered months prior. Now, they would serve as the lifeblood of the city's defenses.

One by one, the stones were slotted into place. The runes on the walls flickered, responding to the vast influx of raw magical energy. The ward matrix pulsed like a living thing, eager to be activated.

Jean turned to her assembled mages. "Once we activate the wards, the enemy will realize that their bombardment will not be as effective as they had hoped. That means they will shift their tactics."

Murmurs ran through the gathered spellcasters.

"We expect attacks not just from the fleet, but from within," Jean continued. "There will be spies, infiltrators, and saboteurs who will attempt to disrupt our defenses. Some may try to breach the tower itself."

A younger mage swallowed audibly. "The tower? But—"

Jean's gaze hardened. "Do not be naive. The enemy has likely prepared multiple vectors of attack, just as we have spent the past months getting ready to defend ourselves. They will not sit idly by while we make their siege impossible. The tower is a prime target, and we must prepare accordingly."

She gestured toward the highest-ranking mages. "Our battle mages will take to the walls and assist in bombarding the fleet. Focus your fire on their siege weapons and command ships. Those remaining within the tower will monitor and reinforce the wards, and act as our last line of defense should the worst come to pass."

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She turned to the Wardmaster. "Make sure we have an emergency containment spell prepared in case the lower levels are breached."

The older man nodded gravely. "Understood, Archmage."

Jean took a deep breath, centering herself. If she could just stay here for the duration of the siege, she knew she could keep the wards up and running, but if they wanted any hope of winning the fight and not just surviving it, she needed to go out and lead.

Especially if Amelia's fears come true.

"Take your places," she ordered. "We'll begin."

The mages moved into position, forming a massive ring around the magic circle. Their role would be to extract and channel the crystals' power into the array. Everything else, from the shaping to the casting, would be up to her.

Jean stepped to the center of the array. Her hands rose, weaving intricate symbols in the air. The runes around her blazed to life as the vast network of sigils and lines surged with power. The air crackled, thick with mana, and the first layers of the ward structure began to take shape.

Outside, the first warships of the Garvan fleet came into range, and the distant echoes of war drums began to thunder.

Jean's breathing was slow, unhurried. The hum of magic coursed through the air, thick and alive, wrapping around her like a second skin. The vast array of runes inscribed into the floor shimmered, waiting, expectant. She closed her eyes, surrendering herself to the overwhelming current of power about to be unleashed.

Then, she reached out and began to work.

Her consciousness expanded as her mana surged into the matrix, weaving through the intricate layers of the massive spell structure. The mana crystals pulsed in response as the mages began to extract their powers and fed them into the array.

Jean grabbed onto it and manipulated it with the precision of a master artisan, directing the power along carefully prepared pathways, illuminating the vast network of glyphs and sigils that constituted the backbone of Treon's defenses.

Slowly, the wards began to take form.

She started with the outermost layers, allowing the first thin sheen of shimmering energy to unfurl across Treon like a translucent dome. It extended over the towering walls, tracing their every stone, reinforcing the ancient fortifications with arcane strength. Beneath her careful control, the defensive lattice interlocked perfectly, forming a solid but flexible construct capable of absorbing immense physical force.

The first layer was merely the foundation. It was there in case the enemy had managed to plant explosives around. She didn't think they had, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Jean then pushed deeper into the array, activating the secondary lines of protection. The shimmering light thickened and spread further, accounting for everything from elemental bombardments to cannon fire. The shield had to withstand siege spells, not merely disperse them; it needed to roll with the shockwaves, seamlessly redistributing pressure so that no single point bore the brunt of an assault.

She wove countermeasures into the framework, infusing the ward with immunity to magic draining, a nasty trick used by pirate sorcerers who sought to bleed a town's defenses dry before their ships arrived. Jean ensured that any attempt to siphon energy from the wards would instead lead to a brutal feedback loop, turning the thief's own spell against them in a violent surge of wild mana.

Another pulse of magic. Another layer settled in place.

The next enchantments settled over the city like an invisible mist, preventing the spread of curses meant to rot the ward's magic from within. Hexes designed to erode structural integrity, sigils meant to disrupt mana flows—Jean accounted for them all. Every potential weakness had been identified and rectified long before the actual casting began. The shield would not waver due to trickery.

And yet, her greatest effort went into the spell's ability to endure.

Layer by layer, Jean ensured the wards could take a battering, absorb the shock from siege weapons, endure spell barrages, and reform almost instantly if even a single hairline crack appeared. Resilience was the key to survival. The city would not crumble from a single decisive blow; Treon would persevere as its defenses resembled a mighty river, bending but never breaking.

Her work was flawless, and she could feel the awe radiating from her mages as they watched her make the process look effortless.

For Jean, this was art. It was what she was born to do.

The wards spread beyond the walls, stretching over the harbor's piers. Unlike the rest of the city, there was no solid structure to anchor the barrier here, only the river's edge. It was delicate work, requiring an intricate balance of strength and deference.

The spirits of the Great Slitherer would not tolerate encroachment into their domain. Therefore, Jean wove the final edge of the ward just before the river's free waters, creating an invisible line that would halt enemy ships while leaving the spirits undisturbed.

Something piqued her attention at the harbor, and for a moment, she slowed her efforts.

There, emerging from the dark waters, were two bedraggled figures, navy sailors barely clinging to consciousness as they stumbled onto the docks.

Jean paused, recognizing them.

With a subtle shift in her casting speed, she slowed the wards' descent over the harbor just enough to ensure their safe passage. The two men collapsed onto the pier, gasping for breath, unaware of the favor they had just received. Only when they were safely within the city's protection did Jean resume at full speed, the final layers falling into place.

And then, at last, the spell was complete.

The light of the wards flared, rising to a crescendo before settling into an imperceptible veil. Jean exhaled deeply, a slow smile curling across her lips. The city was secure.

It should have been a moment of triumph; she had accomplished alone what typically required teams of hundreds. Yet, she maintained her caution and was soon rewarded for it.

Her eyes darted toward the upper edge of the wardroom, where the delicate, shimmering strands of her spellwork wavered just a little. A hidden intruder was trying to bypass the protections and tamper with the casting. The arrogance!

Jean raised her hand.

A whisper of magic curled at her fingertips, raw mana coalescing into something lethal. Her incantation was silent, as she had no need for words. Her intent was more than enough for the world to bend to her whims.

A disintegrating curse left her hand.

The air split apart as the spell struck. For a fraction of a second, nothing happened. Then, a scream.

A figure flickered into existence, his invisibility stripped away as the curse took hold. A Garvan infiltrator, dressed in enchanted leathers, twisted in agony as his body began to dissolve into ashen fragments. The other mages gasped, their shock evident as they beheld their Archmage's work.

Jean merely smiled, lowering her hand as the last remnants of the spy crumbled into nothingness.

She turned to her assembled spellcasters, her voice even and calm. "Treon will not fall. I will make sure of it."

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