— CONTESTED BORDER, NAAH’MI MOUNTAINS, YEAR: 7298. SEASON: NEW BEGINNING.

  Mojo placed an armored hand on his neck, gently cracking it. He breathed in the cool chill air of the Naah’Mi Mountains and quietly overlooked the nearly straight path between the Queendom of Edryan and his Federation of Farya. This pass was one of the two easily traversed routes between the two nations, and it once served as a busy overland trade route. Now it was desolate, with sparse greenery making it through the dense rocky exterior.

  The Naah’Mi Mountains range was composed of hard, dark stone of incredibly resilient properties that was quite valuable when properly mined. Little to no growth occurred on the mountains as they appeared much like a dead zone forcibly raised between the nations. Mojo heard the mountains on the other side of Edryan, the Luffer Range, were similar in nature.

  “There is an old wives’ tale in the villages near the mountains’ outskirts,” Asan spoke up. While Mojo preferred to stand overlooking the pass from a high vantage point. Asan sat, leg quietly raised by a stool as he gently stroked his long bow. “They say this range and its twin were constructed using the power of the Gods. To entrap the magi and make it difficult for any invasion to take off.”

  “Sounds like horse shit spewed to keep one afraid,” Mojo grunted in response.

  His eyes remained focused on the distant opening of the pass. Any invading army would have to pass between a mountain before curving right and laying eyes on the magnificence of Forger’s Keep. The defensive keep wasn’t built, but carved from the two mountains that allowed entry deeper into the Federation’s lands. A wall, not unlike a dam, was pulled together by his people with their control over the earth. Fifty meters high, over a hundred in width, Forger’s Keep made it impossible to travel deeper into the Federation’s land without passing through its gate. The Keep held a staggered approach with three levels that allowed defenders to remain stationed outside of the interior. Any invading force would have to fight its way up and through each of these Battle Terrances to see the land of the Federation on the other side. And, to complete its defenses, it held Two Arbitrators and several high-level Champions curated specifically to deal with the Chosen of Madris. Regardless of whether he remained humanoid or transformed into a dragon, they were prepared.

  “It could be… it could be.”

  Asan chuckled to himself, his fingers lightly brushing against his bowstring, strumming it like a zither. He seemed infatuated with the bow, his eyes not leaving it as he spoke. A faint, gentle divinity encompassed the weapon, and long arrows, as thick as a man’s femur bone, lay still in a quiver next to him. These arrows were sparse, with fewer than a dozen present in the quill.

  Mojo heard the soft sound of the strumming bow and lightly snorted. “Don’t mess up this time.”

  Asan scoffed. “I only lost to that magi because of the range of the arena. With this bow in hand… I’m confident in even slaying a demigod.”

  A gentle wind picked up as the sunny, clear blue sky shone overhead. “I would have thought a day like this to be more dark and dreary, not sunshine and rainbows,” Mojo uttered. He received no response and didn’t expect one. The pair were simply waiting, guarding the border as was their duty.

  Suddenly, Asan halted his movements, and for the first time, he took his eyes off the bow, lightly swinging it over his shoulder. Mojo tightened up, Asan’s senses were far greater than his as he held much more Intent. Not only was his Intent stronger, allowing him to see further out, but his armor was different.

  Mojo wore a heavy, dark golden armor, composed of tiny dull crystals called Earth Veins, used for raising his affinity with the earth, which in turn raised his overall power. Asan also wore light armor with tiny crystals embedded within the leather, which enhanced his perception and range.

  “They’re here.”

  Mojo couldn’t see them but immediately barked out orders to the soldiers below.

  “Send word to the Strategic Command Center—the Chosen’s Army has arrived,” Mojo ordered. He turned to Asan, smirking as he spoke. “It’ll be good to face Alexandria Indrius again. I want to see what makes her so confident that she can come with a smaller force and expect to take this mountain pass.

  “ FORGER’S KEEP !”

  “THEATER COMMANDER!”

  “ PREPARE FOR BATTLE. ”

  It didn’t take long for Forger’s Keep to turn into a hive of activity. Large circular cannons were armed, doors were sealed, and the people within all took positions ready to defend the keep with their lives.

  The Theater Commander and his Vice Commander both stayed in position quietly watching. It didn’t take long for Mojo to spot banners and see the approaching force. Exactly one week ago, the Chosen of Madris announced his intentions to the world, beginning the third game of the Twelve Thrones. Exactly one week later, he had arrived at the doorstep of the Federation.

  “Since he came, let’s ensure he doesn’t leave,” Mojo stated.

  The approaching army increasingly grew closer and closer, and as they did so, Mojo confirmed the intelligence from their espionage forces that the army really did have only fifty or so thousand people present.

  “Have we detected any Demigods or Prestige’s?”

  “No Theater Commander, no devices have picked up an abnormal amount of mana except in one position near the center of the approaching army. However, it is still far from the threshold that most Prestiges and Demigods hold.”

  “That’s the Chosen of Madris,” Asan commented. “I’ve already spotted him.”

  Mojo grunted in response. So long as no Path Walkers were hiding among the enemy forces, then Mojo was confident he could easily hold this pass. And, he’d already received word of reinforcements ready to ambush a repelled magi. At that time, Mojo would personally lead a force to finish off the Chosen of Madris and any stragglers if they weren’t finished already.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Sensing Mojo’s concern, his cousin spoke up. “Grandfather Kano and Grandmother Yola are keeping a close watch. They’ve been mid-level Prestiges for a few centuries now and can definitely deal with anything unexpected.”

  Although it wasn’t a written agreement in the SAFE treaty, it was a well-regarded fact that those beyond Mortal wouldn’t necessarily interfere with a battle between mortals. It wasn’t because they couldn’t or had some sort of limiter placed on them by the Twelve Thrones, but because many found it beneath them, nor could they gain any levels from it unless the opponent held sufficient strength.

  “Are the whereabouts of the Edryan Path Walkers confirmed?”

  “Reporting to Theater Commander, the presence of two Path Walkers has been confirmed in the Southern Edryan Strategic Command Center located at Drumia City. No other further movements have been displayed.”

  Mojo did some rough calculations. He estimated the Path Walkers were roughly two to four hundred kilometers away. A short teleportation distance or a short flight, depending on their prowess. It was roughly the same on their side. With all shortcomings accounted for, Mojo’s attention turned toward the approaching army. At nearly a kilometer and a half, the Imperius Army halted, and a small force dispatched itself from it and rode forward.

  “Golems for mounts? Interesting,” Asan called out. “Let’s go see what they wish to say.”

  Although they were in a state of war, it wasn’t an all-out hatred to the point that conversation couldn’t be held. The battle terms between the nations involved with SAFE had already been clarified to a degree, but if both parties wished to set further terms, now was the chance.

  Mojo and Asan made their way to the Battle Terrance Three, the third and lowest. They made their way through a dense crowd before halting at the forefront. Mojo waited until the approaching party was nearly fifty meters away from the wall before signaling Asan. The base’s vice commander removed his bow, conjured a simple arrow out of energy, and shot it forward. The arrow penetrated the ground before the approaching party, and slowly, the figures, fewer than ten, came to a halt.

  A single rider, one that both Mojo and Asan recognized, moved forward past the shot arrow. She only moved a distance of a few meters before halting.

  Mojo recognized the incredibly short woman. She still possessed the same face and features she had as she fought alongside them during the Federation’s attacks on the Principality and Merchant Republic. However, there were qualities about her that were different and difficult to describe.

  General Alexandria Indrius had grown in presence. Even from the distance between them, Mojo and Asan could feel a certain pressure radiating from the woman.

  Her voice, strong without room for intervention, spoke, directly stating her message and leaving no room for discourse.

  “ I AM GENERAL ALEXANDRIA INDRIUS — FIRST GENERAL OF IMPERIUS. THIS FORTRESS BLOCKS A SANCTIONED ADVANCE. IT WILL BE TAKEN. ”

  Mojo scoffed at her opening, intending to respond, but halted as Asan placed a hand on his shoulder, signaling him to wait. Mojo frowned, but held off.

  “ YOU MAY SURRENDER NOW. RESISTANCE WILL BE MET WITH EXTREME RETALIATION. SHOULD YOU REFUSE, THIS BASE WILL FALL. SURVIVING SOLDIERS SHALL BE PLACED IN DETENTION CAMPS. BY THE GRACE OF OUR CHOSEN, HE HAS GIVEN YOU A SINGLE HOUR TO RESPOND. ”

  Without waiting for a response, General Alexandria turned her golem horse, and she and her escort began their return to the Imperius Army. Theater Commander Mojo had an ugly expression on his face. His beady eyes narrowed as he gazed at the returning figure. He clenched his fist, and a growl escaped from his throat as he spoke aloud.

  “Do they believe the Federation and Asigbonle to be lambs waiting for the slaughter?”

  Vice Theater Commander turned to a runner and ordered them to send the exact words uttered by General Alexandria to the Strategic Command Center. Although he and Mojo already held a response in their hearts, they were ultimately not the commanders of the entire force. That honor had been given to Ninjaro. It took several minutes for Mojo to calm his anger, but as he did so, he began to give out orders, including to his vice commander.

  “Make your way to the Battle Terrance Three, later, when you have the opportunity, use one of those fancy God Slaying arrows to kill that bitch.”

  Asan smirked, although his face was composed, some of the same anger, if not more, was present within him. He let off a casual wave and made his way to the height of Forger’s Keep. He would have killed General Alexandria with one of his special arrows, even without Mojo’s order to do so.

  Silently, Asan left his cousin on the first Battle Terrance, and made his way upward. In truth, Mojo should have followed him and been stationed on the second or third terrance, but he needed to wash this insult with blood—magi blood.

  It didn’t take long for the Strategic Command Center to respond—barely ten minutes. Mojo grinned savagely. It could only have come from Ninjaro. Not in Common, but in the tongue of his people.

  “Mase je ki won bori re.”

  Don’t let them conquer you.

  Simple. Direct. Permission.

  Just the way Mojo liked it. It was a message that said all prohibitions were off. Mojo suddenly took a deep breath. This was it. The war. The third game of the Twelve Thrones—and for the Federation, he would open it. A heavy pressure descended on his shoulder, and he suddenly sobered up. Win or lose, his name would forever be sketched into the hearts of the Asigbonle—Giants from the Seas.

  Win or lose… no, there wasn’t any second option, only the first one. Mojo could only win this battle. That other word wasn’t in his vocabulary. His beady eyes widened as an hour had passed.

  Mojo looked down. The Edryan army had made little movements in that sole hour, waiting on a response from the Federation. The moment an hour passed, down to the exact second, and no response came from the Federation’s side, the Imperius Army commanders took that as their response.

  “Prepare the first volley,” Mojo ordered. To his left and right, metal groaned as energy condensed within, the air shimmering from its intensity.

  Forger’s Keep did not mix philosophies. Its weapons were divided cleanly.

  Those that burned.

  And those that killed the warmth out of things.

  At a kilometer and a half away, the force was well within range of their two-kilometer-range cannons. Mojo allowed them to approach thus far only to ensure they remained trapped. Once you entered the Federation’s borders, leaving would not be easy.

  The Edryans expected an answer.

  “Fire.”

  The Federation answered.