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A few days went by. During that time, the City of Portroi and the Revolutionary Army maintained an uneasy peace without a single clash.
Of course, for anyone other than the higher ranks of the two sides, that peace was fragile at best. Portroi had lost more than half its standing army because of Nekator, while the Revolutionary Army had marched hundreds of kilometers with enough momentum to fight at any moment. Friction between them was only natural.
The only reason things hadn’t already turned ugly was that there were five Masters stationed in Portroi. Each one alone was an asymmetrical force equal to an entire legion. Grania the Archmage was not at his best, but that didn’t change the fact that he was someone still immensely devastating in large-scale warfare.
Archmagi were terrifying during sieges, but where they were truly monstrous was in defense. Using castle walls and soldiers as shields, they could bombard attackers with large-scale strategic magic again and again until the besieging army broke.
“This is troublesome. Extremely troublesome,” mumbled Redmond, the viscount serving as strategist under Lyon’s private corps, the Vultures, as he stroked his beard. “According to plan, we were supposed to enter the Gateway City, let the troops rest, and reinforce its defenses until the second division arrived.”
“Nothing we can do about it, Viscount,” Gilbert said. “If we just had to deal with Master Grania, maybe—but four other Masters? No army could handle that. Even after...
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