But the barrier holds.
Inside the capital, soldiers are thrown to the ground. Windows shatter across the plaza. Birds fall from the sky mid-flight. Every wardstone in the city's defense system flares to maximum output, humming like a swarm of angry gods.
And on the walls—
Silence.
Dozens of men are collapsed, gasping, crying, vomiting. Some are unconscious. Others… worse.
A young Tier 2 soldier near Caizie stares blankly ahead. His lips tremble. Then his bladder gives out. Wetness pools at his boots.
He's not the only one.
Dozens of younger soldiers—those who've never seen true war, who've only trained with wooden weapons and sparred against dummies—break.
Caizie clutches her thin sword so tightly her knuckles crack. "Gods… that wasn't even a direct hit."
Bulad's face is a granite mask, but his voice rings with fury.
"Get up!" he roars, louder than the wind, louder than the screams. "I said GET UP!"
