CHAPTER 187: THE ASHEN IRON GATE

The subjugation of the Duchy of Alban began not with diplomatic warnings, but with a relentless, mechanical march.

Spearheaded by the five colossal Orc Chieftain puppets, the vanguard swept over the three outer border forts, Fort Dun Carrow, Fort Caer Riven, and Fort Rath Dour, in less than twenty-four hours. Clad in thick, dark-chitin plate that absorbed the rain of human ballista bolts like drops of water, the giant constructs acted as living battering rams. They swung their massive waraxes in synchronized unison against the primary reinforced gates, shattering the outer defensive line before the human garrisons could even dispatch messenger ravens.

Behind them, the Obsidian Legion marched with absolute, terrifying discipline. Caius had issued a single, unyielding decree to his officers before the march: spare the women, the children, and any man who does not bear arms, but for those who raise steel against us, show no mercy.

The order was executed to the letter. Surrendering towns were spared from pillaging, while any garrison that resisted was systematically crushed beneath blackened Solarian steel.

Seven days later, the vanguard reached Fortress Vorash, the Duchy's largest northern stronghold. Perched atop a sheer granite cliff, its forty-foot stone ramparts were manned by six thousand hardened human veterans under General Vance, who refused to yield.

For a week, the five Orc puppets pounded the fortress foundations, while four hundred and fifty dark elf spell-casters rained dark-infused fire onto the battlements. By the seventh night, the iron-bound oak doors shattered into splinters. The defenders who stood their ground were executed on the spot, while the disarmed citizens were left unharmed, huddled in their homes as the dark banner of the Black Granite Citadel rose over the keep.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on NovelPhoenix. Report any occurrences.

Two weeks after the fall of Vorash, the Obsidian Legion crested the rolling southern hills and halted in the open fields before the heart of the province: Alban City, the seat of the Duchy.

Stretched across the wide plains below, the main city stood protected by a shimmering, golden dome of high-tier defensive magic, an ancient Solarian warding array powered by deep ley-line conduits. Along the massive stone ramparts, twenty thousand human soldiers of the Alban Ducal Army stood in dense, steel-clad formations, their spears bristling beneath the sun. Interspersed among the human lines were tall, radiant figures clad in gleaming white-and-gold armor, representing a garrison of allied High Elven Sentinels dispatched directly from Mount Eldoria to ensure the border province did not fall.

At the front of the dark army, Caius sat atop a shadow-draped war steed, looking out over the grand defensive array. Behind him, the thirteen thousand fully refitted troops of the Obsidian Legion silently expanded into battle formation across the open field.

Beside them, however, marched a harrowing new addition to Caius's growing war machine: a newly risen human puppet legion, several thousand strong. Composed of the captured soldiers harvested from the fallen border forts and Vorash, they lacked uniform armor, still clad in their mismatched, dented iron plates and wielding their own original weapons. Yet they moved in haunting, eerie unison, their faces completely void of emotion. Embedded directly into the center of each soldier's forehead was a small, polished black obsidian bead, pulsing with faint, soul-binding dark mana that tied their every breath directly to Caius's will.

Caius gazed at the divine shield protecting the city, his violet-gold pupils narrowing as he waited for the right moment to break the barrier.