Goblin Halleck was violently repelled by the barrier's force. Crying his brother's name, he rushed to the golden wall again and again, hammering it with desperate fists—only to be hurled backward each time, until exhaustion left him barely able to maintain his footing. The Godmans were attempting the same futile exercise. Their well-disciplined soldiers, initially undaunted by this arcane boundary, organized methodical charges against the golden rampart. The results proved predictably catastrophic: stone projectiles, arrows, massive ballista bolts, knights with couched lances, infantry with leveled spears—all met identical fates, rebounding violently as the barrier's offensive enchantments activated. When an entire knight phalanx charged in unison, the air crackled with magical discharge, filling the battlefield with the acrid scent of charred flesh and metal before catapulting them skyward like broken waves. The Cynthians watched this, some of them with a dark, grim amusement. After each unsuccessful assault, Godman frustrations erupted in curses and bellows. Their voices penetrated the barrier readily enough, though carrying no threat beyond noise.

  "Run. Find an escape route," Halleck urged, kneeling at the barrier's edge, his features etched with concern as he gazed at his brother. "They are like flies in a jar—beating themselves to death against the glass and learning nothing from it." Goblin Idaho sat heavily upon the ground, clutching his throbbing head, shaking it slowly. His attempts to breach the barrier outnumbered even his brother's desperate efforts. "Time grows short, brother!" Halleck pounded the earth, his voice escalating with urgency. "Their next charge might come directly behind you! When they fail—and they will fail—they'll seek outlets for their rage and frustration. You present the perfect target, Idaho! You wear the livery of a Cynthian Royal Messenger!"

  "How am I supposed to return to your side?" Halleck found himself momentarily speechless. "Calm yourself, Idaho. Think carefully—there must be a solution, there must." Idaho massaged his temples, continuing his slow head-shaking. "Underground! Yes, beneath the earth! We must return the same way we arrived."

  "You understand that's impossible, Halleck," he replied with deliberate slowness. "The depth required for golden powder distribution already pushed our limits. We cannot possibly dig deeper. Indeed, to ensure the barrier's stability, we excavated tunnels deeper and wider than our standard passages—but that represents our absolute maximum capability. We cannot exceed it within any reasonable timeframe, as you well know, Halleck." Though Halleck desperately wanted to refute this assessment, he could not. "I'll alert Patrick to our predicament—perhaps he can temporarily suspend the magical barrier—"

  "Why lie to yourself?" Idaho cut in. "Do you really think the headmaster is still on the wall, watching us with his spyglass? No one cares about us, brother. Not even him. We have been forgotten. And this wall," he gestured toward the Goldbrick Wall, "won't collapse anytime soon."

  The remnants of Godma's Fifth, Sixth, and Tenth Legions had consolidated under Duke Dear's command, forming a combined force exceeding thirteen thousand cavalry and infantry, positioned to hammer a breach through one section of the Goldbrick Wall. Their army assembled approximately three thousand feet behind the two goblins—an impossible development to overlook. "They're arranging themselves for another suicidal charge," Halleck observed, settling himself on the ground. "Directly behind you."

  "I'm aware."

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  The normally garrulous goblin's voice had acquired an uncharacteristically mournful quality, almost unbearably poignant. "I should have listened to you at the gate, Idaho. I just wanted to show off, to be a hero. You were right all along. This is a human's war, not ours."

  Goblin Idaho shrugged, lowering himself to a seated position, the brothers regarding each other across the impenetrable barrier. "Who among us hasn't yearned for heroism, succumbing to vanity's whisper? Just as I did moments ago." His smile carried bitter self-awareness. "Few contemplate their mortality before battle. We all desperately clutch at hopeful illusions, convinced that death's shadow will pass over us."

  Halleck finally broke, tears pooling in his bloodshot eyes. "Damn it all," he choked out, "we've never... we've never just sat and talked like this. Not really. This gods-damned, cursed war!"

  The earth began trembling beneath the Godman cavalry's approach. "They intend to create a breach through sheer mass and momentum," Idaho observed, gesturing behind him with his thumb. "Many will perish in the attempt. I am afraid to die," he admitted. "But what I fear more is a death without meaning. The Godmans behind me, they die for their people. Their sacrifice has a purpose. But us? We fight in a human's war, only to die for a human's cause. That is my fear. That is my sorrow."

  Halleck closed his eyes, allowing silence to envelop him momentarily as tears traced paths down his face. "Seek shelter underground," he finally said. "Conceal yourself within the earth, await the Godmans' eventual breakthrough. Even if—" he drew a ragged breath, "even if those southern barbarians fail to create an opening, this wall must eventually fall. I shall maintain my vigil here until you return to my side."

  Idaho shook his head with profound melancholy. "War resembles a quagmire—even when it doesn't consume you entirely, escape remains nearly impossible. We've expended tremendous magical energy, depleted this land's Primal Source extensively, merely to distribute the golden powder. And I myself am utterly exhausted." He displayed his hands, blackened and blistered from contact with the Goldbrick Wall's discharges. "Even if I retained sufficient strength to employ magic, attempting the 'Boon of the Earth' might completely drain the remaining Primal Source, potentially causing both walls to collapse simultaneously. Would you truly desire such an outcome? Could you bear responsibility for those consequences?"

  "Damn the humans and their ceaseless conflicts. Their fate means nothing to me."

  Goblin Idaho sighed deeply, extending a trembling hand to gather a handful of sand, muttering an incantation. The earth's response proved markedly feeble. "Try once more, brother," Halleck pleaded, crawling closer until electrical discharges danced across his nose. "Make another attempt—perhaps employ different magic, something more ancient, predating even runic enchantments—"

  "Abandon this futile struggle. Accept its conclusion." Idaho rose to his feet, brushing accumulated dust from his clothing, dislodging several flakes of scorched skin. "It's merely fate. I accept its judgment."

  These words struck Halleck's heart with devastating force, shattering it completely, fragments scattering like windblown petals across dimensions of time and space. The phrase was an echo from the final, dying days of the Dark Era—the famous last words of the enslaved dwarf-lord, "Crownsmasher" Doreye, spoken as he stood on the brink of extinction. With their allied armies of dwarves, goblins, and halflings cornered by the Titan Gods, Doreye had every surviving dwarf link arms to form a living wall of flesh and bone. Then he had roared, "If this is fate, then I spit on it!" Inspired by this defiance, goblins and halflings followed their example—though shortly thereafter, they perished beneath gigantic feet, crushed like ants beneath human heels. Nevertheless, they endured long enough for the ancient gods, the Immortals, to arrive. Thus began the Rebellion Era.