"There's one aspect I cannot fully comprehend." Ash delicately brushed a golden strand behind her ear. "Regardless how severely the barrier contracts or what configuration it assumes—without a proper medium, its defensive capacity should not significantly increase. Perhaps it's marginally more resilient than initially, but certainly not beyond what your soldiers should be capable of breaching."

  "It remains utterly immovable," Raveirmom Dear demonstrated with expansive gestures. "We have brought our greatest ram to bear—the one they call Dragon's Head. And no matter how many times we strike, neither the barrier nor the gate shows so much as a splinter or a crack. This is precisely why I've come seeking your expertise. We've squandered precious time—time we simply cannot afford to lose."

  "I fail to comprehend the mechanics of this, Lona. What of you two?" Ash glanced toward Aurelia and Julia. "We aren't specialists in barrier enchantments. But according to established principles, maintaining structural integrity without a medium should prove exceedingly difficult."

  "Only one possibility remains viable." Lostya Huggins' expression turned gravely serious. "Their mage has substituted an alternative medium."

  "Such a procedure would require considerable time, Lona. One would need to identify a suitable replacement medium—then painstakingly transfer the Magic barrier onto it..."

  "What if the enemy mage has become the medium themselves?" the black-haired witch countered.

  "...That would be..."

  "You cannot dismiss the possibility, Ash. Should the spellcaster transform themselves into the medium and channel Source directly into the barrier, it could potentially approach its former defensive strength."

  "I suppose that remains theoretically possible," Ash conceded with a resigned sigh.

  "I require your conclusion without embellishment, ladies," the duke interjected with barely contained impatience. "What course of action must we pursue—and with the utmost haste?"

  "You must fully comprehend the current situation, my lord," Lostya Huggins explained methodically. "First: if our assessment proves accurate, their mage is presently positioned directly behind the Gate of Cynthia—quite possibly with both hands physically contacting the structure."

  "So we must neutralize this mage—or all attempts to breach the gate will prove futile?"

  "Your assessment is correct; however, I must insist you refrain from interrupting my explanation." The witch fixed him with a penetrating glare. "To compromise the barrier, you must either eliminate that mage or force their withdrawal. No alternative approach exists."

  "Our strategic objective," Ash Davan elaborated, "is to compel the enemy spellcaster to abandon proximity to the barrier—only then will its structural integrity become sufficiently compromised."

  "Excellent." Duke Raveirmom Dear brought his hands together with a sharp clap. "Then I entrust the mage to your expertise. Employ whatever methods necessary—simply ensure their separation from the gate. I've already arranged mounts; you shall depart immediately—"

  "I explicitly stated our need for recovery," Lostya reminded him, her lips quirking slightly at his premature exuberance. "We are presently incapable of any magical intervention, my lord. Spellcasting remains beyond our capacity in the immediate future."

  "I implore you, ladies. We stand at the precipice between survival and annihilation."

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

  "You cannot demand what lies beyond the realm of possibility."

  "Just make the damned mage move!" he roared, his temper flaring so suddenly it made the others flinch. "Mutter one of your spells! Snap your fingers! Do something!"

  Lostya responded with a deliberate, uncompromising shake of her head.

  "Damn it all to hell!" She maintained her steady gaze, her composure entirely unshaken.

  "Can't you devise some solution?! Our men are dying! Dying!" She watched his furious eyes, glinting in the lantern light. "First, master your emotions."

  "I require no instruction from you," he retorted, turning away abruptly with arms crossed defensively.

  "Lona," Aurelia whispered with urgency, "do not antagonize him further."

  Lostya Huggins swung her legs from the cot, planted her bare feet firmly on the ground, and positioned her hands authoritatively on her hips. "Approach me." The duke remained motionless.

  "Come here, Raveirmom Dear." Her use of his full name hung in the air like a challenge. The other three women inhaled sharply in collective apprehension.

  Raveirmom Dear turned, his movements lethally slow, his face a mask of warring disbelief and fury as he glared down at the small, defiant witch. "Here," she commanded, indicating the precise spot before her with an unwavering finger.

  Raveirmom lowered his arms reluctantly; each step toward her seemed leaden with resistance. He towered over the sorceress, his gaze bearing down upon her with undisguised contempt. "You've forgotten your station, Lostya," he rasped ominously.

  "Have I indeed?" She tilted her chin upward defiantly, eyes narrowing to calculating slits. "Are you cognizant of the cause of my debilitation?" Her pale, cracked lips barely moved as she spoke. His silence was response enough. "I need not elaborate—you witnessed the events at the barrier. A substantial explosion that created your passage—very nearly reducing me to broken fragments in the process."

  "Yet you survived. Fortunate."

  "Not fortunate. Not in the slightest." She remained perfectly still; her voice resembled smooth stones colliding in a mountain stream. "As court mages, we could have stayed behind the lines, offering only advice... We are mages, yes. But we are also women. We are also human. And I am beginning to wonder if you see us as people at all, Raveirmom, or if we are just weapons to you."

  "...I have never regarded anyone as a mere tool."

  "Yet you would compel us beyond our capabilities—a distinction without difference from treating us as instruments or means to an end." With her cool fingers, she took his large, warm hand and deliberately placed it on the bare skin of her throat. "Do you feel that, Raveirmom? With just two fingers, you could crush my windpipe. End my life. Right now, in this state, I am utterly defenseless against you." The duke's gaze fixed upon her vulnerable countenance; his fingers unconsciously tightened their grip.

  "Therefore..." The melodious quality vanished entirely from Lostya's voice, leaving only raw vulnerability. "If you dispatch... me..." Her breathing grew increasingly labored; alarming crimson rose from the base of her neck. Ash Davan and Julia watched the scene unfold with undisguised horror. Aurelia's expression reflected boundless concern. "Send me... to battle now—you effectively... condemn... me to death..." She struggled to articulate complete words; tears mingled with saliva traced pathways from the corners of her mouth.

  For a heart-stopping second, she truly believed he was going to do it—that he would tighten his fingers and break her neck. Only when unconsciousness from oxygen deprivation seemed imminent did the duke's grip finally relax.

  "Enough of this," he muttered—seemingly engaged in internal dialogue. "This demonstration serves no purpose."

  "It was a test," the sorceress said, her voice raspy as she gingerly rubbed the red marks on her throat. "A test to see what you truly value. To see what we really are to you."

  "I've stated my position unequivocally. I treat no one as expendable resources or mere means." He glowered at Lostya with barely contained fury. "I will not reiterate myself."

  "Very well. I'm gratified to hear such assurance, my lord."

  "Rest yourselves, ladies. I shall take my leave."

  "Then you stand prepared for the inevitable sacrifice?" Lostya Huggins called after his retreating form.

  "Sacrifice what precisely?" His impatience remained palpable.

  "Your soldiers. Those men currently assaulting the gate."

  "Of course. A commander is always prepared to make sacrifices. Now is no different. They will die against that gate. They will die in their dozens, and they will die in their hundreds if that is what it takes."