Night shrouded Brintanhe Fortress.
Half the wall facing Fortress Five had collapsed, and the breach was piled high with shattered bluestone bricks and broken, charred wooden beams.
Among the ruins, the bodies of soldiers from both sides lay heaped together, still awaiting removal. Some were pinned beneath boulders with only a hand exposed; others hung from splintered timbers. Long-dried blood had stained the masonry dark brown.
A dozen or so Royal Mages in robes stood in a circle, their arguments carrying far through the cold wind. Most had pale faces and sunken eyes, the telltale signs of prolonged mana depletion.
"We must use Mud to Stone!" an elderly mage snapped, spittle flying. "The foundations have already loosened. Only solidifying the soil will let them bear weight! Bring in two more Mage Corps. We must seal this breach tonight!"
"Sir, forgive my frankness, but there is no need to keep refining the structure."
The officer beside him had a face smeared with grease. Though anxious, he still spoke with the respect due a spellcaster. He pointed toward the immense silhouettes barely visible in the distant darkness, his voice earnest.
"Ordinary stone simply cannot stand up to those iron monsters. They will probably crush it again first thing tomorrow morning. What we urgently need is mithril, or enchanted obsidian... please, we need a stronger barrier than ordinary earth and stone."
"Do you think mana grows on trees?" The old mage's beard trembled with fury. "The Mage Corps barely has enough mana left to repair the shields! Where would we get the mana to smelt obsidian?"
The argument went in circles.
This was a scene that played out at almost every fortress before it fell: repairs could not keep pace with destruction, and resources were consumed far faster than they could be replenished.