Chapter 76: Violet Frost

  The sheer, imposing scale of the Obsidian Throne became increasingly, overwhelmingly terrifying the closer they cautiously approached across the dark, flat plateau. The massive fortress was entirely devoid of lower windows, presenting a colossal, completely blank, unyielding wall of polished black volcanic glass to the outside world. The only visible entrance was a gargantuan, heavy iron portcullis located at the base of the central keep, completely shut, heavily fortified, and undoubtedly rigged with lethal traps.

  "We absolutely cannot launch a frontal assault against a reinforced gate like that, Zeno," Lyra stated quietly, her tactical mind operating at absolute maximum capacity as they crouched safely behind a large outcropping of dark rock, observing the fortress from a distance. "Even with your monstrous Strength stat, trying to punch through solid iron bars designed to withstand heavy siege weaponry would take far too long. We would be completely, hopelessly exposed to the archers patrolling those high walls."

  Zeno nodded, completely respecting her strategic assessment. "The front door is too thick. So we must find a sneaky door."

  "Exactly," Lyra agreed, pulling out her brass spyglass and scanning the high towers. "First Era fortresses were designed perfectly, but over thousands of years, the earth inevitably shifts. Stone cracks. We need to find a structural weakness in the perimeter."

  They spent the next two freezing hours meticulously and silently circling the massive, sprawling perimeter of the black fortress, staying completely hidden within the deep, jagged shadows of the surrounding boulders. The sheer, vertical drop-offs on the eastern and western flanks made approaching from the sides physically impossible. The fortress was essentially built directly into a sheer corner of the mountain itself.

  Finally, near the absolute rear of the structure, where the smooth black obsidian met the raw, natural grey stone of the mountain peak, Lyra found exactly what her scout's eyes were searching for.

  "There," Lyra whispered, pointing her spyglass at a spot fifty feet straight up the sheer, frictionless rear wall.

  A massive, ancient rockfall from the mountain peak above had crashed heavily against the back of the fortress centuries ago. The sheer kinetic impact hadn't shattered the obsidian completely, but it had violently dislodged several massive stone blocks near a small, narrow drainage grate. It created a jagged, uneven, completely shadowed opening just barely large enough for a person to squeeze through.

  "It's a fifty-foot vertical climb," Lyra noted, carefully assessing the completely smooth, practically frictionless black stone wall leading up to the gap. "And I absolutely cannot use my wind Tena to safely propel us upward without risking the pink spores flaring again and paralyzing me. If we try to punch holes in the glass to climb, it will shatter loudly and drop razor-sharp shards on our heads."

  Zeno didn't hesitate. He looked at the smooth black wall, then at Lyra, and finally down at his massive, highly dependable hands. He understood the physics of the problem flawlessly.

  "I will not punch the glass," Zeno reasoned cheerfully. "I will just throw you to the hole, and you can drop the sticky rope down for me."

  Lyra looked at him, her eyes widening slightly at the audacious, highly dangerous plan, but quickly realizing it was their only viable, silent option. The 'Fastball Special'.

  "Alright," Lyra agreed, securing her daggers tightly. "Do not miss the gap, Zeno. Or I am going to have a very long fall."

  Before they initiated the climb, Zeno turned his attention to Gravel. He couldn't leave the loyal, heavily laden animal standing exposed in the freezing mountain wind.

  Zeno quickly located a deep, highly sheltered rock crevice nearby, completely protected from the biting gale. He gently led the stubborn mule inside. He unstrapped a massive, heavy canvas bag of premium oats from the cold-storage chest and poured the entire contents into a pile on the dry stone.

  Zeno patted Gravel’s thick grey neck with surprising tenderness. "Stay right here, Gravel," Zeno whispered affectionately. "Eat very slowly and do not make any loud noises. The wind cannot reach you here. I will come back to get you as soon as we finish breaking the big, angry chair."

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  With the mule safely secured, they approached the base of the towering obsidian wall in absolute silence.

  Zeno firmly planted his heavy boots deep into the snowy ground, establishing a flawless, unyielding foundation. He bent his knees deeply and cupped both of his massive, spiked Rock Serpent gauntlets together, forming a solid, highly stable platform.

  Lyra took a deep breath, engaged her physical agility, and stepped lightly onto his cupped hands.

  "Ready?" Zeno whispered, his massive leg and shoulder muscles coiling tight like heavy steel springs.

  "Throw me, sledgehammer," Lyra commanded.

  Zeno roared softly, unleashing a massive, highly controlled surge of pure physical power. He explosively launched his arms upward. The sheer, overwhelming kinetic force of his Strength stat of 26 catapulted Lyra straight up the sheer fifty-foot face of the wall with the terrifying velocity of a fired arrow.

  Lyra soared silently through the freezing air. She reached the apex of the throw perfectly aligned with the jagged, shadowed gap in the obsidian. She reached out with her heavily gloved hands, gripping the broken stone edge tightly, and pulled her lithe body smoothly into the dark opening.

  A moment later, the incredibly strong, pale white line of her spider-silk rope dropped silently down the face of the black wall. Zeno grabbed it with both hands and, utilizing pure upper body strength, effortlessly hauled his massive frame and his heavy iron cauldron up the fifty-foot wall, slipping entirely unnoticed through the gap.

  They were finally inside.

  The interior of the Obsidian Throne was drastically, horrifyingly different from the ancient, dusty emptiness of the Sunken City or the quiet, academic reverence of the Sun-Bleached Citadel.

  It was highly active, incredibly militarized, and entirely terrifying.

  They found themselves standing safely in the shadows of a narrow, highly elevated stone catwalk overlooking a massive, cavernous inner courtyard. The air inside the fortress was completely thick and suffocating with the acrid, metallic smell of alchemical forging and the heavy, sulfurous smoke of massive, roaring industrial furnaces.

  Below them, the courtyard was an absolute hive of organized, highly lethal activity.

  Dozens of entirely silent, highly disciplined Black Lotus operatives, wearing the exact same sleek, dark green aerodynamic armor as the assassins from the jungle ambush, moved rapidly between massive stone forges. They were not crafting standard steel swords or simple arrowheads. They were meticulously assembling and heavily testing highly complex, mechanical repeating crossbows—the exact same terrifying anti-magic weaponry that had almost killed Lyra.

  "An alchemical armory," Lyra breathed, her emerald eyes wide with sheer, paralyzing horror as she fully realized the massive, industrial scale of the syndicate's operation. "They aren't just outfitting a single elite hit squad, Zeno. They are actively manufacturing enough anti-magic weaponry to completely supply an entire covert army. If they successfully deploy these weapons to the borders, the Zephyrian elemental wards will be entirely useless. They will completely overrun the kingdom in a matter of days."

  Zeno looked down at the massive, roaring furnaces and the hundreds of lethal weapons currently being assembled. He didn't understand the complex geopolitics of the Nine Kingdoms, but he understood the fundamental, absolute reality of the physical threat.

  "That is a very large amount of purple arrows," Zeno noted softly, his amber eyes completely serious. "We absolutely cannot let them take those outside the castle. They will hurt a lot of people."

  "We have to completely destroy the production line," Lyra agreed, her tactical mind instantly shifting from simple infiltration to absolute, high-stakes, catastrophic sabotage. "But we cannot physically fight fifty highly trained assassins simultaneously. We need to hit their power source to cripple the weapons."

  Lyra didn't look for glowing pipes or obvious, poorly designed weak points. Her veteran scout's eyes meticulously tracked the logistical flow of the workers below.

  She noticed a distinct, highly guarded pattern. The operatives working the assembly tables were constantly returning to a specific location to retrieve small, dark, heavily contained crystal batteries to slot into the crossbows.

  Lyra traced their path to the far end of the massive courtyard.

  Located directly beneath the tallest, most imposing central spire of the fortress was a set of massive, heavy double doors made entirely of solid, dark iron. It was the only door in the courtyard guarded by four elite, heavily armed sentries. But what caught Lyra’s attention wasn't the guards; it was the atmosphere around the door itself.

  The heavy iron was completely coated in a thick, unnatural layer of dark violet frost. A heavy, freezing mist of raw, corrupted magic constantly seeped from beneath the heavy threshold, visibly warping the air around it.

  "There," Lyra whispered, pointing her dagger toward the frozen iron doors. "They aren't piping the energy; they are physically charging crystals inside that heavily guarded vault. That door is radiating massive amounts of corrupted, anti-magic frost. That is the reactor room. That is the true heart of the Black Lotus."

  Zeno cracked his knuckles, the obsidian spikes of his gauntlets completely blending into the dark shadows of the catwalk.

  "The heart of the bad magic," Zeno confirmed, his stance shifting into absolute readiness. "We go down there, and we smash it into tiny pieces."

  They began to move, entirely silently, along the high, narrow stone walkways, completely bypassing the massive, chaotic armory below them. The final infiltration of the Obsidian Throne had officially begun, and the fate of the entire border rested entirely on a scout with failing magic and a boy who was entirely ready to shatter a king's uncomfortable chair.