The earth magic spell I used to draw plateaus wouldn’t work well with Laxton Bay. It could lift the city, but the waters that made the bay would spill out.

The city would quickly follow, being as it wasn’t built on firm ground but rather sandy beaches. I knew from past travels that some of the wooden buildings rested on poles mounted deep within the sand, but those few buildings weren’t enough to call raising the city a success. In addition, without the bay and its waters, I would be saving the people from beasts only for them to starve.

Even if I raised the city in a manner that saved the bay, they might starve. The connection with the ocean would be lost and, before the war, the city relied on imported food grains and vegetables. Yet, on the other hand, I wasn’t certain how much of the population hadn’t already been dragged away in chains.

Lights from candles and fireplaces flickered through the darkness and illuminated the rough windows of many of the buildings. I didn’t know if that meant civilians or Mirktallean soldiers were housed within. I bitterly thought of leaving the entire city to fall to either Pestilence or starvation should they be northern soldiers and slavers, but I shook my head of it quickly.

Saving these poor souls from the jaws of the Pestilence came first, and I could consider how they would live after. I was no philosopher to argue that slavery was better than death, yet it would be difficult to obtain an answer on their preferences from corpses.

With deep concentration, I altered the complex layers of the spellform to pull tough stone from deep underneath the city, forming it into the shape of an enormous saucer with edges that rose above the ocean in a grand, curved wall. Waves crashed over one side into the bowl I had created, filling the bay with more water than normal. The heavy rains did as well, I imagined, but it was a combination of the two that created a rising water level that I did not want to leave unattended for long.

When the base was completed, I began to raise the city. Slowly at first for fear that the shaking would spread fires and there were few enough trees growing in the area around the city. As I watched it rise, though, I saw hydras approaching the shore in great numbers. Groups of five or ten, each headed directly for the city itself. The broodmother was still battling some giant of the sea off the coast, but the other hydra paid it no mind as they drew closer and closer.

I increased the speed of my spellwork, pouring ever more of my depleting mana into it so that it would lift faster. I could have tried to actively defend the city from the attack, but the monsters seemed without end. The mana I was using to fuel my spells was already lower than I would have liked, and I felt a small twinge of shame for not arriving at the city sooner. I shoved the emotion away to further concentrate. Had I arrived a few hours later, then there would be nothing left.

Still, my worries would not leave me be. I feared for how many towns and villages I didn’t reach because I allowed myself distractions. How many families would be lost because they lived in hidden villages or rural farmhouses? I had sent adventurers on missions to gather them, but I knew there would be the stubborn few who didn't listen. I knew they couldn't possibly reach them all.

My morose pondering stopped when the first few hydras reached the rising plateau. They bit and struck at the rising rock chipping some away. It gave me a horrible premonition, but, as more arrived, they slithered around the rising stone and focused on consuming the plants and animals nearby.

I watched with amazement as one large creature nearly choked itself swallowing a whole tree. The city on the plateau seemed an afterthought for them, and I made a slow cautious circle around the plateau and nearby areas looking for anyone who may have been hiding from the Mirktallean slavers.

I found a family in hiding inside a broken barn on an abandoned farm. Two adventurers were in the process of freeing a group of slaves from their overseers. Another child, a boy of eight perched in a tree, and a small undisturbed village located inside a thick grove under a rocky overhang.

I curse myself, as the village was one that I had overlooked in my previous journey because of that same overhang. I dropped all I had found in that small village, and proceeded to raise it onto a plateau as well before I returned to the city of Laxton Bay.

The sun was rising, and rays of light were piercing through the clouds overhead when I arrived at the newly formed plateau city. The storm was settling, and now only scattered rainfall pattered down. Mirktallean soldiers and slavers gathered near the edges, each with frightened or shocked expressions as they watched hydra invade and block their way home. I saw more than a few weary faces of the original citizens of Laxton Bay peeking out windows and doorways.

Yet, what drew most of my attention was in the courtyard before a castle that used to belong to the duke. Mirktallean slaver-priests, each wearing a thick robe and a clawed gauntlets on their hand, were gathered for some kind of elaborate ritual involving the sacrifice of slaves upon a stone altar. Their chanting was loud enough to be heard now that the winds and rain were gone.

With rising anger, I saw a man and his son, both struggling against their rope bindings, on the stone and a slave-priest slicing their throats as he raised his voice in prayer. On the sides of the altar, I saw the bodies of the dead piled high, with no regard to age or gender.

With each death, I heard the chains of their god in the back of my head pressuring me to submit.

I would not submit to that. Never. This kind of foul ritual might be understandable from the Tervans to the south, but Mirktal was supposed to be a civilized country. Ritual sacrifice? Of slaves? I found my anger growing, and not the kind of anger I had held days ago for Loralie’s killer. No. It was a righteous anger at an injustice so revolting my hands and arms shook. This was--it was evil! I would--could--not allow this to continue!

And I didn’t. Without regard to my depleted mana reserves, and without regard to how my actions would be perceived, I arrived like a storm interrupting their ritual. Lightning bolts and chain lighting flashed. Pillars of fire and spikes of stone killed. My spells swept across the courtyard as if I were knocking stones from a table. The altar itself was broken and destroyed by ten different spells; the shattered stone became glowing hot pebbles embedded in the wall. I held nothing back and didn’t stop at just the courtyard.

I flew across the city in a rage. I hunted any of priest I could find. I gave no quarter and showed no mercy, except that of a quick death.

Some tried to run, those easily tossed off the plateau with wind magic. Some tried to hide, but their holy magics gave them away.

When the city was cleared, I returned to that courtyard and used [Earth Manipulation] to pull down the walls of the castle itself. I wouldn’t hunt through it to find any remaining priests, and whoever lived in that building and oversaw the horror below without action—I felt no sympathy for them.

The castle crumbled before me as the Mirktallean soldiers advanced from across the city into the courtyard. Spears and halberds pointed in my direction; archers stood ready behind them. I was surrounded by no less than five hundred men and women, each watching me with an intensity that rivaled hatred.

I breathed deep as I looked about, waiting for their commander to come forth. I had little mana left, just barely enough to fly away. The mana in my artifacts was empty, spent on raising plateaus or enacting my justice. I was too far away to draw from my tower, and the stark realization that I could die here sobered my anger quickly.

Regardless if I died here, I would die with dignity. I took deep breaths to regain my composure and straightened my robes. I very much wanted to pull at the seat of my trousers, as the material was creased in a way that was mightily uncomfortable—something that robes wouldn’t do—but I couldn’t in good conscience do that with others nearby.

As I fixed myself, the soldiers became uncomfortable, their lack of discipline showing in scared whispers and jumbled shifting about. Breathes steamed into the cool morning, and more than one soldier glanced back towards the archway that led into the courtyard as if they planned to run.

When no commander showed himself, and I heard no commands, I looked about these soldiers with a tight smile on my face and an inspecting eye. Magic or not, I knew how to bluff. I've never heard that lack of confidence was one of my shortfalls.

I tilted my chin up just so. I arched an eyebrow. I clasped my hands behind my back.

I called out with the tone of a proud commander. “So, I assume you are here because you want to die?”