Dust plumed into the night sky as a massive Tarnstead artillery division rushed down the southern trade routes. The narrow canyon walls echoed with the frantic crack of whips and the heavy, grinding wheels of fifty brass cannons rolling over the stone.
Gulag stood dead center in the middle of the canyon pass, waiting in the darkness. She leaned heavily on her iron mace, watching the vanguard of the enemy army rush toward her.
"They brought the heavy guns," Gulag rumbled, her Amber Earth mana core flaring to life within her chest. A deep, resonant hum vibrated through the canyon floor.
She did not wait for the Tarnstead soldiers to draw their weapons. Gulag hoisted her mace over her head and brought it crashing down into the bedrock.
