The sky far to the west began to tremble with a low, bone-jarring vibration.
It was a dull mechanical roar, heavy and oppressive, that rolled over the cloud sea like approaching thunder.
High above the outer perimeter of the Cloud-Sea Academy, the azure sky tore open.
Twelve colossal flying fortresses breached the cloud line.
They were the Vanguard Division of the Western Obsidian Coalition.
Each dreadnought was a half-mile slab of jagged black soul-iron, bristling with heavy defensive barbettes and spiked ramming prows.
Beneath their keel lines, massive anti-gravity formation arrays glowed with an eerie, sickly green luminescence.
Runes carved along their armored flanks flared with blinding violet sparks.
On the bridge of the vanguard lead ship, Commander Iron-Grip stood behind the central rune console.
His heavy iron gauntlets gripped the steering rail, his eyes glowing with fierce martial arrogance.
"Target sighted!" the lead spotter yelled, pointing through the thick crystal viewing panes. "The Seventh Spire! Solitude Spire is dead ahead!"
Iron-Grip sneered, his breath hissing through his iron faceplate.
"So this is the nest of the eastern void abomination," Iron-Grip barked through the tactical comm-array. "A single wooden cottage on a floating rock! How pathetic!"
Behind him, twelve chief gunners stood at their targeting pedestals.
"Commander!" the gunnery officer shouted. "Mountain-shattering mana cannons are online! Primary soul-crystal reactors have reached one hundred percent capacity!"
"Charge all twelve batteries!" Iron-Grip bellowed, raising his spiked war-hammer toward the distant cottage. "Align the cannons on that wooden shack! The moment we cross the inner perimeter, vaporize the entire peak into stardust!"
Across the twelve dreadnoughts, one hundred and forty-four colossal mana cannons rotated on heavy brass gears.
Deep purple lightning arced across the gun muzzles, charging with enough concentrated spiritual mana to flatten an entire mountain range.
***
Down across the lower peaks of the Cloud-Sea Academy, complete panic reigned.
Thousands of disciples gathered on the training plazas, clutching their practice swords and looking up in paralyzed terror.
The sky above their heads had turned dark as the twelve iron leviathans cast their massive shadows across the valleys.
"They're charging their cannons!" a young sword disciple screamed, dropping to his knees. "Those are the mountain-shattering rail cannons of Kar-Thun!"
"We're going to die!" another cried, burying her face in her hands. "A single salvo will shatter the Seventh Spire and wipe out half the outer courts!"
Inside the Grand Observatory, Chancellor Valen had wedged himself between a marble pillar and a heavy bookshelf.
His ceremonial robes were soaked with cold sweat.
He clutched a bronze scrying mirror with trembling, white knuckles, staring at the twelve dreadnoughts descending toward Solitude Spire.
"It's over," Valen whimpered, his teeth chattering like dice in a cup. "The Western Coalition has sent their vanguard! Twelve iron dreadnoughts! One hundred and forty-four mountain-shattering cannons!"
Vice-Chancellor Shen stood beside him, clutching his talisman pouch with shaking hands.
"Chancellor!" Shen shouted over the distant roar of cannon engines. "Should we activate the Great Mountain Formation to shield Felix Vance?!"
"Shield him?!" Valen shrieked, his voice breaking into a hysterical squeak. "Are you mad?! Do you think our ancient formation can withstand twelve dreadnoughts firing at point-blank range?! If we interfere, they'll turn their guns on Azure Cloud Peak next!"
Valen squeezed his eyes shut, curling tighter behind the pillar.
"May the ancestors forgive us," Valen wept. "In ten seconds, Solitude Spire will cease to exist on the map!"
***
Meanwhile, on the sunlit porch of Solitude Spire, the world remained utterly peaceful.
The morning breeze rustled through the needles of the ancient iron-pines, carrying the gentle scent of roasted barley.
Felix Vance sat comfortably in his deep wooden recliner, wearing his bright yellow dragon-scale poncho.
The poncho radiated its usual steady, comforting warmth against his shoulders.
Felix set his white porcelain Infinite Cozy Teacup down on the low cedar table.
The roasted barley tea and wild mountain honey inside remained at a soothing, perfect 68.5°C.
Beside the cup, the glowing Soul-Pearl paperweight kept the morning trade reports pinned firmly against the polished tabletop.
Underneath the table's front left leg, Grandmaster Vivienne's purple Sovereign Heart Seal held the heavy timber frame completely rigid and level.
Felix picked up his wooden chopsticks and popped the last piece of salted radish into his mouth.
*Crunch.*
"Good radish," Felix muttered, chewing lazily. "Nice crunch. Good salt balance."
Up on his brass perch beside the front door, Barnaby the clockwork owl stood at rigid attention.
The black rubber stopper remained firmly clamped between his brass mandibles, holding the polished copper tip in an airtight grip.
Barnaby’s internal escapement wheel clicked in a smooth, rhythmic cadence:
*Tick-tick-click.*
Down in the Pocket Garden, Lord Nether-Bane and his two spectral corsairs were calmly gathering fallen leaves in their clean hemp aprons.
The five-star Sun-Lotus Cabbage sat in the center bed, its golden leaves glowing with rich, amber vitality.
Over in the corner of the garden, nestled inside the open luxury roost, the Thunder Gryphon was snoring softly on its bed of mountain straw.
Along the cedar roofline directly above the porch, Patriarch Ao Cang and the azure flood dragons were sunning their bellies.
Ao Cang's chin rested right over the fluted brass downspout bracket, his obsidian scales gleaming in the morning light.
Everything was quiet.
Everything was calm.
Then, a faint shadow fell across the outer railing of the cedar porch.
Felix paused mid-chew.
He felt the ambient temperature drop by half a degree.
His eyes drifted toward the outer porch balustrade.
Sitting on the wide wooden railing was a flat pine drying board.
On that board sat the four hand-spun clay tea saucers Felix had just finished crafting on his portable pottery wheel.
The smooth grey clay was currently basking in the direct rays of the morning sun, slowly curing into hardened stoneware.
A dark shadow had crept over the western edge of the drying board, cutting off the sunlight from the first two saucers.
Felix’s eyebrows furrowed slightly.
He reached into his poncho and pulled out his AetherDeck.
The screen illuminated with an active crafting alert:
Felix stared at the screen, his expression deadpan.
"Uneven drying?" Felix muttered, his voice dripping with annoyance. "Are you serious right now? That took five whole minutes of idle crafting. If those saucers warp, the cup won't sit flat on the rim."
His passive Inspector HUD flickered to life over his vision:
【Target: Western Coalition Vanguard (12x Iron-Dreadnoughts)】 【Armament: 144x Mountain-Shattering Mana Cannons (Charging)】 【Current Action: Direct Airspace Trespass & Sun-Blocking】 【Threat Level: Moderate Nuisance (0.01% Ambient Solar Blockage)】 【Inspector Note: Twelve heavily armored flying fortresses have arrived to purge your peak. Their massive hulls are currently casting a shadow directly over your drying rack. If they block the sunlight for more than three minutes, your tea saucers will suffer microscopic structural warping. Move the board or let your gravity well handle the parking violations.】
Felix let out a long, weary sigh.
"I hate high-altitude traffic," Felix grumbled.
He slid his feet back into his woven straw slippers and pushed himself up from the wooden recliner.
His yellow poncho swished softly as he shuffled across the cedar porch floorboards.
He walked over to the outer balustrade, leaning both forearms against the polished cedar railing.
He looked down at his four drying tea saucers.
The first saucer was still damp along its left curve because of the giant shadow cast across the wood.
"Completely uneven," Felix mumbled, poking the drying board with a fingertip. "The moisture gradient is totally skewed. If this cracks, my whole morning crafting session is ruined."
He tilted his head back, looking up into the sky.
Directly above the southern cliff of Solitude Spire, twelve colossal iron dreadnoughts were descending through the clouds.
Their black hulls looked like massive, jagged iron mountains hovering in midair.
Their one hundred and forty-four mountain-shattering mana cannons were pointed straight at his cottage, glowing with violent, crackling purple plasma.
The deafening hum of their mana reactors vibrated through the air, shaking the leaves of the iron-pines.
Aboard the lead dreadnought, Commander Iron-Grip leaned over the bridge observation deck, staring down through his spyglass.
He saw the lone figure in the bright yellow poncho standing on the porch railing.
"Look at him!" Iron-Grip barked through the ship's crystal loudspeakers, his voice booming across the canyon. "The charlatan of Solitude Spire! He stands alone, trembling before the supreme might of the Western Coalition! He knows his doom has arrived!"
Iron-Grip raised his spiked hammer high into the air.
"All ships!" Iron-Grip roared. "Lock final firing coordinates! Cannons to maximum discharge! Fire on my mark! Three! Two—"
Down on the porch, Felix squinted up at the lead dreadnought.
The morning glare reflected off the ship's black armor plates, making him squint.
"Hey!" Felix shouted up at the sky, his voice completely flat and unimpressed. "Who parked their rusty blimps in front of my sunlight?!"
The words carried across the quiet peak with bizarre, effortless clarity.
Felix pointed an accusatory finger toward the sky.
"You're blocking my solar curing!" Felix called out, shaking his head in disgust. "I'm trying to dry tea saucers here! Move those oversized scrap heaps fifty yards to the left, or you're paying for the clay!"
On the bridge of the flagship, Iron-Grip froze.
His spiked hammer remained suspended in midair.
His jaw dropped open behind his iron faceplate.
"What... what did he just say?!" Iron-Grip sputtered, his eyes bulging behind his visor. "Did he... did he just complain about the shade?!"
Before Iron-Grip could drop his hammer to give the firing command, the vanguard's twelve dreadnoughts crossed the three-mile perimeter mark.
Deep within Felix's lower abdomen, the Level 50 white dwarf companion core completed another silent, 18-hour micro-rotation.
One million grams per cubic centimeter pulsed in absolute harmonic resonance.
An invisible, tidal wave of micro-gravity rippled outward from the porch.
The twelve dreadnoughts, weighing millions of tons each, suddenly shuddered.
Their massive anti-gravity formation keels flared with frantic, screaming green sparks.
The targeting reticles on their one hundred and forty-four cannons violently slipped off the cottage, snapping upward toward the empty sky.
Aboard the flagship, the main control wheel ripped itself out of the helmsman’s hands with a deafening metallic screech.
*CRACK!*
"Commander!" the helmsman shrieked in absolute terror. "The steering array is dead! The anti-gravity crystals have locked up! We're being pulled into a descending orbital drift!"
On the porch below, Felix Vance simply turned his back on the twelve massive dreadnoughts.
He picked up the wooden drying board, shifted it three inches to the left where a stray ray of sunlight was still shining through, and set it back down.
"Much better," Felix said, nodding with satisfaction. "Now dry properly, you little beauties."
He turned around and shuffled back toward his recliner, completely unbothered by the twelve flying fortresses currently losing control of their flight rudders in the sky above him.