They announced it this time.
That was the second sign something was wrong.
"Localized reinforcement augmentation," Wilfred Webstere declared at dawn, voice carrying across assembled ranks.
"Infantry compression supported by low-density ground stabilization. Controlled output. No stacking."
The words were precise.
Measured.
Engineered to sound safe.
Eiden stood in the third rank and watched mages plant thin iron rods along the fractured shelf. Not in a circle. Not in a ring.
In a line.
Parallel to the engagement front.
Reinforcing the ground beneath the infantry instead of attacking the enemy.
Mana would not strike forward today.
It would anchor downward.
Rynn glanced at the rods.
"That'll hold?"
"For a while," Eiden said.
Across the field, the demon formation had adjusted again.
Not backward.
Not forward.
Narrower at the canter.
Wider at the flanks.
They were not preparing to clash harder.
They were preparing to absorb.
The red-trimmed commander stood behind the midline; gaze fixed not on the rods—but on the spacing between them.
He was measuring reinforcement geometry.
The horn sounded advance.
Infantry descended.
The fracture shelf lay between both armies like a scar half-stitched.
Steel met steel along its outer edge.
The first compression wave came from the demons.
Measured.
Human shields absorbed it.
"Pulse one," Wilfred ordered.
Mana travelled through the iron rods in a thin, downward shimmer.
The ground beneath Eiden's boots tightened.
Not solid.
But less hollow.
The second compression wave struck.
The shelf did not crack.
Rynn exhaled sharply.
"It's working."
"For now," Eiden replied.
The red-trimmed commander stepped laterally.
Not forward.
Sideways.
He raised one hand—two fingers angled outward.
The demon right flank advanced in a shallow diagonal.
Side pressure.
Testing lateral reinforcement.
The ground held again.
Wilfred nodded once.
"Pulse two."
The second downward reinforcement shimmered.
The fracture veins dimmed slightly.
Surface stability increased.
The human line leaned forward with renewed confidence.
Momentum returned.
That was the mistake.
Confidence.
"Drive them!" a captain shouted.
Infantry pushed harder.
Intervals shortened again.
The rods vibrated faintly.
Mana frequency hummed through them in sustained rhythm.
Across the field, the demon front yielded one pace.
Then two.
The breach was not wide.
But visible.
The red-trimmed commander did not move to close it.
He stepped back.
Invitation.
Eiden felt the rhythm shift.
"They're letting us load it," he said.
Rynn's voice came tight.
"Load what?"
"The reinforcement."
Wilfred raised his staff slightly.
"Pulse three—"
The third reinforcement wave struck downward.
Heavier.
Not stacked.
But denser.
The rods glowed brighter than before.
The ground beneath the human canter hardened.
Rigid.
Too rigid.
The demons advanced again—alternating compression pulses.
Left.
Pause.
Right.
Pause.
The reinforced section absorbed the first.
The second.
The third.
Then—
The pressure did not disperse.
It reflected.
The reinforcement had stiffened the shelf.
Weight no longer diffused into softer soil.
It travelled sideways.
A hairline fracture along the left rod line deepened sharply.
Not collapse.
Propagation.
"Reduce output," Eiden muttered.
Rynn heard him.
"Can you tell them?"
"No."
The red-trimmed commander signalled again.
The demon flanks pressed inward simultaneously this time.
Not alternating.
Synchronized.
The human canter responded with forward lean.
Intervals compressed beyond safe margin.
The rods screamed.
Not audibly.
But through vibration.
Wilfred saw it too late.
"Cut pulse—"
The command came mid-cycle.
Mana severed abruptly.
The reinforced ground, suddenly unsupported, released accumulated stress.
Not explosion.
Release.
The entire reinforced strip sheared outward.
Not inward like before.
Sideways.
The left half of the human canter slid one pace down the fracture line.
Shields collided.
Spacing ruptured.
Three rods snapped cleanly from their bases.
One mage screamed as backlash arced through his grip.
The demon front advanced instantly—not charging—stepping into the misalignment.
The red-trimmed commander moved through the opening like a blade through cloth.
He did not strike wildly.
He removed anchors.
One sergeant.
One shield-bearer.
One signal runner.
Three removals.
The human canter folded unevenly.
Retreat horn sounded.
Clear this time.
Unified.
The demon line halted at optimal distance again.
They did not pursue into the unstable ground.
They never did.
The ridge absorbed survivors.
Breathing hard.
Alive.
Shaken.
Wilfred stood rigid, staring at the snapped rods.
"We over-hardened the shelf," he said quietly.
Hawkinge's voice came sharp.
"It held."
"It redirected load."
"It prevented collapse."
"It caused shear."
Silence.
Below them, medics pulled two soldiers from the fractured seam.
One did not rise.
The crater had not grown dramatically.
But the fracture network had changed shape.
More lateral.
More complex.
Across the field, demon engineers repositioned mantlets one half-pace forward.
Confidence.
Measured.
The red-trimmed commander stood still.
Balanced.
He had not attacked the ground.
He had attacked reinforcement.
Rynn wiped blood from her knuckles.
"That wasn't collapse."
"No."
"What was it?"
"Stress reflection."
She looked at him.
"Meaning?"
"We strengthened the wrong thing."
Behind them, officers debated new adjustments.
"…increase rod spacing…"
"…reduce pulse frequency…"
"…support from rear…"
They were still solving surface variables.
Not systemic ones.
Eiden watched the fracture seam where the rods had snapped.
The ground was no longer soft.
It was brittle.
Reinforcement had not removed instability.
It had concentrated it.
He exhaled slowly.
Yesterday they tested load.
Today they tested reinforcement.
Tomorrow—
They would test escalation again.
Rynn stood beside him as the field darkened.
"You look like you expected that."
"I expected something."
"And?"
"It's getting closer."
"To what?"
He looked at the reshaped fracture web stretching between both armies.
"To the point where it won't shear."
"Then what?"
"It will cascade."
Across the field, the red-trimmed commander turned once before withdrawing behind disciplined ranks.
No satisfaction.
No frustration.
Only continuation.
Eiden closed his eyes briefly.
The ground had failed differently today.
Not by collapse.
By reflection.
Each attempt to stabilize was increasing structural tension.
Each correction narrowed tolerance further.
They were no longer fighting for ground.
They were tuning a system.
And systems do not break from a single error.
They break when accumulated corrections collide.
He opened his eyes again.
Still clear.
Still anchored.
But the arithmetic was accelerating.
And arithmetic never waits.
Tomorrow—
Someone would try something stronger.
Not because it was wise.
Because it felt necessary.
And necessary pressure is the most dangerous kind.