The morning sky over the Dust-Bowl boundary was ripped open by a sound Neo-Berlin hadn't heard in a decade: the rhythmic, earth-shaking thud of heavy artillery. The defensive trenches carved by the Iron Ghosts were instantly turned into volcanic plumes of frozen mud and white Reset dust. Through the smoke came the vanguard of the Ascendancy's true power—not a line of glowing Paladins, but a terrifying phalanx of salvaged, pre-System main battle tanks, their heavy iron tracks grinding the non-magical wheat fields into black mire."They aren't using spells!" Jace roared through the static of a salvaged field telephone, his voice barely audible over the deafening whistle of incoming shells. "Silas! They're rolling out ancient combustion armor! The rust-script didn't touch them because they're made of raw, un-sanctioned carbon steel! We can't block these shells with regular rifles!"Silas stood on the forward observation ridge of the Whispering Ridge canal, his heavy Salt-Iron maul plante