The scouting party reached the eastern ridgeline three hours before dawn, moving through darkness with the discipline that had become characteristic of Doom's forces. They took positions in concealed observation points that offered clear sight lines across the valley below, then waited in silence for sufficient light to conduct detailed reconnaissance.
When dawn finally broke, what it revealed stopped even the most experienced scouts mid-breath.
Havelstadt dominated the valley floor like a statement carved in stone—a declaration that some things were permanent, immovable, designed to outlast not just armies but entire civilizations. The fortress city spread across several square miles, its defensive architecture visible in layers that spoke of centuries of refinement and reinforcement.
The outermost walls stood forty feet high, built from granite blocks so massive that the engineering required to place them defied easy imagination. These were not crude barriers thrown up in haste but monuments to defensive philosophy, each stone cut precisely and fitted so tightly that mortar seemed almost decorative rather than structural.
Behind the outer walls rose a second defensive ring, set back and elevated to provide overlapping fields of fire. Behind that, a third wall protected the city's inner districts and the fortress proper—a keep that towered above everything else, its battlements crowned with observation platforms and signal towers.
The scouts counted gate positions, measured distances between defensive strong points, noted the angles of approach that would be available to attacking forces. They sketched diagrams showing how kill-zones overlapped, how archer positions commanded every avenue of advance, how the narrow gates were angled to prevent battering rams from building momentum.
Even seasoned soldiers who had fought through multiple campaigns quietly acknowledged they were looking at something exceptional—a fortress specifically designed to humble attackers, to make them understand how small and temporary they were compared to stone that had stood for generations.
---
The detailed reports arrived at Doom's headquarters over the following days as scouts rotated through observation positions and compiled increasingly comprehensive intelligence.
Kael presented the architectural analysis, his engineer's mind clearly impressed despite himself by what had been built. "The walls were reinforced generation after generation, each layer added after some conflict I'd need to research in historical archives to even identify. The construction shows evolution of defensive thinking across centuries."
He pointed to sections of the map where different building styles were visible. "Here—these foundations are original construction, probably three hundred years old. These sections were added maybe two centuries ago, using different stone but integrated perfectly with the existing structure. These outer fortifications are more recent, perhaps fifty years, built after someone recognized that siege weapons had improved."
Mara added tactical observations. "The kill-zones overlap perfectly. An attacker breaching the outer wall would be exposed to fire from the second wall before having any cover. The gates are narrow, deliberately angled, and from what we can see, likely trapped with mechanisms for dropping portcullises or collapsing archways."
"Traffic flow is controlled," another officer reported. "Only two gates show regular activity. The others appear to be sealed except for emergencies. This means the city can regulate exactly how many people enter or exit, preventing infiltration while maintaining normal commerce."
The conclusion was unavoidable, and Kael delivered it with professional honesty. "Havelstadt was not designed to fall quickly. It was designed to outlast attackers, to make siege so costly in time and resources that enemies would eventually exhaust themselves or negotiate rather than continue the assault."
There was something else in the scouts' reports—observations less concrete but equally consistent across different reconnaissance teams.
Veteran scouts who had served in multiple campaigns, who had approached fortified positions before, reported a strange psychological sensation when observing Havelstadt. The walls felt mocking. Almost amused by the idea that anyone would seriously attempt assault.
It was partly the defenders' behavior. Guards patrolled the battlements with relaxed confidence, stopping to chat with each other, occasionally pointing toward distant scout positions and laughing as if sharing jokes about the futility of the threat. Banners flew openly from every tower—Karath's colors displayed without any attempt at camouflage or defensive concealment.
There was no urgency in the city's defensive preparations. No frantic reinforcement of weak points. No stockpiling of additional ammunition or emergency supplies. The city simply continued its normal rhythms as if the army gathering in the distance was an interesting curiosity rather than an existential threat.
"They believe time is their ally," Mara said, frustration evident in her voice. "They think we'll eventually exhaust our supplies and leave, or that Karath's forces elsewhere will relieve them before we can do significant damage."
The assessment was probably accurate. Havelstadt had survived sieges before. Its walls had stood against professional armies with better equipment and larger forces than Doom currently commanded. From the defenders' perspective, this was just another temporary inconvenience that would resolve itself given sufficient patience.
The war council gathered in Doom's headquarters to present their comprehensive assessment and recommendations.
Engineers had prepared detailed calculations showing resource requirements for a traditional siege. Food consumption rates for the attacking army. Ammunition expenditure for sustained bombardment if siege engines could be constructed. Casualty projections based on historical data from similar assaults.
The numbers were brutal in their honesty.
A conventional siege would require minimum four to six months, possibly extending through winter if initial approaches failed. Casualties would accumulate steadily—not catastrophic losses in single engagements, but constant attrition from defender counterattacks, disease in siege camps, and inevitable assault attempts that would be necessary to maintain pressure.
Supply lines would be strained even with Doom's sophisticated logistics systems. Feeding an army in the field while maintaining production in Ironhaven while supporting the growing refugee population would push resources to their limits.
And all of this assumed Karath didn't send relief forces from other territories, didn't launch counteroffensives against Ironhaven while Doom's army was committed to the siege, didn't simply wait for winter to make sustained operations impossible.
"Havelstadt expects exactly this approach," Kael concluded. "Their entire defensive philosophy is built around outlasting conventional siege tactics. They've prepared for it. They have the advantage in this scenario."
The room fell silent, waiting for Doom's response to the cold mathematics that seemed to suggest Havelstadt was, if not invulnerable, at least too costly to assault with available resources.
Doom had listened without interruption throughout the entire presentation, the iron mask revealing nothing of his reactions or thoughts. He sat motionless as engineers detailed their calculations, as officers described defensive preparations, as scouts recounted the defenders' confident mockery.
Now he spoke, and his response consisted of a single sentence that changed the entire framework of discussion.
"Then we will not wage one."
Confusion rippled through the assembled commanders. Siege doctrine was centuries old precisely because it worked—it was the proven method for reducing fortified positions when direct assault was too costly. Suggesting they simply abandon established military wisdom seemed irrational.
"The walls are designed to defeat siege tactics," one officer ventured. "If we don't lay siege, how do we—"
"The walls are designed to defeat force applied directly against them," Doom interrupted. "Which is why we will not apply force directly against them."
He stood and walked to the large map showing Havelstadt's layout. "You have spent days analyzing how to break these walls. I appreciate the thoroughness. But you have been asking the wrong question."
His gauntleted finger traced the wall's perimeter. "These fortifications are magnificent achievements of military engineering. They represent generations of accumulated knowledge about how to defeat armies that rely on battering rams, siege towers, and sustained bombardment."
He looked around the room, the mask catching lamplight. "I am not interested in fighting a war the walls were designed to win."
The redirection of intelligence gathering efforts began immediately.
Doom dismissed conventional military reconnaissance—counting guards, identifying artillery positions, measuring wall thickness. These details were useful but secondary to what he actually needed to know.
"Havelstadt is not just a fortress," he explained to the engineering teams receiving new assignments. "It is a city. Cities are machines with inputs and outputs. They consume resources and produce waste. They require systems to function. Understand the systems, and you understand vulnerabilities that walls cannot protect."
Engineers were tasked with comprehensive analysis of how the city actually operated rather than how it defended itself.
Water sources became priority intelligence targets. Havelstadt had wells within the walls—this was known. But how many? What was their capacity? Were there underground springs or did they rely on aquifers that could be affected by external interference? What backup systems existed if primary water supplies failed?
Waste disposal received equal scrutiny. A city of several thousand people produced enormous quantities of sewage. Where did it go? The scouts identified drainage channels that carried waste outside the walls—routes that could potentially be exploited for infiltration or contamination.
Food storage facilities were mapped as thoroughly as military observation allowed. Large granaries were visible from external observation points. But how full were they? How long could the city sustain itself if completely isolated? What were the consumption patterns that might reveal actual population versus garrison size?
Traffic flow through the gates received intense attention. Who entered and exited? At what times? Carrying what goods? Every transaction was a data point revealing something about the city's economic systems and dependencies.
The intelligence gathering evolved beyond simple observation to active information collection.
Merchants who traveled between territories were quietly approached and offered generous payment for detailed information about Havelstadt's internal operations. Most accepted—they were businesspeople who recognized profit opportunities regardless of political allegiances.
What did food cost in Havelstadt's markets? What shortages were being discussed? Which trade goods were in unusual demand? These economic indicators revealed vulnerabilities that military reconnaissance could never identify.
Refugees who had fled the city during earlier conflicts were interviewed extensively. Not about military dispositions—their information was outdated—but about the mundane details of urban life. Where did people get water during summer droughts? What happened when wells ran low? How did the city manage waste during festivals when population swelled?
Even Karath's own bureaucratic communications became sources of intelligence. Captured dispatches were analyzed not for military intelligence but for administrative details. Requisition orders revealed what supplies the garrison needed. Inventory reports showed what resources were available. Personnel transfers indicated where shortages or discipline problems existed.
Doom personally reviewed the compiled intelligence, looking for patterns that indicated systematic dependencies or weaknesses.
The scouts redirected inward rather than focusing on external fortifications reported back with increasingly detailed pictures of the city's internal functioning.
Havelstadt needed approximately two thousand gallons of water daily just for drinking and basic sanitation. During summer, consumption increased as heat made hydration more critical. The wells could provide this under normal circumstances, but they were operating near capacity. Any disruption would create immediate crisis.
Food storage was substantial but not unlimited. The granaries could sustain the city for perhaps three months if completely isolated. But this assumed perfect rationing and no spoilage—unlikely given the storage conditions and preservation methods available.
The sewage system relied on gravity-fed drainage that required regular maintenance to prevent clogging. Several outflow channels showed signs of neglect—not critical yet, but vulnerable to deliberate sabotage that would back up waste into the city itself.
Gate traffic revealed patterns of dependency. Certain merchants entered on predictable schedules, suggesting regular supply relationships. Disrupting these would create shortages that would be noticed within days.
The walls laughed because they assumed the enemy was staring at stone, trying to calculate how to break through or climb over. They had been designed by brilliant military engineers who understood siege warfare and had created defenses that could withstand any conventional assault.
What they had not anticipated was an enemy who treated the city not as a military target but as a system to be analyzed and disrupted.
---
Alone in his quarters late at night, Doom stood before the window that overlooked Havelstadt in the distance.
The city's lights burned bright—torches and lamps creating a constellation of illumination that spoke of wealth, confidence, and endurance. From this distance, the fortress looked eternal, as permanent as the mountains themselves.
The walls were magnificent. He acknowledged this without resentment or envy. They represented the pinnacle of defensive architecture, refined across generations, tested by history and found sufficient.
They were also arrogant. Confident. Unchanging.
And they had not adapted in generations because they had not needed to. Every enemy that approached had thought in terms of battering rams and siege towers, of bombardment and direct assault. Every enemy had played the game the walls were designed to win.
Doom studied the distant fortifications and felt something that might have been satisfaction behind the iron mask.
He did not see an impregnable city. He saw a system that had been optimized for a specific threat model—one that no longer applied because he was not fighting that war.
Havelstadt's defenses were perfect for defeating armies that thought in terms of breaking walls. They were vulnerable to an enemy who understood that walls only mattered if the city behind them remained functional.
Cut the water, and no wall could protect against thirst.
Disrupt food supplies, and no fortification could prevent starvation.
Contaminate waste systems, and no defensive position could maintain health and morale.
These were not the tactics of honorable warfare. They violated every convention of military engagement that had governed conflicts for centuries. They would be considered cowardly, dishonorable, beneath the dignity of proper commanders.
Doom cared nothing for honor or dignity or the conventions that existed to make war palatable to those who never experienced it.
He cared about winning. About achieving objectives with minimum expenditure of resources. About demonstrating that his way of warfare was superior not through individual heroism but through systematic application of force at precisely identified vulnerabilities.
The walls of Havelstadt had survived every army that tried to batter them down.
That was why they laughed—why the defenders patrolled with casual confidence, why the city maintained its normal rhythms despite an enemy gathering in the mountains.
They had stood for centuries. They would stand for centuries more. Stone did not tire or surrender. Height could not be negotiated away. Thickness could not be intimidated.
But the walls did not yet understand—could not understand, because they were stone and stone could not think—that Doom had no intention of knocking.
He intended to make them irrelevant.
To transform them from impregnable defenses into expensive monuments to obsolete military thinking.
To prove that in the new warfare he was creating, walls mattered less than systems, strength mattered less than sustainability, and all the stone in Latveria could not protect a city whose basic functions had been disrupted by an enemy who thought in terms of infrastructure rather than fortification.
The iron mask reflected starlight and distant torchlight, cold and patient and absolutely certain.
The walls laughed now.
Soon, they would simply stand—mute witnesses to their own irrelevance, protecting nothing, defeating no one, monuments to the age that ended when Doom decided that breaking walls was less efficient than making them meaningless.