Lexel did not slow.
Before him, the barricades loomed like the jagged teeth of a starving beast. They were not haphazardly tossed together; they were built with grim, calculated intent. Heavy timbers bound by rusted iron, spiked outward and reinforced with enough packed earth and stone that any sane rider would have hauled back on the reins long before the shadow of the gate fell over them.
The guards stationed at the checkpoint noticed his approach early—earlier, perhaps, than their complacent vigilance should have allowed. Their reaction was a chaotic symphony of sudden realization. Hands scrambled against leather and steel, crossbows were hefted to shoulders with frantic jerks, and armored bodies shifted aggressively to intercept the lone rider. It was a textbook response. Given the fortifications and their numbers, it should have been more than enough to end the threat before it truly began.
It wasn't.
