Steel and Mana

Chapter 337 – The Siege (1)

Chapter 337 – The Siege (1)

Emperor Kadosa IV stood atop one of their reinforced command towers, the early, warm summer wind blowing past his determined expression. This was it. His last effort, his last gambit. Whatever would happen after would determine if he could keep his throne or would most likely lose it to a relative, as his family would be lucky to survive. A failed emperor always faced the blade of revenge from someone inside the imperial family, just for the sole reason to prevent him and his descendants from ever trying to retake their position. Shaking the troubling thoughts out of his head below him, he looked at the battlefield instead. The same blackened land that he had been seeing for a year, already starting to forget how it was to see green and blooming flowers. His personal guards surrounded him, while around the tower, the remaining army he commanded was preparing for their assault. Everyone's eyes, though weary, burned with desperate hope after hearing his encouraging speech only hours prior, boosted by the medallion's effect on his neck.

His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, the worn leather wrapping on it biting into his gloved palm, making him feel it no matter what. Taking a deep breath, he raised the blade high, its steel almost glowing faintly through the whole region, bathing his army in magic. Under his armor, the Medallion of Life was shimmering just the same, alleviating his people's fears and doubts, almost like battle hypnosis, feeling everyone with the ecstasy of a righteous cause. Then, his voice, a bit hoarse from a year of shouting over the cacophony of war, carried across his legions like a thunderclap.

“Men of Geth!” he bellowed, the words scraping against his throat, making it resonate even more with the soldiers. They felt it. He was just as tired as them, yet still willing to fight with them. “For a year, we have clawed our way through this accursed land of Ishillia! We have watched our brothers fall; our blades wash the land with blood while our spirits remain strong! But today is the last day we have suffered out here! Today, we take our victory! Not because we have strength left but because the enemy is finally weak! The mad Emperor is alone! The Goddess Orsi had finally smiled down upon her people! One final push and the city will fall, and we will bring the Goddess's justice to the Ishillian monsters ourselves!”

The roar of his troops, bolstered by the effect they were feeling in their chests, shook the ground, becoming a primal sound that seemed to rise from the very core of their souls. They raised the remaining tattered banners of Geth in the hands of new standard bearers, chanting either their Goddess's name or the Empire's. Even Kadosa’s chest swelled with a mix of pride and zeal as he watched them, as he heard his own words boost his own perception of victory. These men—his men—had given everything. And now, he would do so to... no, he will provide even more.

The last wave of soldiers, the final reserves Kadosa had held back for this exact moment, reinforced by the late arrival of the Sar Empire's reinforcement, surged forward like a crashing tide. Thousands of boots pounded the earth, their war cries echoing across the battlefield as the battle began. Kadosa’s heart raced, even forgetting to be angry with his supposed ally, of Ahnud's incompetency in helping him... Because victory was within reach, but it would cost them dearly.

However, he was willing to pay that price. He was willing to do anything now just so he could claim triumph.

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Across the same battlefield, Lucca stood on the walls of his fortress, his arms folded tightly across his chest, overseeing from his vantage point the no-man's land before the city. The same warm wind rushed against him, but he barely felt it. His own weary troops stood in their encampments, welcoming the oncoming onslaught with the same tired but defiant eyes, their hands gripping their weapons, ready to reap more lives, just like before. What they didn't see was how Lucca’s gaze swept over them... somewhat... different.

For the first time in the war, since he had been defending his Emperor's back, he was hesitating.

A messenger had arrived just before dawn, collapsing in his tent, almost dying from exhaustion. He was breathless and trembling, delivering the news straight from the Capital: The traitor Mirian had breached the Central Region and was on her way to surround the Imperial City. She was marching toward the Capital, and nothing could stop her in time. The words had struck Lucca like an actual physical blow, coming from a war hammer, leaving him momentarily paralyzed. Barth is dead, too? How? How did they cut through? Why didn't his Master contact him? Was he... lost in the backlash? Can he even defend the city by himself? Should he withdraw? Should he abandon this front and return to reinforce Pascal above all else? Would his absence seal his Emperor’s doom? Would his presence even be enough to save him?

His mind raced, each thought a blade twisting in his gut, making him unable to react in time. He had always been decisive and unwavering in his loyalty and strategy; it was what saved the South until now. Never planning but reacting, countering the enemy on the spot with split-second decisions. But now, doubt crept in like nothing before, putting a large crack into his resolve. Suddenly, the weight of his choices pressed down on him, threatening to crush him beneath its enormity because actually losing everything was now an option. A possibility that he never considered.

That little moment of doubt—even if it was just a fleeting instant—was all Kadosa needed, catching him off-guard and making him unable to react to his move in time. By now, the assault was ongoing, and he had no time to rearrange his forces; he could do nothing but watch and try to salvage the situation. Yet... His mind was filled with danger within the Capital, and making his decisions came just late enough that he was losing control. He was losing it fast.

The Geth forces surged forward, and in only half an hour, they finally managed to break through on the left side. Their men finally could bring siege ladders over, reaching the city, slamming them against the walls as another part of his defenses was broken through, allowing battering rams to be rolled forth. Soon, they would be pounding the gates, and then the very last of the trebuchets would be in firing range, launching flaming rocks into his stronghold. Lucca’s officers continued to bark his orders, their voices trying to bring order to the battlefield, but the dam had already broken. The Geth troops were at the city.

The battle was no longer about strategy. It was chaos, and Lucca's only thought was to hold them back for as long as possible. Bodies fell on both sides, their blood slicking the stones beneath the others' feet. He watched as Emperor Kadosa led the charge personally, carving a path through his defenders, his eyes fixed on the fortress keep, meeting with his eyes through hundreds of meters.

Lucca’s heart sank as he was murmuring a spell for the past five minutes, preparing it. He knew they wouldn't be able to hold the city... not this time. But, he won't give it easily. Oh no... He will make the Geth Emperor's victory into a pyrrhic one!

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The walls of the Imperial City of Ishillia, its Capital that had never seen war, were now, for the first time in history, filled with ballistae, trebuchets, and armored soldiers. The gates were sealed, and the concentric circles of water around the city provided another hurdle for the invaders. The city was eerily silent, at least how it usually was, except for the soldiers scrambling to fortify their defenses, preparing for the inevitable siege that was coming.

Pascal, still feeling incredible rage bubbling in him, stood at the highest point of the city, at the top of the palace's towers, overseeing everything in all directions. His eyes were bloodshot and shadowed, leaving the defenses to the regular people. Not that it mattered; he was preparing for something else. Something big. Every breath he took felt like it was bringing in fire, festering within his lungs, but he refused to give in. He would not die here. Not today. He lived for centuries, and he will survive... and be rebuilt from the ashes.

“Reinforce the northern wall!” Pascal heard a fleeting cry from somewhere down below, coming from one of his officers, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air and reach him. “Set the ballistae in formation—no wasted shots, you hear? If even one Avalonian siege ladder breaches the inner city, I will have your heads on pikes!”

The city guardians scrambled, pushing rocks into their trebuchets, sharpening the massive bolts in the dozens of ballistae, and reinforcing the hastily erected barricades. They thought they knew what was coming, and they tried preparing for the storm that would soon descend upon them. Yet Pascal knew something more—they were bringing more than siege ladders. They were coming with something... worse.

Although he may have been ignoring his thoughts, he couldn't ignore the weight of defeat constantly pressing down on him, threatening to crush his spirit.

"Get... out..." He cursed, shaking his head, holding it with one hand, trying to expel his doubt, with little to no success. He clenched his fists, his nails once again digging into his palms as he fought to maintain his composure. He could not show weakness—not now. He won't. He is Ishillia. He is THE Ishillia.

And then, he suddenly sensed something, as if the God of War himself, Toobu answered his thoughts. Just as despair threatened to consume him, a horn sounded across the land.

He turned sharply toward the sky, to the East, his heart leaping in his chest from pure joy this time. Above the land, the remaining two Ishillian flying ships appeared, their silhouette growing bigger and bigger as they raced towards the city. The pristine banners of Ishillia flew proudly from their decks, but more importantly for Pascal, they had returned with Kiva.

Searching, he couldn't see the army below them, but that didn't matter. The ships and his disciple were more important.

By the time the ships descended and the Eternal Emperor arrived, Kiva leaped from the first deck, landing before Pascal with a thud that echoed through the central courtyard of the palace. He knelt before him, his body trembling with fatigue from rushing back. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed with guilt and regret.

“My Master,” He gasped, his voice heavy with the weight of his failure he was letting simmer in his belly since he learned they were played like this. “Forgive me… I abandoned the army. I left them behind. I knew I wouldn’t make it in time if I tried and brought them. But I—”

Hearing it first, Pascal gritted his teeth and grabbed Kiva by the collar, lifting him slightly. His first instinct was, once again, rage and fury at the betrayal, but then he remembered that only a moment ago, he was feeling such joy that the ships and Kiva returned.

He let the hate go as best as he could.

“You returned,” The Emperor muttered, his voice seemingly stable, squeezing Kiva's shoulders. “That is enough, my loyal disciple.”

"We won't let the traitor win." Kiva nodded, "The army still marches; I told them to ignore the uprisings. If we can hold out for at least four days, they will arrive. Then, the whore will die at our hands, Master!"

"Good, good... We will hold. We. Will..." Pascal smiled, a dark glint in his eyes.

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For weeks, we had marched, and finally, we saw it.

The Imperial City of Ishillia, the palace in its middle with its spires and towering walls, were silhouetted against the golden light of the late afternoon sun, which turned the multiple, circling water around the city into mirrors, reflecting the light right at us, almost blindingly so. Grimacing a little, I exhaled slowly. I didn't want to acknowledge it, but the city looked grandiose. Even with my memory of seeing it once again in person, it was still nice. And I won't compliment it more, just out of principle.

Everyone stood at attention around me on the bridge of my Camelot. My wives surrounded me, watching the same way I did as we drifted closer, letting our army spread out below us, setting up a half-circle on the plain, slowly growing into a complete encirclement.

“We’re here,” Mirian murmured, fidgeting beside my chair. Her voice was low, her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, betraying her nerves. “Thing looks even bigger than I remembered.”

“It doesn’t matter how big it is,” Sasha said, rolling her shoulders. Her voice was firm, and her eyes burned with a fierce determination. “We’ll bring it down, and Avalon will have its peace.”

I said nothing. I merely stared at the city, its walls seemingly impenetrable, its defenses already primed for war. Well... It would have been impenetrable for a regular army, that is. I could see movement along the battlements, the flash of metal armor, shields, and spears, and the flickering torchlight of people preparing for the assault that was about to fall upon them.

I wondered... what were they thinking now? That alone brought a slight smirk onto my face.

Then, my hands clenched into fists, the leather under my chair's armrest creaking. This was the moment we had all been waiting for years—the culmination of everything I did. This was the last test of what I did right since being reborn in this world... Or if I would end my dream-like trip into the afterlife here. I just hoped none of my wives would end up on a rainbow road... being pushed into another life by an idiot. Or, hopefully, I wasn't the idiot pushing them to their death right now.

Enough. No need for negative thoughts, Leon... It is time for war, not for worrying.