Victor's army had 192,000 infantrymen, 30,000 cavalrymen, and 1,000 cannons. Alphonse's army consisted of 146,000 infantrymen, 28,000 cavalrymen and 800 cannons. In total, it was 390,000 infantrymen, 58,000 cavalrymen and 1,800 cannons. The Luxenberg forces were positioned along the northern and western wall fronts while Alphonse's troops were along the eastern and southern wall fronts.
The Florent garrison only had 50,0000 infantrymen and 200 guns. They were signifigantly outnumbered and outgunned.
The first shells fell before dawn.
At first, Florentian citizens mistook the distant rumble for thunder rolling across the hills. But thunder did not whistle as it fell. Thunder did not tear apart stone. Thunder did not make the earth jump beneath one's feet.
The bombardment began when the sky was still pale with morning light. The first cannonballs, black and heavy as iron moons, screamed over the northern walls and shattered against Florenzia's rooftops. Tiles exploded. Smoke burst upward in dark blooms. Dogs howled, bells clanged wildly, and the people of the proud city scrambled into cellars and cloisters seeking refuge from a sky that had turned murderous.
Victor's artillery had been positioned on the ridge, half a mile from the city gates. Hundreds of field cannons stood in disciplined rows, their crews moving with ruthless precision. Timber platforms anchored the guns at perfect angles, and powder teams worked in a steady rhythm. Every shot was deliberate. Every target chosen.
But these were only the beginning.
Behind the main batteries, guarded by engineers and thick barricades, stood a second line of weapons—sleek, iron-spined constructs mounted atop wooden frames.
The Luxenberg rockets.
Forty of them.
Long as a man's arm, wrapped in iron sheathing and fitted with wooden guide sticks, they lay like dormant serpents waiting to strike. Soldiers watched them with awe and unease, for few had seen them fired, and fewer still understood their destructive power.
Prince Alphonse, riding alongside his artillery officers, stared at the rockets from a distance with furrowed brow. "I believe siege cannon would suffice; does he really intend to fire rockets?" he muttered.
Inside the city, chaos roiled through the streets.
Housewives dragged children into wine cellars. Merchants struggled to shutter their stalls as cannonballs smashed into the market square, sending columns of dust skyward. Church bells rang not for prayer, but warning—shrill, rapid, desperate.
In the upper citadel, Tomasso Florent stood on the battlements, cloak snapping behind him like the wings of a storm-torn hawk. His commanders clustered around him, pale with worry.
"They do not intend to hold back against us" one whispered.
Tomaso's jaw tightened. "I expected as much."
"But we did not expect—" the general began.
He was interrupted by a shrill, unearthly screech across the sky.
A sound Florenzia had never heard before.
A sound that turned every head upward.
High above the ridge, the first Luxenberg rocket ignited.
A burst of sparks erupted at its tail, and with a baleful howl like a dying spirit, it shot into the heavens trailing a comet's tail of smoke. Its movement was unpredictable—zigzagging, spiraling drunkenly—before plunging toward the city.
It struck the roof of a warehouse.
The explosion was instantaneous.
A globe of orange flame engulfed the structure, wood splintering outward like shrapnel. Fire licked the air, sucking breath from anyone within sight, and a column of black smoke roared upward like a devil rising from the deep.
A gasp rippled across the ramparts.
"Mother of God…" whispered one Florent officer.
Another rocket screamed in.
Then another.
And another.
They arced overhead in fiery streaks, their sputtering tails casting ghostly light against the dawn sky. Some exploded in alleys. Some crashed onto rooftops. Others punched through towers before erupting in blossom-like bursts of fire.
The rockets were inaccurate—but accuracy was never their purpose.
They were terror made visible.
Crying, screaming, praying rose from the city below as homes ignited, sparks leaping from roof to roof.
Victor watched through a brass spyglass. He did not smile, nor flinch, nor speak a word. His face was solemn, as if each explosion carved another line into his soul.
Alphonse furiously rode across the fronts until he was up beside Victor, face pale.
"This… this is monstrous," he murmured. "You mean to burn the city to the ground?"
Victor lowered the spyglass.
"I mean to show Tomasso Florent the price he must pay for his crimes. As the victim of them I thought you would remain silent"
"You're frightening civilians—women, children—" Alphonse tried to say.
"I am simply conducting a siege against a man whose treachery plunged this continent into civil war for two decades," Victor said sharply. "This will be Tomasso and Maria Florent's atonement. Let them be baptised by fire."
Alphonse fell silent, troubled. In all the battles he had been apart of during this civil war, he had never seen such a cold and calculating display of power before. It terrified him, and it made him slightly fear Victor.
Victor gestured to his artillery captain.
"Signal the second volley. Aim the rockets closer to the citadel. The cannons continue alternating fire—two-minute intervals."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
The drums beat the command. Gunners moved with renewed urgency. New rockets were fitted, fuses primed.
The bombardment roared again.
On the Florentian battlements, Tomaso's cloak whipped around him as he watched another warehouse erupt in fire. His heart hammered—not with fear, but with fury.
"Send water brigades!" he ordered. "And have every gun we have return fire immediately! Aim for their damned rockets!"
His officers scrambled to obey.
"But, sire," one stammered, "their range exceeds our heavy guns—"
"Then drag the siege mortars from storage! Now!"
Below, citizens ran bucket lines to contain the spreading flames. Florentian gunners wheeled heavy cannons toward the northern parapets, loading by hand, sweat dripping as rockets shrieked above their heads.
Tomaso gripped the stone battlement.
"So," he whispered, "this is how Victor Luxenberg conducts warfare. With fire."
Another rocket struck the courtyard behind him, exploding into shards of iron and flame. Officers ducked. Dust showered from the wall.
Tomaso did not move.
"I will not bend, I will never yield to that unworthy bastard, Alphonse," he growled.