I rode like hell that spring morning, the year 320 of the Vermanyan Calendar etched into my memory. I had a story to tell—a legend in the making. A tale of a victory so absolute, so brutal, that it bordered on myth.
My prince—a ten-year-old boy with the presence of a man, a warrior—had led us to a triumph no one thought possible. We had witnessed something extraordinary. A massacre.
My companions and I were ordered to set out after breakfast, but sleep had been impossible. How could we rest after what we had seen? My hands still trembled from the weight of it, my ears still ringing from the clash of steel and the dying screams of our enemies.
For the first time in my life, I beat the birds to the dawn's light—a small feat compared to the story I carry now.
The world needs to hear this. They need to know what happened at Fort Gehena.
Because we didn't just win.
We destroyed them.
A crowd had already gathered at the largest plaza in Helgrad, the capital of Drakseid. One of my friends rode straight for the imperial castle to inform the royals and nobles, while the others scattered down the roads toward every village and town in the kingdom.
I took the center stage of the plaza and composed myself. My stomach was empty—I hadn't eaten since morning—but I felt full. Full of something else. Triumph, maybe. Or disbelief.
Before I could speak, the questions hit me like arrows.
"Did we win?"
"How many casualties?"
"Did the prince survive?"
"Was it a massacre?"
Fear. Worry. Doubt.
I raised my hand for silence, and the noise died almost instantly. The weight of anticipation settled over the crowd.
I took a breath, steadying my voice.
"Hear me, citizens of Helgrad, capital of Drakseid—
Today, I herald a myth."
The crowd gasped—low murmurs rippling through the plaza—but they didn't last long. Anticipation tightened the air as all eyes returned to me.
I didn't make them wait.
"Yesterday morning, the crown prince rallied our newly reformed army. Soldiers clad in bronze armor, shields reinforced with enchanted metal, and spears and blades tipped with mythril. Four thousand warriors—bloodthirsty, drowning in vengeance—marched toward Fort Gehena. Eager to free our brothers. Determined to show no mercy."
I paused, letting the weight of my words settle.
My eyes swept over the crowd. Wide eyes. Breathless silence. Not even the birds dared to stir—as if the whole world understood the gravity of what I was saying.
The silence was surreal.
I had them.
"We marched toward Fort Gehena until afternoon. The fort loomed in the distance, its jagged walls bristling with archers and defenders. The bandits were ready—they had seen us coming, and they were already in formation at the gates."
The tension in the crowd sharpened. I could feel their unease.
"The army advanced in formation, shields raised and spears at the ready. But just as the charge was about to begin, the commander— the crown prince —raised his hand."
My voice lowered, forcing them to lean in.
"He told them to stop."
Gasps rippled through the plaza.
"He ordered the army to rest for an hour. Bread, a bit of dried meat and ale were distributed to the soldiers. Some were confused. Others were angry. But none dared to question him."
My eyes narrowed as I recalled the scene.
"Then… the prince himself climbed a ridge overlooking the fort. He stood there for a long time, arms crossed, studying the enemy's defenses. Finally, he came down—grinning like a wolf that had already tasted blood."
I could see the disbelief in my audience's eyes. The same disbelief we had felt that day.
"He took a bite of bread, casually chewing as he said,
"We'll be done in less than an hour. We won't even need a siege.""
The crowd froze. Some faces twisted in confusion, others in awe.
Even now, they couldn't believe it.
Neither could we.
"The captains and generals gathered around the crown prince. He stood at the center of the formation, calm as ever, his gaze sharp as he dictated our course of action. There was no hesitation in his voice—only certainty."
"He split the army into distinct units:
Unit Alpha – Infantry tasked with breaching the main gate—head-on assault, pure strength and pressure.Unit Beta, Gamma, and Delta – The flanking units, attacking from the sides and rear. Their job was simple: overwhelm the defenders with superior skill, training, and discipline.
He split the cavalry of five hundred:
Two hundred to circle the fort, scouting for any signs of reinforcements from the Distia Empire.Three hundred to ride in pairs through the surrounding forest, flushing out any hidden bandits who might ambush us from behind.
The main fight would be fought by the infantry— without siege weapons."
My audience's eyes widened. No siege weapons? Against a fortified position? Insanity.
But the prince knew exactly what he was doing.
""We don't need siege weapons" he said. "Their defenses are brittle. We are not.""
My voice hardened as I recalled his words.
"He told us it would be over quickly. No drawn-out siege. No war of attrition. Just strength, precision, and execution."
The silence in the plaza was absolute.
They were beginning to understand.
I continued.
"We took to our stations, and the cavalry raced off. The infantry split into four units—Beta, Gamma, and Delta surged toward their positions with swift, uniform precision. Their formation was flawless, not a single gap in the ranks.
Only Unit Alpha remained—a wall of one thousand seven hundred soldiers standing opposite two thousand enemy defenders positioned just outside the gates.
Archers lined the walls of the fort, bows drawn and ready. Too many for mere bandits. Something was off about these bandits, normal bandits don't number in thousands nor take forts—something was amiss—but the prince's expression didn't shift. He knew. Somehow, he already knew."
"The prince stood at the head of the unit. Calm. Unshaken. He led them toward the enemy, halting just outside of the archers' range.
He didn't speak right away. He just stared. A cold, brutal gaze. A look that stripped the strength from men's hearts.
Then, he drew his sword. Slowly. Deliberately. The polished blade glinted beneath the sun as he raised it toward Fort Gehena.
'Go,' he said, his voice cutting through the tension.
'Take back what's ours. Take everything from them. And give them no more.'
'Advance.'
The war cries that followed were deafening. Shields slammed against spears. Armor rattled with the rising chants.
The prince didn't move. He plunged his sword into the earth and gripped the hilt with both hands. His red cloak fluttered behind him, catching the wind as his cold gaze settled on the enemy.
Then it happened.
A wall of bronze emerged before him—a line of shields, reinforced with mythril spikes. The formation advanced with a steady, crushing pace.
It was magnificent.
Hundreds of soldiers moving as one—step for step, shield to shield—like a single body guided by a single mind. Their spears extended, tips glinting beneath the sun. A living engine of war.
Unity. A beautiful sight.
But the same couldn't be said for our enemy.
I could feel their confusion—their disbelief—as they watched it unfold. This wasn't an army. This was a machine. And it was coming for them.
Then the arrows came.
Hundreds of them. A dark wave that fell upon the sons of Drakseid.
But the formation never slowed.
Shields angled upward, the bronze enhanced with magic deflected the volleys with ease. The sound of metal striking metal filled the air, but not a single arrow found flesh.
The archers scrambled to reload. That was their mistake.
Sections of the formation opened. Small gaps between the shields.
And from those gaps—
Arrows flew.
They hit their targets with cold precision.
Enemy archers dropped like cut strings, their bodies slumping over the walls. Those still standing loosed a desperate volley in return—
It was no use.
Our shields snapped shut like iron jaws. The arrows clattered harmlessly against them.
Once again the shields opened.
Another wave of arrows flew from our ranks—
And this time, no archers remained.
Only their fighters were left.
Our formation spread wide and thin, encircling them.
The bandits charged—wild, desperate—but our spears reached them first. Leather armor and iron swords were no match for mythril-tipped spears and disciplined ranks.
They fell by the hundreds, impaled on cold steel as the phalanx pressed forward. Unyielding. Precise. Lethal.
Our archers held the perimeter, cutting down stragglers at the flanks. A few weak points formed at the edges, but nothing dangerous.
The leaders of the bandits finally realized the truth.
They couldn't beat our formation head-on.
So they ran.
The fort gates creaked open, and the fighters surged toward the entrance, hoping to regroup behind the walls.
But they stopped cold.
Another line of shields and spears awaited them inside. The front rank was already bloodied—red dripping from polished mythril tips. Unit Beta, Gamma, and Delta had already breached the fort from the sides.
They were trapped.
The surviving bandits froze. The realization hit all at once. Their numbers had once been an advantage—
Now they were outnumbered. Outclassed. Finished.
Weapons clattered to the ground one by one, as the last of them surrendered. One thousand captives—humbled, broken, and terrified.
It was over.
Fort Gehena is ours.
Drakseid's banners flew high above the fort's battered walls, rippling in the cold morning wind. The crimson and black of our kingdom stood in stark contrast to the bloodstained stone beneath it."
I let the news sink in.
But no one cheered.
They just… stood there. Silent. Processing.
Victory should have brought relief, maybe even joy—but this wasn't just a victory. This was something else.
I saw it in their eyes. Awe. Fear.