The sun had risen over the town of Al-Tamileh, but the atmosphere in Duke Frederick Jonis's camp remained heavily clouded. Inside the grand command tent, Frederick sat in his chair, his face flushed with rage, his eyes spitting fire. Before him stood his commanders: Lord Valerian Cross, pale-faced; Lord Gregor Stone, whose armor still bore the marks of the Gavari battle; and Lord Ilya Thorne, who appeared confused and frightened. Catastrophic news had arrived just a few hours earlier. "Seigert has fallen!" Frederick roared, his voice trembling with fury, slamming his fist on the table until the dishes rattled. "Serut is dead! Rick is dead! And an army of 3,500 soldiers... utterly crushed! Crushed by a petty viscount with only 800 soldiers!" A profound silence fell over the tent. No one dared to speak. Shock was etched on everyone's faces. How could this have happened? "Rick! That failure!" Frederick continued, rising from his chair and pacing the tent like a wounded tiger. "I trusted him! I sent him 2,500 elite soldiers from my forces! To be crushed by an unknown viscount? This is a disgrace! A disgrace to my name! A disgrace to my army!" Lord Valerian Cross cautiously began, his voice low, "My Lord Duke... the reports are vague. The few soldiers who fled speak of magic. Of huge fireballs tearing bodies apart, and small explosions killing from a distance. They say it was no ordinary war." "Magic? Nonsense!" Frederick bellowed, waving his hand dismissively. "There's no magic in war, Valerian! There's only courage and cowardice! Rick was a failure! He fell into a trap, or perhaps his courage betrayed him! This petty viscount, Zidan, has only a few hundred soldiers. Perhaps it was a well-laid ambush, or perhaps Rick was foolish enough to let them surprise him." Frederick and his commanders remained completely unaware of the true nature of Zidan's weapons. They knew nothing of culverin cannons or explosive bombs. The conflicting reports from the fleeing soldiers, who were in a state of shock and terror, only led to more confusion, causing them to attribute what they saw to magic or treachery, rather than to technology they had never encountered. "My Lord Duke, we must move towards Kysor immediately," Ilya Thorne said, having regained some of his nerve. "We must crush this viscount before he imagines himself an indomitable force." But Frederick snapped back, "Not now, Ilya! Our forces are exhausted from the Battle of Gavari. And Ylianus still stands in the Lighthouse. I personally delayed Serut's demise, I admit, because I was preoccupied with a greater battle. But this viscount... this viscount I will crush myself! I will make him regret the day he was born! But not now. We must focus on Ylianus first. Once we are done with him, I will march to Kysor and destroy it stone by stone!" Frederick's rage was immense, yet it was a blind fury, lacking true information. He saw Zidan as merely a rash young noble, unaware that he was facing a technological force this world had never witnessed.
In the capital, within the royal palace, the shocking news reached the ailing King Alexander. The king sat in his chamber, his body weary, but his mind remained sharp. "My Lord King! Urgent news!" one of the guards exclaimed, kneeling before him. "Baron Serut's army and Commander Rick's have been crushed! Serut and Rick are dead! Viscount Zidan in Kysor crushed them!" King Alexander was stunned. His eyes widened, then gleamed with a strange light. 3,500 soldiers from Frederick's and Serut's forces, crushed by a mere young noble? This was unbelievable. Internally, the king allowed himself a hidden smile. This victory was a powerful blow to Duke Frederick, who had been threatening his throne. This strange noble, Zidan, had demonstrated a power no one had anticipated. Perhaps this was the hope the kingdom desperately needed. However, the smile quickly vanished. Deep down, the king knew this noble was peculiar. He had refused to send reinforcements to Ylianus and had spoken with impudence. This noble would not easily pledge allegiance, especially in the kingdom's current turbulent state. Zidan was a new, unknown force, potentially an ally, or perhaps a new threat in the future. The king was burdened with worries, but this victory, whatever its motives, had bought the kingdom some much-needed breathing room.
In her private chambers within the royal palace, Princess Lyra was practicing swordsmanship with her personal maid, Celine. Celine was a quiet girl, loyal to Lyra, and watched her with admiration. "Have you heard the news, Celine?" Lyra asked, pausing her training and picking up a towel to wipe sweat from her brow. "Viscount Zidan in Kysor... he utterly crushed Serut's and Rick's army. 3,500 soldiers." Celine's eyes widened. "Truly, My Princess? That's incredible! How could such a young noble achieve that?" "That's what I'm wondering," Lyra said, returning her sword to its scabbard. Her expression conveyed a mix of surprise and curiosity. "I've heard about his strength and his trained army. But crushing 3,500 soldiers so swiftly... that surpasses everything I know about the art of war." Internally, Lyra mused, "Perhaps he is just another noble who is clever in war. Perhaps he used a brilliant tactic, or an incredible ambush. But he is still just a noble. Nothing can change the rules of war so quickly." As a warrior, Lyra appreciated military might and intelligence, but she was also a realist. She couldn't believe in some supernatural force that could alter the balance of power so rapidly. She viewed Zidan as simply another noble, perhaps smarter or luckier, but still part of the same political and military game she detested.
In Kysor, the atmosphere was entirely different. There was no shock, but resolute determination. Zidan and his commanders were preparing for their next move. Savara, the army commander, walked among his 1,200 soldiers. Morale was high, and the troops marched with confident strides, their weapons held firm, their shields gleaming in the sunlight. They were proud of their recent victory and eager for the upcoming battle. "Make sure every soldier knows his position and his plan!" Savara's voice boomed across the training ground. "Discipline is the key to victory! No complacency! No retreat!" The ten 24-pounder culverin cannons had been loaded onto special carts and carefully covered with large black cloths, making them appear as ordinary transport vehicles, raising no suspicion. 250 explosive bombs, those "explosive fuses" that had wreaked such devastating havoc at Tel Kafir, were carefully hidden in wooden crates, ready for deployment. "Is everything ready, Savara?" Zidan asked, standing beside his commander. "Completely ready, My Lord Baron!" Savara replied, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "The soldiers are eager. The cannons are ready. The bombs are in place. We will conquer Seigert and make it part of Kysor!" "I know you will, Savara," Zidan said, a faint smile gracing his lips. "Remember, this is not just a battle. This is the beginning of building a new kingdom. A kingdom founded on justice, order, and strength. Seigert will be the first cornerstone of this kingdom." Kysor was preparing to invade Seigert. The former town of Serut still clung to the illusion of victory, oblivious that a new army, armed with technology never before seen in this world, was about to knock on its gates. This was merely the beginning of Zidan's journey, a journey that would forever change the face of the Albedo Kingdom.