The summer dawn painted the fields bordering Rishka City in hues of pale gold and steely blue as the Blue Army arrived. Two thousand strong, a combined force of the 1st and 2nd battalions, they were a tide of disciplined Kylian soldiers, their banners snapping in the crisp morning air. Leading them were commanders Kylia, Odin, and Yuter, faces grim, anticipation etched in their features.
Within the Rishka City barracks, Lady Aysedora, the city's lord and commander of the Rishka Guard, paced before her advisors. The air in the room was thick with despair. "The Kylians... they're relentless! We started this war with two thousand. Now, barely four hundred remain. What are we to do?" Her voice trembled, her hands twisting in a futile gesture of anxiety.
Her advisors exchanged furtive glances. The truth hung heavy in the air: defeat was imminent. Finally, Elder Ozhyna, the most seasoned strategist amongst them, spoke, his voice heavy with regret. "My Lady, the situation is dire. The Rishka Guard, in its current state, cannot withstand the Kylian Army. We must consider surrendering."
"Surrender?" Lady Aysedora recoiled, her voice laced with scorn. "Never! Surrender is unthinkable. We will lose our honor, our history! The Rishka Guard will not yield. Summon every able-bodied citizen – every father, mother, and child! We will defend Rishka to our last breath!"
"But My Lady," Elder Ozhyna pleaded, "that is sending them to slaughter! It is a noble sentiment, but tactically… foolish."
Lady Aysedora's jaw tightened. Pride, a stubborn and unyielding thing, hardened her resolve. Surrender was a stain she refused to bear. "My decision is final."
Meanwhile, just a kilometer from the city walls, General Kylia surveyed her troops. "Prepare the artillery! We need to breach those walls swiftly!" She rode along the lines, her voice echoing with authority. The urgency in her tone reflected the strategic importance of Rishka. Taking the city wasn't just about eliminating opposition; it was about freeing up resources for the greater war against the Kingdom of Hyrule.
The Kylian artillerymen moved with practiced efficiency. Canons were meticulously cleaned, the charges and cannonballs carefully loaded. Gunners, their faces stoic, made minute adjustments, calculating trajectories with grim precision.
"Fire!" Kylia's command cut through the air.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Ten Gribeauval cannons and ten H1 Howitzers roared in unison, unleashing a devastating barrage. The earth trembled. Against the city walls, the Rishka Guard was caught completely off guard. Their hastily erected defenses crumbled under the relentless assault.
"Kylian thundersticks!" a guard shrieked as a cannonball tore through the air, obliterating him and sending a shower of debris and blood across the camp.
"We need to retreat!" another guard screamed, his voice laced with panic. The terrified guardsmen broke ranks, scrambling for cover, their hopes of survival dwindling with each earth-shattering explosion.
Another volley slammed into the walls, creating gaping breaches. The fleeing guards, now exposed to the merciless Kylian firepower, were easy targets.
"Crack! Crack! Crack!"
Kylian infantrymen, eager to join the fray, unleashed a hail of rifle fire.
"Agh!" A guard stumbled, a bullet piercing his lung. He collapsed, another casualty in the unfolding carnage.
Panic seized the Rishka Guard. They were outgunned, outmaneuvered, and utterly overwhelmed. As the cannons continued their relentless bombardment, the guardsmen, broken and demoralized, retreated deeper into the city. This presented a perfect opportunity for the Kylian cavalry.
"For Kylia!" Captain Kinnota bellowed, leading his cavalry charge towards the fleeing guards. Sabers flashed in the sunlight as the horsemen sliced through the ranks of the enemy, cutting them down like wheat before a scythe.
"Help! Run!" The desperate cries echoed across the battlefield as the Blue Army surged into the city.
"Ha! These Coalition fools," Captain Yuter sneered, his saber dripping with blood. "They should have surrendered days ago."
The Coalition, clinging to outdated strategies and lacking resources, had consistently been on the defensive throughout the Kylian Campaign. Rishka was paying the price for their stubbornness.
As the Blue Army seized control of half the city, pockets of surviving Rishkian Guards started to raise white flags, their resistance broken.
"Excellent. First Infantry Platoon, clear Lady Aysedora's manor," Kylia commanded.
"At once, Majesty," Colonel Odin replied, his voice crisp and efficient.
The First Infantry Platoon, a phalanx of hardened soldiers, advanced towards Lady Aysedora's manor, their bayonets glinting menacingly. Inside, Aysedora stood defiant, her face pale but her eyes blazing with a manic intensity. She clutched a ceremonial sword, its silver tarnished with disuse. Elder Ozhyna, his face etched with sorrow, stood beside her, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
"My Lady, it is over," he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper. "Please, don't throw your life away. Surrender now and perhaps we can negotiate terms."
Aysedora ignored him, her gaze fixed on the approaching soldiers. "They will not take me alive," she spat, her voice trembling. She adjusted her dress one last time, a silk gown trimmed with now-faded velvet, a testament to a bygone era of Rishkan opulence. Vanity, even at the precipice of ruin, clung to her.
Just then, the manor doors burst open, splintering under the force of the Kylian assault. The platoon poured in, their rifles raised. Colonel Odin strode forward, his expression grim.
"Lady Aysedora," he announced, his voice devoid of emotion. "You are under arrest, by order of Queen Kylia. Surrender your weapon."
Aysedora raised the sword, her hand shaking. "You will have to take it from me!" she cried, lunging forward. Her attack was clumsy, desperate, easily deflected by Odin. He disarmed her with a swift movement, the sword clattering to the floor.
"Take her away," Odin commanded, gesturing to two soldiers.
As they dragged her away, Aysedora screamed obscenities, cursing the Kylians, cursing the invaders, cursing anyone who dared defy her. But her voice was lost in the cacophony of the battlefield.
As Aysedora's cries faded, a strange thing began to happen in the streets of Rishka. The initial fear and panic started to give way to something unexpected: relief. Rishkans, weary of Aysedora's rigid rule and the constant drain of resources into her vain pursuits, emerged from their homes. They had endured years of her extravagant spending, fueled by crippling taxes and oppressive laws. Her obsession with maintaining a façade of grandeur had left the city impoverished and vulnerable.
A murmur rippled through the crowd, then a cheer. A hesitant cheer at first, but it grew, spreading from street to street, a wave of liberated joy. "Kylia! Kylia! Kylia!" they chanted, their voices rising in unison. They saw not conquerors, but liberators. For Rishka, the fall of the city meant the end of Aysedora's tyranny, and the hope of a brighter future.
The last city has fallen, the Coalition War has ended. "For Kylia! For peace!" Both Kylians and Rishkans rejoiced, their cheers echoing across the dawn-lit fields, heralding a new era.