In the year 526 of the Holy Orthodox Era, amidst the tranquil lands of Alagan, a moment of grave import unfolded.
A humble servant approached with reverence, announcing, "Your Majesty, the great lord Vintus requests an audience."
The king, regal and composed, commanded with a nod, "Let him enter."
Lord Vintus, bowing deeply with dignity and solemnity, entered and addressed his sovereign, "Your Excellency."
The king, eyes keen and expectant, inquired softly, "Speak, what brings you here? What shadows have crossed your path to my place?"
Vintus hesitated for a moment, then his voice broke with a tremor of concern, "Sire… I bear troubling news."
The king's brow furrowed, voice tense with anticipation, "What news?" Vintus's words spilled out like a dark omen, "The Rivolua Empire, our northern neighbor and formidable foe, has declared war upon us."
A gasp escaped the king's lips, his expression darkening with fury and disbelief.
"What?! That burnt Black Elves! How dare they turn their wrath against us? What is the meaning of this treachery?"
The air grew heavy with the weight of impending chaos, as the realm braced itself for the storm that now loomed on the horizon.
Vintus's voice trembled with urgency as he continued,
"They are now seizing our border cities, Your Majesty. If we hesitate any longer, I fear that Rolissia—the third largest city in our kingdom and the revered fourth seat of our Holy Orthodox Church—will soon fall into their grasp.
Such a loss would stain our honor and threaten the very soul of our realm."
The king's eyes blazed with fierce determination; with a thunderous strike of his fist upon the throne, he proclaimed,
"No. This will never happen.I refuse to let our legacy be tarnished by such disgrace.
We shall stand firm, and I will lead our people to defend what is rightfully ours.
This insult shall be met with unwavering resolve."
In that moment, a resolute fire ignited within him, fueling the resolve to face the impending darkness with courage and defiance.
With a voice filled with unwavering resolve and a thunderous strike of his fist upon the cold, regal surface of the throne, the king declared with fierce conviction, "No.
This will never happen. I will not allow this disgrace to stain our land, our honor, or our legacy."
His words echoed through the grand hall like a clarion call to arms, rallying the spirits of his loyal subjects.
Turning sharply, he summoned Ringard, his trusted steward and advisor, whose response was swift and composed, "Yes, Your Majesty."
The king's commanding gaze softened just slightly as he issued his orders, his voice rising with authority, "Send messengers across the kingdom—summon the armies, rally the noble hosts, and prepare the warriors for battle.
Vintus, I entrust you with the defense of our realm—immediately, begin assembling your forces.
We march to war against the savage Black Elves, whose treachery threatens everything we hold dear."
As the court began to stir with activity, the sense of impending conflict grew heavier, yet beneath it all burned a fierce determination—an unyielding resolve to defend Alagan and restore its honor, whatever the cost.
The kingdom braced itself for a fierce and unforgiving clash, the fate of their future hanging in the balance.
Four days had passed since the king's resolute declaration, and the realm now teetered on the brink of war's tempest. In the quiet hours of dawn, a frantic servant burst into the throne room, breathless and trembling, crying out, "My lord! My lord!" The king, his eyes sharp and commanding, turned swiftly, concern flickering across his face. "What troubles you so much?" he demanded. Without hesitation, a spy, weary yet purposeful, stepped forward and reported, "Your Majesty, the city of Rolissia is under heavy siege by the Elves. The vanguard reports the enemy numbers are around thirty thousand." The king's laughter burst forth, full of scorn and confidence, echoing through the chamber. "Thirty thousand?" he scoffed loudly, his voice brimming with bravado. "Thirty thousand is nothing! We have nearly fifty thousand troops ready to march. Is that all they have?" His gaze sharpened as he called out, "Ringard!" The trusted steward stepped forward immediately, awaiting orders, as the king's fiery resolve intensified, prepared to lead his forces into the storm of war with unwavering conviction.
As the news of Rolissia's dire situation reached the king's ears, a fierce determination ignited within him, burning brighter than ever before. Standing tall amidst his advisors and generals, he raised his voice with commanding authority, "Since our forces are prepared, I want us to march swiftly to Rolissia. Prepare the necessary orders—get the banners raised, the war horns sounded, and the armies ready to move at dawn." His eyes gleamed with unshakable confidence, a smirk playing on his lips as he added with unwavering conviction, "We shall be victorious. The Black Elves will learn that Alagan's spirit cannot be broken, and our honor will be restored through fire and steel." The room erupted into a flurry of activity as messengers hurried to carry out his commands, soldiers prepared their gear, and strategists plotted the path to victory. Outside, the kingdom's banners fluttered in the wind, echoing the king's resolve. As dawn approached, the armies of Alagan assembled on the borders, ready to march into the chaos of war, driven by the king's unyielding belief that this battle would be theirs—an epic clash that would carve their names into history and cement their legacy for generations to come.
On January 6, in the Holy Orthodox Year 526, the formidable Alagan Royal Army, driven by unwavering resolve and the call to defend their sacred realm, set forth with purpose and urgency toward the holy city of Rolissia. As the soldiers and commanders pressed onward through rugged terrains and dense forests, the air was thick with anticipation and the weight of impending conflict. In the midst of the march, the commanding officer of the Sixth Unit approached the king, bowing respectfully. "Your Majesty," he announced with a steady voice, "we have covered most of the distance to Rolissia." The king, his gaze sharp and determined, asked calmly, "How many days until we arrive?" The commander responded, "Probably three to four days, Your Majesty." A faint smile touched the king's lips as he nodded, a spark of confidence igniting within him. "Good. We will arrive on time," he declared, his voice resonating with the promise of victory and the unwavering faith that their sacrifice would secure the safety and honor of Alagan. The march continued, each step bringing them closer to destiny, as the soldiers carried the hopes of their homeland on their shoulders.
As the army pressed forward, the king gathered his commanders and advisors, his voice low but resolute. "This news must not leak," he commanded, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "We continue forward until we reach Rolissia. We will retake it—by the will of the Holy Orthodox, we will restore what is ours and crush the darkness threatening our land." The soldiers marched with unwavering discipline, their footsteps echoing the king's determination, as the dawn of battle loomed ever closer. Three days later, at the gates of Rolissia Fortress, the formidable Alagan forces arrived, their banners fluttering defiantly in the wind. The tension was palpable as the army formed into battle lines, ready to storm the city. The king, standing tall at the forefront, raised his sword and bellowed, "Sixth, Third, and Second units—attack! Free the city of God from these savage beasts!" But just as the order was about to be executed, Vintus hurried forward, voice urgent. "Your Majesty!" he called out, trying to halt the chaos. The king, unwavering, turned sharply, eyes blazing with fury and resolve. "Attack!" he commanded once more, the weight of his decree ringing out across the battlefield as the gates burst open and the clash of steel and cries of war erupted in the sacred city, determined to reclaim Rolissia and restore its glory.
For three long days, Rolissia endured the relentless siege, its walls standing as a testament to its resilience while the city's defenders fought desperately against the encroaching darkness. Amidst the chaos, Vintus, ever strategic and cautious, approached the king with urgent concern etched across his face. "Your Majesty," he pressed, "the city is vast, with thick and formidable walls. It would be wiser to draw the enemy out beyond the safety of the walls, where our deadly cavalry can strike with precision and annihilate them. We could turn their strength against them." The king, his voice firm and unwavering, shook his head. "No!" he declared with commanding authority. "We have the numbers and the strength. To lift the siege now would waste all our efforts, and we cannot afford to falter. We will stand firm, and I will not see Rolissia fall into their hands. We are the defenders of this holy city, and we shall prevail through our might and resolve." His words echoed with conviction, fueling the resolve of his troops as they prepared for the coming days of brutal combat, determined to hold the city at all costs.
Several hours later, as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the battered walls of Rolissia, a tense hush fell over the battlefield. A spy hurried into the command tent, breath ragged from haste. "Your Excellency," he reported urgently, "an unknown force is approaching from the north. We do not recognize their banners, but they are not Elves." The king's eyes narrowed, a flicker of hope igniting within him. A confident smile spread across his face as he grasped the significance of the news. "They must be the Eastern mercenaries I hired," he said with a triumphant tone. "Excellent. With their arrival, the tide will turn in our favor. Prepare the men—they are here to tip the scales and help us crush the siege. Rolissia's salvation is at hand." As the soldiers moved swiftly to ready themselves, the king's heart surged with renewed confidence, knowing that allies from the east had arrived just in time to change the course of the battle and secure victory for Alagan.
That afternoon, as the sun hung low in the sky, casting a fiery glow over the horizon, the mysterious army arrived at the outskirts of Rolissia. Their banners fluttered ominously in the wind, yet their insignias remained shrouded in secrecy, their numbers unknown. The air grew thick with anticipation and tension as the defenders of Rolissia watched from the walls, eyes fixed on the approaching host. The distant sound of marching feet and clanking armor echoed across the battlefield, signaling the arrival of these enigmatic allies—mercenaries or perhaps something more—whose presence could alter the course of the siege. The city's fate teetered on the edge, poised between despair and hope, as the mysterious army drew closer, ready to make their stand alongside the defenders against the shadow creeping from the north.