They came at dawn.
Not with war trumpets or drums. Nothing dramatic. Just the morning mist slowly shifting shape, from white to dark, the mist transforming into ranks of men.
Albert stood atop Vallenwood's watchtower, his eyes narrowed against the fog. Beside him, Luise stood silent as a statue. They'd been here since an hour before sunrise, waiting.
And now the enemy was there.
Beyond the eastern wall, as far as the eye could see, tents were being erected. Thousands. Tens of thousands. From the tower's height, they looked like ants moving in orderly patterns—building encampments, digging trenches, felling trees for siege engines.
"They won't attack today," Albert said. His voice was hoarse, dry. Three sleepless nights made him sound like an old man. "This is just the beginning. They're still positioning."
"How long?" Luise asked.
"Three days. Maybe four. They'll gather all their forces, build siege towers, then try to breach the walls."
"They know we burned their grain?"
"They know. That's why they're in a hurry."
The morning wind blew from the north, carrying the smell of smoke and damp earth. Albert breathed deeply, then exhaled. In his head, those voices were still there. But now, faced with a real enemy, they dimmed slightly. As if there were other priorities.
"They'll try to cut our supply lines from the south." He pointed toward the distant hills. "Look, their cavalry is already moving there. Within two days, we'll be completely surrounded."
Luise nodded. "Are we ready?"
"Never ready, but we'll hold."
***
Three days later, the city of Vallenwood was truly besieged.
Albert stood at the eastern gate, inspecting the final ranks. Two thousand soldiers on the walls—archers above, infantry below, reserves in the rear. The remaining forces were spread across the other three sides, in smaller numbers but enough to warn if the enemy attacked from an unexpected direction.
"Today they'll test us." Lord Harald stood beside him, his face aged beyond the past week. "A small assault... they want to gauge our defenses. If we waver, they'll send the next wave."
Albert nodded. He'd seen this pattern before. In another life, on another battlefield, the enemy always tested before the main assault.
"Have the archers prepare fire arrows. If they bring siege engines, we burn them before they get too close."
Lord Harald clapped his shoulder. "You're right. Do it."
Albert turned, signaling Hilda atop the wall. The woman nodded, beginning to issue orders to her archers. Within minutes, a hundred bows were ready with arrows wrapped in oil-soaked cloth.
And outside, the enemy began to move.
The first wave—maybe five thousand—advanced in loose formation. At the front, small groups with large shields protected those behind. Behind them, two wooden siege towers were pushed slowly, massive wheels creaking on the damp ground.
"Wait," Albert commanded.
The archers held their bows, waiting.
A hundred meters. Eighty. Fifty.
"LOOSE!"
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
Hundreds of arrows streaked through the air, forming a black cloud against the morning sky. The first volley fell on the front ranks—several soldiers dropped, but most were shielded. But those behind, pushing the towers, had no shields.
Screams erupted. Twenty men fell around the first tower. But the tower kept moving, pushed by those still living.
"FIRE ARROWS!"
The second volley. This time, arrows with flames at their tips. They streaked through the air, embedding in the tower's wood. Fire began to spread—slowly, but steadily.
But the enemy replied. From behind their ranks, their archers began loosing arrows at the walls. An archer beside Hilda fell, an arrow piercing his shoulder. He screamed but kept shooting with one hand.
"HOLD FAST! DON'T STOP!" Hilda shouted.
Albert watched the battle from below. His eyes moved quickly, cataloging every detail. The enemy formation was loosening on the left flank—perhaps a gap. But not yet. Still too early for a counterattack.
Beside him, Luise suddenly tensed.
"My Lord, behind us."
Albert turned. Leo stood a few meters back, face pale, hands trembling. In his hands, a spear too long for him. He stared at the battle with wide eyes—not ordinary fear, but the kind that freezes the entire body.
"Leo."
The young man didn't hear.
"LEO."
He flinched. Looked at Albert, then at the battle, then back at Albert.
"W—what, Commander?"
"What are you doing here?"
"I... I want to... join the fight..."
Albert stepped closer. One step. Two steps. Until he stood directly before Leo. Staring into his wild eyes.
"Look over there."
Leo obeyed. Beyond the wall, the battle still raged. Corpses were beginning to pile up. Blood soaked the ground. A Leandrian soldier with a shattered leg crawled through the mud, leaving a red trail.
"You see that?"
Leo nodded, his lips trembling.
"That is war. Not a heroic tale, not a dream of being a soldier. That is torn flesh, broken bones, people dying in the mud. Within an hour, half of those you see out there might be dead. Tomorrow, it's our turn."
Leo didn't answer. The spear in his hands wobbled.
"You still want to join?"
Silence. Then a small voice, barely audible, "I... I don't know."
Albert nodded. "That's the first honest answer from you."
He patted Leo's shoulder—a light pat, almost gentle. "Now go to the rear, help in the recovery tents. Carry water, tend the wounded, bury the dead. That's also part of war."
Leo stared at him. His eyes glistened.
"Go."
The young man turned and ran, leaving his spear on the ground.
Luise approached. "That was kind of you."
"No." Albert turned back to the battle. "I just don't want another corpse in my head."
***
The first assault lasted three hours.
When the sun reached its zenith, the enemy withdrew. They left three hundred corpses before the walls, two burnt siege towers, and one small gap in the defenses—a gap quickly filled by reserve troops.
Inside, Helvetia casualties: eighty-seven dead, one hundred two wounded. The recovery tents were overflowing. The stench of blood and mud spread to every corner of the city.
Albert sat in his office. His hand held a cup of water, but he didn't drink. His eyes stared blankly at the wall.
Three hours. And eighty-seven people dead.
Luise entered, closing the door behind her. "My Lord, a report from Lord Harald. They estimate a major assault in two or three days."
Albert nodded.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes."
"You haven't slept in three days... you need rest."
"I Can't."
"Albert."
He turned. Those violet eyes stared back at him.
"Do you want to die? If you collapse, this army loses its commander. Leo loses the only person who can protect him. I lose..." She stopped.
Albert looked at her. "You lose what?"
Luise didn't answer. She just turned, walking to the door. "I'll stand guard outside. If you need anything, call me."
The door closed.
Albert sat in silence. In his head, those voices returned. Klaus, Stefan, Lukas, Gerold, Gerda, that prisoner, the eighty-seven corpses from today, and thousands more.
They whispered, murmured, shouted. No pause. No mercy.
His hand reached for his waist—the feltwort pouch. Empty... Still empty.
He threw the pouch into the corner of the room.
Two days... Maybe three. He had to hold out until the major assault. After that—he didn't know.
Outside, the sun began to set. Campfires in the encampment were being lit. The smell of smoke mingled with the stench of blood from the recovery tents.
Albert sat in his office, fighting thousands of voices in his head, alone.