Sigret, formerly Baron Sirot's town, was gripped by a fearful anticipation. The atmosphere was far from celebratory, contrary to what Jonick, the chief butler, had expected. Days after Sirot and Rick's disappearance, rumors began to trickle in, whispers of a horrific defeat at Mount Caver. Yet, no one dared to openly believe them. Authority was absent, and despair enveloped everyone's hearts. The town, home to 22,000 residents and 6,000 refugees, resembled a vast stable, its streets steeped in mud and feces, and the air thick with the stench of decay. Houses were dilapidated, the faces of its inhabitants pale, and diseases spread unchecked.
One morning, the dawn's silence shattered. It wasn't the sound of victory drums, but another sound, heavy and rhythmic, making the earth tremble. Viscount Zidan's forces, led by Sevara, had arrived. Twelve hundred soldiers advanced in organized formations, their shields gleaming in the rising sun, like a wall of steel slowly creeping towards the town.
A shock wave swept through Sigret. The residents, accustomed to chaos and poverty, had not expected to see such a well-organized army. They rushed to the dilapidated town walls, their eyes wide with terror.
Inside Sirot's palace, Jonick, Sirot's chief butler, trembled with fear. He had heard of this army's strength and their victory at Mount Caver. He knew that 1,200 soldiers, so well-organized, posed a real threat, and that their illusions of victory had vanished.
But Marcus, the leader of Sirot's remaining forces, didn't share the same fear. Marcus was a huge man, with a red beard and eyes gleaming with arrogance. He believed that Kisor's strength didn't exceed a few hundred soldiers and that they wouldn't dare confront an army of his size, even if most of them were civilians, and even if Kisor had won at Caver through treachery against Sirot's army.
"Cowards! Don't be afraid!" Marcus shouted, gathering around him 500 civilians, most of them young men untrained in combat, armed with whatever agricultural tools and kitchen knives they could find. "We will defend Sigret! We will not let this petty Viscount seize our town! Sirot did not die in vain! We will fight for our honor!"
Marcus was yelling, but his voice trembled slightly. He knew his forces were few, but he refused to surrender, driven by his blind arrogance.
Two and a half kilometers from Sigret, Sevara's forces halted. Sevara sent a messenger to Sigret's gates. The messenger was a young man, riding a white horse, carrying Kisor's banner fluttering in the air.
"Commander Marcus!" the messenger called out loudly, his voice echoing in the silent air. "My Lord Commander Sevara grants you one last chance! If you open the gate now, you and your soldiers will be pardoned! No blood will be needlessly spilled! Kisor does not want destruction, but peace and prosperity! Think of your people!"
Marcus stood on the wall, his face flushed with anger. "Get lost, messenger! We will not surrender! We will not kneel to this petty Viscount! We will fight to the last man! Go back to your master and tell him to prepare for death!"
Marcus finished his speech, then spat on the ground in contempt.
The messenger looked at Marcus calmly, showing no emotion. He bowed respectfully, then turned his horse around quietly and politely, and returned to Sevara.
"What happened?" Sevara asked, his eyes fixed on the messenger.
"He refused, my Lord Commander," the messenger replied calmly. "And threatened to fight to the last man. He insulted you and the sovereignty of Baron Zidan."
Sevara smiled coldly. "As I expected. Very well. We gave them the chance. Now, it's time for a lesson."
Sevara raised his sword high and shouted in a booming voice, his voice reverberating through the air, reaching every soldier in his army. "Soldiers! For Zidan! For Kisor! For our vision of a new kingdom! Fight until victory! No mercy! No retreat!"
The soldiers' shouts rose, their voices filling the air, eager for battle.
"Prepare the cannons!" Sevara shouted. "Light the fuse!"
The soldiers assigned to the cannons began to move quickly. They removed the black cloths, revealing the massive cannons. They loaded iron balls into the muzzles, then added gunpowder. Their hands were steady, their eyes focused, knowing that Sigret's fate was about to change.
Small sparks flew, then a faint flame, then...
A deafening sound, shaking the earth and sky!
The ten iron projectiles shot from the muzzles of the cannons, like bolts of hellfire. They pierced the air with a terrifying whistle, heading towards Sigret's wall.
The first strike was brutal. The projectile knew neither commander nor soldier. The first projectile struck Sigret's commander, Marcus, who stood on the wall, shouting at his soldiers. He didn't realize what hit him. His body was torn apart, his remains scattered on the wall, his blood mixing with the stones. For a moment, he thought he could stop Sevara's forces, but he didn't know that death awaited him in the form of an iron ball, coming from another world.
Shock swept through the defenders' ranks. Their commander had fallen! He had fallen so quickly, so brutally! This was no ordinary fight.
But the shelling didn't stop. The ten cannons continued to fire their projectiles continuously, one after another, hitting the wall, tearing through soldiers, and creating huge gaps in the fortifications. Each projectile caused immense destruction, crushing soldiers, throwing them into the air like rag dolls, and leaving behind pools of blood and scattered remains.
The spirit of resistance in Sigret collapsed. The soldiers and civilians who had been defending the wall began to flee in every direction, screaming in terror. This was not war, but a massacre.
Kisor's forces advanced. Twelve hundred soldiers, advancing in strong formations, entered Sigret through the gaps created by the cannons. Their training in order and modern combat arts was clearly evident. They moved as one body, sweeping away any weak resistance and clearing the streets of any threat.
Kisor's forces pushed deep into Sigret's neighborhoods. The narrow streets of the town, which had previously been filled with feces and garbage, now witnessed the organized advance of Kisor's soldiers. The remaining Sigret forces were physically crushed, unable to resist the strength and coordination of Zidan's soldiers. Cries of horror and panic rose from every corner, as Sigret's residents hid in their homes, trembling with fear.
In the midst of the chaos, a group of Kisor's soldiers managed to capture Jonick, Sirot's former chief butler. Jonick hung his head, his face pale, his eyes filled with despair. The illusion of victory was over.
A few hours passed. The sounds of fighting had subsided, replaced by the sound of soldiers securing the town.
In the heart of Sigret, Sevara announced that Sigret was now under the influence of Zidan and Kisor.
"From now on, Sigret is a town belonging to Kisor!" Sevara shouted, his voice echoing through the air, reaching every corner of the town. "And our Lord Baron Zidan has appointed a new mayor for you! It is Kisor's former chief butler, Javer!"
Javer stood beside Sevara, looking at the shocked faces of Sigret's residents, then at its filthy streets. This was a new beginning for Sigret, the dawn of a new era under Zidan's leadership. An era of cleanliness, order, and prosperity, which they had never known before.