Morning in Zaoging was a tapestry of peaceful routines. The low hum of commerce drifted through the streets, accompanied by the sweet scent of fresh bread. The voices of merchants, a familiar melody of debate and laughter, wove through the air. The people went about their lives, each step and gesture an act of serene oblivion to the storm brewing just beyond the city gates.
Without warning, a sound like a thousand angry wasps tore through the air, followed by a thunderous roar. A storm of arrows—each one tipped with fire—rained down from the sky, a lethal downpour designed to both kill and burn. They struck with a sickening thud, burrowing into wooden carts and thatched roofs, sending sparks flying before erupting into hungry flames. Behind the downpour of fire came a barrage of massive stones, catapulted high into the air. They crashed down with a catastrophic force, pulverizing walls into clouds of choking dust and collapsing rooftops with a splintering groan.
The familiar melody of commerce was instantly drowned out by the piercing screams of the dying and the terrified cries of a people watching their homes become rubble. The peaceful morning had been consumed by a tidal wave of fire and stone.
For a stunned moment, the soldiers on the city wall stood frozen, their minds reeling from the sudden, brutal assault. The volley of arrows and rocks had caught them completely off guard, and the chaos below was a reality their brains couldn't yet accept. Then, a keen-eyed sentry spotted a dark wave on the horizon. A vast swarm of figures, moving with the speed and purpose of a trained army, was rushing toward the city.
Their stupor snapped into cold fear. They shouted commands, scrambling toward the North Gate, their movements at first clumsy, then a desperate, unified effort. The heavy chains rattled, and old gears groaned as they worked to seal the gate, locking the last vulnerable entry point just as the first of the howling bandits slammed into the foot of the wall.
Grabbing their bows and arrows, the soldiers on the wall began to shoot, a frantic volley of steel aimed at the swarming unknown enemy. Their efforts weren't in vain; the initial wave of attackers recoiled from the lethal downpour, scattering and falling back from the gate. But their small victory was short-lived. The retreating unknown enemies simply fell back and joined a vast, unseen force, a dark and churning mass of humanity that seemed to block the entire morning horizon. It was an army of eight thousand men, a sight that stole the air from the soldiers' lungs and left them staring into the face of a terrifying, overwhelming doom.
Rushing up the stone staircase, Xue and Konn reached the top of the wall, their hearts hammering against their ribs. They took in the chaotic scene below with a single, sweeping glance, but as their eyes landed on the attackers, confusion clouded their faces. The invading force was a massive, dark wave of humanity, yet they bore no banner or sigil. There was nothing to indicate which army they were from, a detail as baffling as it was terrifying.
A grim realization settled on Xue's weathered face. They were surrounded. In front of them, an unknown, faceless force. Behind them, poised to strike at any moment, the mighty Magoli northern army. They were caught between two forces far more powerful than their own, a dire and hopeless situation. He knew, with a sinking certainty, that his three thousand soldiers would not be able to hold the city against such overwhelming odds.
He knew there would be no reinforcements; the city was on its own. A weary look settled on his face as he turned to his son. "Give the order," he commanded. "Every man in this city must fight to defend it."
Konn, the youngest captain of Zaoging, nodded grimly, without hesitation. He sprinted down the stone stairs, vaulted onto his horse, and galloped toward the city's main courthouse. The fate of Zaoging now rested on the speed of his horse and the courage of its people.
Xue let out a heavy sigh as he watched Konn vanish into the chaos of the streets. He turned back, a grim resolve on his face, to face the overwhelming force before them. Just then, his gaze snagged on a single figure. A man on horseback was riding toward the city wall. He held nothing in his hand but a white flag, which fluttered gently in the wind, an impossible sign of peace amidst the rising tide of war.
At the foot of the wall, the man looked up. "General," he shouted, his voice clear in the crisp morning air. "My brother sent me with an offer: You can open the gate, and no one will be harmed. Or we can force them open and slaughter everyone."
A grim grin twisted Xue's lips. He snatched a bow from a soldier beside him, drew the string taut, and released the arrow in a single, fluid motion. The bandit fell, dead with a clean shot through the throat.
Below, Payam watched from beside Koorush, a faint, unsurprised smile on his face. "I guess the old general chose the second option," he said.
A cold smile spread across Koorush's face as he turned to the captain beside him. "Knock that wall down," he ordered.
The captain snapped to attention. "Yes, my lord," he replied, his voice swift and clipped.
Without hesitation, the captain sprinted, his boots thudding on the dirt as he raced past the unified soldiers. He moved with a desperate speed until he reached the line of four massive catapults, their wooden frames groaning under the strain of their ropes. He skidded to a stop before the siege engineers, his voice a sharp command that cut through the thunderous chaos of the battlefield.
"Forget the soldiers!" he yelled, his finger jabbing toward the wall. "Aim for the base! I want to see that city wall crumble!"
With swift, practiced movements, the soldiers adjusted the levers and counterweights, their focus now on shattering the city's foundation.
In a single, synchronized roar, the four catapults unleashed their fury. With a thunderous crack, the immense wooden arms snapped forward, launching their payloads. Four boulders, each the size of a man, arced through the sky with a low whistle before plummeting. The first one slammed into the base of the wall with a sound like a bursting thunderclap, sending a shockwave that rattled the stone and made the soldiers on top stagger. A second and a third followed in quick succession, hammering the same spot. A cloud of stone dust billowed outward from the impact zone as the very foundation began to tremble. The ancient wall, once a symbol of unyielding strength, was beginning to fail, its surface spiderwebbing with the first fatal cracks.
The Gimsong soldiers on the wall quickly adapted to the brutal assault, a new order ringing through their ranks. They drew their bows, dipping their arrows in pitch and lighting them with fire. A fiery torrent streaked across the sky, a searing wave aimed not at the men, but at the siege engines below. The flaming shafts found their mark with devastating effect, striking the group of catapults and the Zasra soldiers operating them. The men shrieked as their leather tunics and cloaks erupted in flames, turning them into screaming torches. The air filled with the sickening smell of burning flesh as the fire spread, consuming the tightly packed group in a brutal and fiery retaliation for the destruction they had wrought.
The counterattack was a fleeting victory. A new barrage of rocks and projectiles began to relentlessly pummel the city wall, sending fresh shockwaves through the stone and causing the soldiers on top to stumble. The sudden jolts tipped over the oil pots, and the thick, black liquid spilled onto the ground, instantly igniting from the spreading embers. As the flames climbed toward their feet, the Gimsong soldiers had no choice but to abandon their posts, scrambling back from a fire that threatened to consume them.
Coughing and disoriented, the Gimsong soldiers stumbled back from the burning parapet. The brief, chaotic retreat left them scattered and stunned behind the relative safety of the wall, their formations shattered. Their respite, however, was short-lived. Unit leaders screamed desperate orders, their voices raw as they pushed and pulled their men back into order. Trapped between the blaze at their backs and the thunder of the catapults at their front, the soldiers quickly regained their composure, their faces smudged with soot and their eyes filled with grim resolve.
Fearing another massive attack, the Gimsong soldiers wiped the soot from their faces, their expressions pale with terror. Their eyes were wide, and their lips were a thin, trembling line as they gripped their weapons, readying for the next brutal assault. But as violent as the attack had been, an eerie silence now settled over everything. Below, there was no movement from the enemy, no sound of shouts or distant siege engines—only the unsettling whistle of the wind blowing past them.
From outside the city walls, Payam and Koorush watched with a deep, satisfied feeling as the city crumbled under their barrage. "When do we take it?" Koorush asked, his voice sharp with anticipation.
Payam's smile was chilling. "We can take her anytime," he said. "But let's give the Hmagol general two days. If she hasn't shown up to aid the city by then, we will finish it." A satisfied sigh escaped him, and his grin widened. "The people will no longer have the will to resist once they realize their city is crumbling and no one is coming to save them."
Payam's satisfied smile held a sinister truth. He knew that when people are pushed to the brink, when they believe death is certain, they can act with a desperation no sane warrior would expect. This wasn't just a siege; it was a cold, calculated experiment in human psychology. As the people of Zaoging came to believe their king had abandoned them, their fear would turn into chaos, and that chaos would become his greatest weapon. By the time his army marched through the gates, the defenses would have crumbled from within, allowing him to seize the city with minimal loss to his own soldiers.