The march inland was relentless. Victor split his force into great columns that advanced on parallel routes, swallowing villages and crossroads without resistance. Roads were repaired as they were taken. Bridges were reinforced, not burned. Supply trains flowed forward as smoothly as blood through veins. Any Hakim scouts encountered vanished before contact or were quietly seized, their reports cut short.
Basra felt the pressure before it saw the enemy.
On the second day, the outer farms were empty. Smoke rose from abandoned storehouses deliberately fired by retreating defenders. Refugees pressed toward the gates, swelling the city's population and straining its patience. The Sultanate's banners still flew from the walls, but messengers rode hard and often between towers, and the harbour churned with frantic movement as ships attempted to flee before the trap closed.
When the refugees arrived at Basra, what came with them were stories that did not agree on details but agreed on scale. An army too large to count. Guns without end. Movement everywhere. It was terrifying; they fled, hoping for safe haven and a way to flee from the scourge known as the Luxenberg Army.
Field Marshal Bayezid was adamant about remaining in the city and using its walls to his advantage. His 300,000 soldiers did not dare meet Victor's army in the field. They would be outnumbered and outclassed. They may have had the geographical advantage, but it would not prove to help much.
By the third day, the trap was complete.
Luxenberg troops appeared on every approach: to the north along the river roads, to the west across the dry plains, to the south where the coastal route bent inland. Artillery was drawn up methodically, batteries aligned not for bombardment but for presence. The army did not rush the walls. It stopped precisely where it needed to.
Basra was encircled.
From the minarets, one could see the scale of it: camps stretching to the horizon, smoke columns rising in disciplined intervals, watchfires laid out like deliberate constellations. Roads in and out of the city were sealed. Wells beyond the walls were secured. The harbour mouth remained open, but only barely. Luxenberg ships hovered just beyond cannon range, their silhouettes a constant reminder that escape was an illusion.
Victor established his command post on a low ridge west of the city, within clear sight of Basra's domes and towers. From there, orders went out calmly, almost politely. Trenches began to form. Siege lines hardened. Engineers measured distances, not in hope, but in certainty.
Victor wanted to test the strength of the walls, so he had one cannon fire a single shot. It was unexpected, but the garrison soldiers chose not to react. The cannonball did not do a hell of a lot of damage on its own, but with a hundred or two hundred at a time, the walls would cower beneath the might of the Luxenberg artillery.
The fourth day broke under a white, merciless sun.
Basra woke to a city transformed. The fields beyond the walls were gone, replaced by earthworks, gun pits, and long, deliberate lines of men. Overnight, the Luxenberg engineers had crept closer, carving trenches that angled toward the walls like probing fingers. Gabions filled with sand rose where open ground had been, and artillery now sat forward-facing, their muzzles level, patient, and unmistakably aimed.
Inside Basra, restraint finally cracked. The harbour guns spoke first, one sharp report, then another, rounds skipping short into the water, thrown more in defiance than calculation. Signal flags rose along the walls. Drums sounded within the city, hurried and uneven. The garrison had decided that silence was no longer safe.
Victor's response was immediate and measured.
A single flag rose from his command ridge. The signal ran down the line like a spark. Within moments, Luxenberg batteries answered, not in fury, but in sequence. The first guns fired high, their shots arcing over the outer districts to burst beyond the walls, deliberate overshoots meant to measure range and send a message. The second salvo came lower, striking earthworks and outer buildings. Only the third began to test the stone.
The sound rolled across the plain and into the city, deep and rhythmic, each discharge spaced with calm precision. Basra's walls shuddered but held. Dust fell from minarets. Tiles cracked in the outer quarters. The city answered with scattered fire; cannon flashes from towers and sea batteries, but their shots lacked unity, falling wide or burying themselves harmlessly in packed earth.
By midday, the engagement widened.
Luxenberg skirmishers advanced under the cover of artillery smoke, probing gates and curtain walls, forcing defenders to reveal positions. Every Hakim gun that fired was answered twice over. Counter-battery fire grew sharper, more confident, until one by one Basra's outer guns fell silent, not destroyed, but abandoned, their crews driven back by accuracy rather than terror.
The harbour became the next voice in the fight.
Luxenberg ships edged closer, just inside effective range. Their guns joined the chorus, raking the sea-facing walls and docks. Warehouses burned. Masts snapped. The water was filled with debris as ships inside the port cut their lines and collided in panic, blocking their own escape.
By evening, Basra was fully awake to war.
Smoke hung low over the city, caught between walls and sky. Bells rang, not in ceremony, but warning. Inside the encirclement, Luxenberg camps remained unnervingly ordered. Men ate hot meals. Guns were cleaned. Ammunition was counted and re-counted.
Victor did not press an assault. He let the guns speak until sunset, then ordered them silent. The sudden quiet was worse. Basra stood battered but unbroken, its defenders exhausted, its streets crowded, its harbour choked. Outside the walls, the Luxenberg army settled in for the long work, trenches creeping closer by inches and intent.
The first day of engagement had ended. Not with a breach. Not with a charge. But with the understanding, on both sides, that the city had crossed the point of no return, and the siege of Basra had truly begun.