On the third day of the Albion Civil War, Sora and Gandalf welcomed Prince Verus's reinforcements on the plains outside Albion's capital. Fifteen thousand Grunt family soldiers, previously scattered among civilians, had appeared nationwide to bolster Verus's prestige and reclaim lesser nobles' territories. After those nobles pledged to the kingdom, all but five thousand served as eyes and ears; the remaining ten thousand now gathered beyond the walls.
By then, twenty thousand Grunt-Toristine coalition forces ringed the capital; inside, fifteen thousand Houses-Mani-Pace allies held firm.
Sora, Gandalf, Verus, and the Grunt family — father and daughters — convened to plan the assault. The royal capital, fortified across generations with towering walls and vast stores, daunted them. History demanded threefold numbers to breach such strength — yet forces matched evenly, action seemed impossible. Brows furrowed.
"The capital's impregnable — better to besiege without storming," Gandalf proposed. "We've reclaimed most lands; lesser nobles and city lords can supply us endlessly. No matter their stocks, ten days to half a month starves them out — collapse follows."
The Grunts, victory nearly grasped, endorsed it. Why risk lives when certain triumph beckoned?
Verus chafed — chief foes clustered within, untouchable. Frustration boiled. Yet reason prevailed: storming would bleed them dry with slim odds. Compromising inwardly, he said: "If the capital resists, pivot — reclaim Mani, Pace, Houses, and Megan territories."
Grunts assented; Gandalf and Sora fell silent.
"Something amiss?" Verus pressed.
Gandalf replied: "Prince, those holds are lightly held. Capital falls, they yield. Disperse now, and capital foes — or Megan's ten thousand — raid our rear, inflicting ruin. Megan likely grasps the peril; capital lost, their ten thousand sans fortress crumbles. Expect them marching to join the capital soon."
"Gandalf's right," Sora added. "Megan's ten thousand tips scales — not to underestimate. Issue a decree: they surrender forces, past forgiven — perhaps win them over."
"Impossible," Verus snapped. "Save Grunts, all traitors pay."
"Then I have another way," Sora said, lips curling sardonically.
Verus brightened: "Speak!"
Grunts and Gandalf turned expectantly.
"Capital holds six thousand soldiers beyond fifteen thousand foes. Albion ruled centuries; its people crave royal return most. Verus rallies them to assault troops and fling gates wide — we enter, crush from within."
Silence gripped the tent.
"You… how could you?" Aaliyah, Grunt's second daughter, seized Sora's collar, lake-green eyes blazing. "Involve civilians in noble war? Know how many die?"
Sora shrugged indifferently, gaze shifting to Verus's bowed head.
Verus stared down, unmoving. Flashes assailed him: rebellions everywhere, sleepless father-king; hundred thousand foes at gates, thirty thousand royals dying near-all, remnants shielding him and father from capital; cornered in kingdom's fringe, dread of rebel strikes; final battle — knocked senseless, Sora's rescue; heard father, teacher slain.
Sora's path: unarmed capital folk charge with lids, knives — blood sprays, panic spreads, countless dead paving gate. Melee with thirty thousand engulfs more innocents. Post-battle: perhaps ten thousand of fifty thousand civilians survive.
But so what? Royals guard kingdom; folk uphold royals. Lives for victory — why not!! Verus snapped up, eyes afire: "Do it!"
Gandalf, Grunt, Asiya exchanged glances, withdrawing wordlessly.
"How can you, Your Highness? Civilians innocent!" Aaliyah lunged at Verus, shaking his collar wildly.
Verus's gaze stayed cold, mind drifting hours ahead.
Sora, civilian-inciter, narrowed eyes: How many deaths on me? Heh — all mine, so what. I secure mine: me, Louise, others; expand to Louise, Tabasa, kin, friends; Academy folk, subordinates, Toristine. Albion's masses? Spare no pity.
Self-justified, Sora slipped away quietly.
Coalition mustered two hundred archers, arrows bound with scrolls. At five hundred meters from walls, they loosed into the capital. Circling, firing again — two thousand shafts blanketed streets. Not just folk, but defenders snatched them too.
Scrolls read: I, Verus, stand without. I assault the capital, restore the throne. Kingdom folk loyal to Albion royals — aid me, open gates, let me enter and smash foes.
Willing responders, war-survivors, resentful — all tensed post-shower. Defenders eyed folk warily; folk eyed defenders. Who strikes first?
Four p.m.: twenty-odd surged main gate, hoes and cleavers high: "For Albion!" "Open for Crown Prince Verus!"
Defenders loosed; twenty crumpled street-dead.
Silence — then clusters charged, crude arms waving. Unwilling observers dragged in; reason ignited to blood-rush. Defenders and folk uncontainable: capital's men, women, elders, children mobbed gates with radishes, lids, knives, hoes. Swordsmen speared silently; archers numbly harvested.
"Kill!" "Charge!"
Shouts echoed citywide. War-stifled capital plunged in. Defenders and folk reaped each other red-eyed.
Palace: Houses, Mani, Pace disturbed by din; Houses summoned guards for word.
"Capital chaos! Verus's scrolls rain — folk mad-rush gates. Gate may fall, lord — flee!"
"Silence — no panic!" Houses flushed, heaving.
"Trouble — outside," Houses told companions.
Three descended palace heights. Shouts everywhere; fires unchecked. Gate: tens of thousands clashed — arrow-rain, spear-forest. White streets now black-red drowned.
"Verus — you dare!!" Houses roared.
"Dire — capital may fall," Mani panicked.
"Houses — what now? Options?"
Houses exhaled raggedly: "We go!"
"Go? Verus owns Albion; our lands won't halt him."
"Leave most troops. Thousand escort us home — wealth, tech of generations — to my Houses' westernmost port. To Gallia."
Houses glared gateward, as if sighting Verus. "He denies mercy? I leave husk for his rule. Torch it — burn the capital!"
"Yes, lord."
Houses withdrew; soldiers torched palace.
Mani, Pace glanced, followed to shadows. Three, kin, three-to-four hundred guards slipped rear gate toward homes.
Capital's melee raged three hours — afternoon to night, fires crimsoning half-sky. Main gate boomed down.
"All forces — with me!" Verus bellowed, leading coalition charge.
Defenders, mid-civilian-slaughter, wheeled bloodily; tens of thousands of gate-folk trampled by advance. Verus's ten thousand elites stormed palaceward along main road.
Once-gorgeous palace flame-shrouded; hell-scene: soldiers, folk, weak, women mutual-slaughter.
Verus reached palace — blaze halted. Inferno within: foes there? "Houses! Mani! Pace! Show!" Sword slashed empty air, rage unspent.
Capital frayed to dawn; fires died devouring fuel. Ruins, red-black engulfed city. Tallies pending: defenders ten-to-twenty thousand dead; coalition five thousand; civilians thirty-to-forty thousand.
Dawn survivors gaped corpses, rubble-homes, dead kin — knelt wailing, faces buried. Wails spread; city survivors keened, audible miles out.
Fire-gutted palace stone-skeleton: Verus, Sora, Grunts, Gandalf scowled. Aaliyah jabbed Verus, Sora: "You demons!"
Sora bit back not my fires — city-grief silenced him.
Five minutes' quiet; Sora broke it.
"Capital ours; Houses vanished. Rally lesser nobles for troops, food — rebuild. Megan's ten thousand threatens — stay vigilant."
"Understood," Verus murmured.
"Capital rebuilt, Verus — king. I'll return for coronation."
"I'm waiting."
"Fine — I go. Lend you Toristine troops; mages mine. Farewell, Verus, Gandalf, Grunts."
"You… leaving?" Aaliyah's eyes widened.
"Promised Verus restoration. Done — Megan can't reverse. Relieved, I return," Sora said evenly.
"You… what've you done to Albion? Just walk?" Aaliyah fumed, hurt, unsatisfied.
"War's tools. Casualties — inevitable cost. You command? Ten thousand more dead, maybe no win."
"Bastard — too dismissive! I-I could… better way?"
"Perhaps. Mine's quickest, surest. Farewell, innocent girl." Sora tousled Aaliyah's hair, turned away.
Verus, Gandalf, Grunts, Asiya watched silently.
Aaliyah glared disapprovingly, then slipped off as four conferred eagerly.
Damn demon — you'll pay, she vowed inwardly.