chapter 15 : Attack on the Capital

The capital of Valdrith, Arvendell, was in turmoil. Barely had Henry left the city when a swift attack from the Apostles of Shadow struck it. Explosions rocked the districts, while the screams of the inhabitants echoed through the streets. The royal guard immediately mobilized to repel the assailants, and a fierce battle erupted in the very heart of the city.

This was a first in Valdrith's history—never before had the capital been attacked with such brutality. Flames rose high into the sky, tinting the night with a crimson glow.

Inside the ducal palace, Beldrick Von Halder stood before his father, Duke Armand Von Halder, one of the kingdom's greatest generals. The latter, his gaze grave, placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder.

— "Beldrick, the time has come. Prepare to leave the capital."

The young noble widened his eyes in disbelief.

— "What?! Father, you want me to flee while the city is under attack?" he exclaimed vehemently.

Armand Von Halder let out a heavy sigh, but his gaze remained unwavering.

— "This is not about fleeing, Beldrick. It is about survival. If we stay here, we risk losing much more than this battle. Our enemies are not mere invaders… they are the Apostles of Shadow. And their goal is clear: to sow chaos and annihilate all resistance."

Beldrick clenched his fists. He refused to stand back while his people fought.

— "I am a Von Halder, Father! I cannot hide while our men die defending Arvendell!"

The duke's expression darkened, a flicker of anger in his eyes.

— "Don't be a fool, Beldrick! Do you think I want to abandon this city? Do you think this doesn't tear me apart? But if you die here, our lineage will end, and everything we have built will fall with us!"

Beldrick remained silent, torn between honor and obedience. Meanwhile, outside, the roar of battle intensified. The palace trembled under the impact of a distant explosion.

Armand Von Halder tightened his grip on his son's shoulder and locked eyes with him.

— "We will fight, but wisely. Follow me, and together, we will reclaim Valdrith from the grasp of these monsters."

The young noble, though still torn with indecision, finally nodded. He knew his father was right… but leaving Arvendell left a bitter taste in his mouth.

At the top of one of the highest towers in the capital, Jorak and Gahlran watched the chaos consuming Valdrith. Below, flames licked the buildings, and screams of panic echoed through the streets as the Apostles of Shadow advanced methodically, crushing all resistance.

Gahlran crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on the crimson horizon, before breaking the silence.

— "Why did we move up the attack on Valdrith? This wasn't planned so soon," he asked, a curious look on his face.

Jorak, leaning against the stone railing, gave a slight amused smile.

— "Sorry, but this order came from above. Our plans have changed. Right now, our only priority is to retrieve the fragment of the Circle of Cirkon located at the Marvin manor."

Gahlran furrowed his brows, his expression hardening.

— "And who was sent to handle it?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

Jorak shrugged, an ironic glint in his eyes.

— "Velkra is taking care of it."

A heavy silence settled before Gahlran let out an irritated sigh.

— "Why her? She's a lunatic, she can't control herself!" he declared, visibly displeased.

Jorak stepped away from the railing and gave his companion a piercing look.

— "That's true. But let's not forget that Velkra is still young, and yet, she's already stronger than most of us. Besides, she has another mission…"

Gahlran guessed the answer before Jorak even said it.

— "She has to eliminate Richard Marvin."

Jorak nodded slowly.

— "Exactly. If she succeeds, we'll get rid of a potential threat before he even becomes a real problem."

Gahlran crossed his arms, his gaze still fixed on the city consumed by flames.

— "I don't doubt her power… But I just hope she won't let herself get carried away and that she'll bring back the fragment of the Circle. Without it, this whole attack will have been for nothing."

A wind laden with ashes swept across the tower. The two Apostles of Shadow remained silent, watching the fate of Valdrith burn before their eyes.

Inside the royal palace, tension filled the air as the echoes of battle and explosions reverberated through the walls. Advisors and generals bustled in the grand throne room, their faces marked with worry.

One of the members of the Royal Council, his voice trembling, broke the heavy silence:

— "Your Majesty, the situation is catastrophic! We were absolutely unprepared for an attack of this scale!"

A murmur of agreement spread through the room, but King Andres Bernauld struck the armrest of his throne with his fist, instantly imposing silence. His stern gaze swept over the assembly.

— "We must remain calm!" he thundered in an authoritative voice. "If we give in to panic, we will have already lost before we've even fought!"

A general of the royal court, his expression grave, gave a slight bow before speaking.

— "Your Majesty, with all due respect… I fear we must prepare for an evacuation. If the capital falls, you must not be captured by the enemy."

The king furrowed his brows, visibly displeased by the suggestion.

— "You can't be serious…! Leaving Arvendell would be a disgrace to our kingdom! Tell me, how many of them are there exactly to dare invade our capital?" he asked sharply.

The general exchanged a worried glance with his officers before answering.

— "Our scouts estimate their number to be around two thousand fighters."

The king's eyes widened slightly, incredulous.

— "Only two thousand?! That's impossible… How could such a small force cause so much devastation?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of anger and despair.

A heavy silence fell over the room. The advisors and officers already knew the answer: these invaders were not ordinary soldiers… they were the Apostles of Shadow.

King Andres watched the chaos unfold through the massive window of the throne room. From there, he could see the flames consuming parts of the capital, the screams of civilians fleeing the assault, and the dark banners of the Apostles of Shadow billowing in the stormy night.

He clenched his fists, his face marked by deep frustration.

— "How did it come to this…?" he murmured, his voice heavy with regret.

Around him, his advisors remained silent, lowering their heads, unable to find an answer.

— "Until now, we thought they were just a group of fanatics, madmen with no real threat… We never took their danger seriously. We believed our army, our walls, would be enough to deter anyone who dared challenge the might of Arvendell."

He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the many times Henry Marvin had warned him.

— "Henry was right…" he finally murmured, a bitter taste in his mouth. "We should have listened to him from the start."

A heavy silence settled in the room. Tonight, the capital was no longer an impregnable bastion but a city in flames. And the king knew he had just made one of the greatest mistakes of his reign.