Fall of the City

The Fall of Loran

Soro stood atop the city walls, his gaze fixed on the sea of enemy soldiers amassing outside. The enemy forces had grown noticeably larger than in previous days, and a deep frown creased his brow. Anxiety gnawed at him as he kept a close watch on the enemy's movements, his thoughts racing.

"What is going on with the Radiant Church? Why haven't we received any news from them? If this continues, the city won't hold for much longer."

Just then, the emperor approached, his face pale with worry. His voice trembled as he asked, "Lord Inquisitor, can we… can we still hold this city?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, Soro forced himself to appear composed. He straightened his back and reassured the emperor, "Your Majesty, rest assured, we will hold. As long as the Church sends reinforcements in time, we'll seize the chance to counterattack and turn the tide. For now, we only need to hold our ground."

The emperor nodded, slightly relieved, but the deep furrow in his brow remained. His eyes were filled with unease—after all, the situation was far from optimistic.

Beyond the city walls, Black surveyed his forces, now in position. Everything was ready. Without hesitation, he raised a hand and ordered the attack.

The sharp, commanding blast of war horns shattered the tense silence, their echoes rolling across the battlefield. Black drew his knight's sword, raising it high above his head as he bellowed, "Charge!"

He spurred his horse forward, leading the charge toward the city gates. The knights behind him roared in unison, their voices merging with the thunderous pounding of hooves. Like an unstoppable steel tide, they surged toward the walls, dust billowing in their wake.

On the city walls, the defenders sprang into action as they had in the past few days, loosing arrows in disciplined volleys. A rain of death descended upon the enemy, while the mages chanted their incantations, unleashing fire, ice, and slicing winds upon the approaching knights. They expected the same outcome as before—the enemy would soon falter and retreat.

Near the gates, Duke Leo stood tensely, watching the advancing knights. His heart pounded like a war drum, his eyes scanning the surroundings with restless urgency. Only when he was sure that no patrols from the Radiant Church were nearby did he finally let out a slow breath.

He turned his gaze to his son, Sol, and gave a firm nod.

Sol understood instantly. With a swift motion, he signaled his soldiers, and the great gates of Loran, sealed shut for days, groaned as they were thrown open. His personal guards quickly formed a defensive perimeter around the entrance, their expressions tense as they watched for any sign of interference.

On the walls, some soldiers had noticed the sudden movement below. Confusion flickered across their faces.

"Did we get orders to send troops out?" one of them muttered.

Before anyone could answer, realization struck. A soldier's eyes widened in horror as he shouted, "No! Someone is betraying us!"

Panic spread like wildfire. Shouts of alarm rang out as soldiers scrambled to react, but it was already too late.

A patrol unit rushing to the scene spotted the open gates and immediately understood the gravity of the situation. Sprinting toward the treasonous act unfolding before them, they shouted, "Stop them! Traitors in our midst!"

As they reached the gates, they clashed with Duke Leo's men, the sound of clashing steel and battle cries erupting in a chaotic frenzy.

Seizing the opportunity, Black and his knights surged forward, cutting down the defenders in their path. The once-impenetrable gates had become a floodgate, and the tide of war swept into the city. The knights carved through the disorganized defenders like a scythe through wheat, their momentum unstoppable.

The rest of Loran's forces scrambled to respond, but they were hastily assembled foot soldiers—no match for Black's well-trained, battle-hardened knights. The streets of Loran soon ran red with blood. Bodies littered the ground, painting a gruesome tableau of war's cruelty.

On the walls, Soro remained focused on the siege—until a breathless messenger burst onto the scene. The soldier's face was pale, his voice urgent.

"Lord Inquisitor! The south gate—it's fallen!"

Soro's blood ran cold. His eyes widened in disbelief. "What?" he breathed.

"The traitor… it was Duke Leo," the soldier gasped. "He ordered the gates opened! The enemy is inside the city!"

The emperor, already tense with worry, turned sharply to Soro, his voice rising in panic. "Lord Inquisitor, what do we do now? You just told me the city could hold—now look at what's happened!"

Anger flared in Soro's chest, but there was no time to dwell on betrayal. He gritted his teeth, then barked, "Your Majesty, we must fall back to the palace. Gather all remaining forces there—we make our last stand at the palace defenses and hold out for the Church's reinforcements. It's our only chance."

The emperor hesitated, but there was no alternative. With a stiff nod, he gave the order to retreat.

Soro wasted no time rallying the troops, commanding an orderly withdrawal toward the palace. The soldiers, realizing the gravity of the situation, moved swiftly, hoping the palace walls would buy them time.

Meanwhile, Black and his knights stormed through the city, slaughtering any remaining resistance with ruthless efficiency. The once-proud streets of Loran were now stained with the blood of its defenders.

Only one stronghold remained—the royal palace.

Black reined in his horse, surveying the towering structure in the distance. The palace gates were shut tight, and archers lined the walls, their weapons at the ready. The last stand of Loran had begun.

Expression grim, Black raised his sword and commanded, "Surround the palace. No one leaves."

His forces moved swiftly, forming an unbreakable siege line around the last bastion of Loran's rule.

The fate of the city would soon be decided.