Steel and Mana

Chapter 273 – Avalon’s Retribution (2)

The following morning brought no comfort to the people of Hospet. Even though the army that arrived wasn't as big as the one they sent away, it was infinitely more frightening, especially after the news that the returning mercenaries brought back with them. Their stories were something the local nobles didn't want to believe. It had to be lies, an elaborate plot, covering their own failure as worthless defectors. But now… seeing the towering monster within the enemy's frontline, they realized it was all true. The highest-ranking nobles of Hospet, those who had any voice in Westland's governance before Otto's appearance, gathered in a grand hall of the main castle, the same one that once bustled with festivity and laughter but now was almost empty and haunted by silence. The air was thick with tension, and nervous mutterings filled the chamber whenever a noise reached them from the outside.

Lord Ewan, a short man with thinning hair and deep lines etched across his face, stood by the frosted windows, his fingers tapping erratically against the glass. He once was the lord of this city. Being only a viscount in the title, it was still enough for him to be a powerful voice, the lord of the Westland for more than twenty years. Right until Otto, the magical Imperial agent of the Eternal Emperor himself, had arrived… Everything has slipped out of his hands since then. At first, it seemed right, but as he and the rest of the nobles were more and more ignored, Otto's decisions became mandates. They soon realized they were only decorations, there to be his mouthpiece to the populace. If Otto decided on something, it was going to happen. They either obeyed or would be replaced with people who did.

"Do you hear that?" Ewan muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. His voice cracked the moment it left his throat, betraying his anxiety and desperation.

"What, Ewan? The howling wind? Or perhaps the toll of death bells? Our doom stomping ever closer?" Lady Katerine, draped in heavy furs that failed to hide her shivering, shot him a glare. She was once his lover… Now? Nobody knew anymore. Her words dripped with sarcasm, but her eyes were wide with fear, blaming fate and the Gods for their predicament.

Another noble, Sir Baldric, one of the few who had donned a breastplate over his fine clothes, stepped forward. He was only a knight, a faithful servant and retinue of his lord since he could lift a sword.

"Enough," he barked, though his voice quavered. "Panic will get us nowhere. We need a plan."

"A plan?" Ewan's voice rose in pitch. "Our plan was that Otto departs, conquers his enemies, and then leaves us alone! Returning to how it was before he showed up! Now… Now, we are left with the mercenaries who are worth less than aging and blind conscripts! Half of them deserted in the night anyway. And those who remain..." He gestured wildly toward the city beyond the windows, "They bring nothing but tales of slaughter and defeat. Our own soldiers are terrified…"

He wasn't lying. The news had been devastating since the first group of disheveled, almost unrecognizable mercenaries had returned. They whispered in a confused, maddened tone. They were no longer the fierce fighting force but a fidgeting, broken mass of rats. Their tales of monstrous metal constructs and unkillable warriors who showed no mercy to their enemies had spread like wildfire. Many of those hired swords had since slipped away, vanishing into the dark streets or out into the wilderness in a desperate bid to escape the tiger's fury. The same tiger that they went and poked and was now roaring at their gates!

"Then what choice do we have?" Lord Baron Merek, one of Ewan's principal advisors, asked, close to crying. His face was pale as milk, and he clutched a goblet of wine so tightly that his knuckles whitened. "We cannot hold against them. Look at us! We are no soldiers. The city walls are old, and the last time they had to hold back enemies was two hundred years ago. We have but a few loyal militias under our command, too few and too poorly trained to withstand an assault!"

"If only that bastard hadn't taken our strength with him! We're nothing now... nothing but mice trapped in a slowly shrinking cage." Lady Katerine slumped into her velvet chair, rubbing her forehead, burying her face in her palms.

A desolate silence fell over the room as nobody had anything to say anymore. They were waiting for the inevitable. Something had to happen soon, and they were unable to stop it. They simply didn't want to face it, whatever it would be. Just then, the great oaken doors to the hall burst open, and a young man stumbled in, his cheeks flushed with cold and fear.

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"My lords, my ladies," he gasped, "the enemy–!"

His words were cut short by a loud explosion, shaking the whole city. The walls were already crumbling.

A collective shudder passed through the assembled nobles. Lord Ewan pushed past the boy, rushing to the balcony facing to the east. His face was hit by the firm, cold winds, holding up his hand by reflex, just in time to be shaken by another explosion. His eyes widened as they got used to the wind, and he beheld the scene waiting for them on the outside. The first few blasts had struck their walls without issue, sending stone and debris flying into the air. The impact of the enemy's attack reverberated through the city, rattling the very foundation of their stone castle.

The old walls of Hospet began to buckle under the very first explosion. A portion of the northern barricade collapsed entirely, stone raining down onto the streets below. Cries of terror rang out from the city, echoing through the morning, finally making everyone realize there was no escape from what was to come. Smoke and dust billowed upward, signaling the end for Hospet. Even from where Ewan stood, his face was illuminated by the orange flames consuming the eastern side of his city. This... this was magic. It had to be... What else could it be?

The nobles turned to each other, some shaking with dread, others looking for guidance at Ewan, something that he couldn't give. Sir Baldric's face was set in a grim mask as he adjusted his breastplate, speaking loudly.

"We must surrender," he declared at last. "If we stay in this castle, we will all die. Better to face our enemy with what dignity we have left as nobles."

"Surrender?" Lord Ewan grunted. "Do you think they will show us mercy? After all we have done to them? It was our army that was sent to deal with them!"

"They're not savages." Lady Katerine interjected though she sounded uncertain. "Evidently… Evidently, we were wrong... And our city... Look at it!"

Beyond the castle, the citizens' cries grew louder, the rumbling bombardment stoking the flames as more and more towers and segments of the walls were engulfed in the destruction of unnatural flames. By now, everyone realized they were being attacked via a magical barrage.

The people of Hospet, many of them cold, hungry, and afraid, had begun to gather in the streets. Shouts of rebellion passed from one group to the next, and soon, an outcry for surrender rose from the crowd. The nobles, even those who were not within the castle, could see it from their high windows: citizens rallying against the remaining militia, demanding that the gates be opened before more lives were lost. Hearing it unfold, Sir Baldric nodded resolutely, agreeing with Katerine's words and with the chant reaching them from the streets.

"We shall give ourselves a chance." He turned on his heel and marched out of the hall. "It is better than being killed by our own citizens. One side won't be as gentle as we hope…"

Lord Ewan lingered on his balcony, looking helplessly between Lady Katerine and his leaving knight.

"This... this is the end of us!" he stuttered, his voice barely audible when Lady Katerine took his hand, squeezing it with surprising strength.

"Better an end with hope for our survival than none at all." she said calmly. Together, they followed Sir Baldric, leaving the stone castle and the now empty hall behind.

…
….
…..

Outside, the streets were in utter chaos. Even though Avalon's howitzers had stopped firing, the damage was already done. Their very first action of lining up hundreds of captured mercenaries, the booming voice of the Rook, shook the souls of the defenders.

"Surrender, and you survive. We are here not for you but for your leaders, who betrayed the Empire and attacked the Frontier." Polo's voice echoed loudly, distorted by his mech's speakers, sounding like an actual mechanized demon. "These warriors killed our people; now we administer their punishment! Don't resist, or your sin will be the same as theirs."

Finishing, he activated his flamethrower, dousing hundreds of prisoners in bright, orange fire, turning them into ash in front of the defenders of Hospet. The moment his flames died down, Pion gave his order, and the howitzers began roaring, their Dragonfire Cannons sending forth their first salvo.

After it landed, the eastern wall was in complete ruins, and plumes of dust choked the air. The citizens, not waiting anymore, forced themselves onto the militia to open the gates, and the few remaining defenders were overwhelmed by the mob's sheer desperation.

Avalon's soldiers didn't rush, nor did they lash out as they entered the city with calculated efficiency. Pion led from the vanguard position, his helmet hanging on his side, his expression a mask of determination. The Rook loomed behind the group he brought with him, its black armor swallowing the light of the raging fire. The citizens, seeing them up close, fell to their knees, some weeping, some praying, and many simply staring in awe and terror at the machine and massive soldiers towering over them. Nobody dared to make a move…

When Pion reached the main square, the group of the remaining nobles, led by Sir Baldric, stepped forward to meet him. Their heads were bowed, and their hands were raised in a gesture of surrender. In the end, it was Sir Baldric's voice that cracked first as he spoke.

"We... we surrender the city of Hospet to you. We beg you, spare us."

Pion's cold eyes swept over the assembled nobles and the fearful crowd behind them. The silence was heavy, broken only by the creaking of the Rook's joints from afar as it adjusted its cannons, constantly scanning the surroundings while the walls kept burning around him.

"The innocent will be spared." Pion declared. His voice carried through the dozen streets connecting to the square. "But those responsible for the suffering and betrayal of Westland and those who were complacent in sending an army to invade our homes will face justice."

With that, Avalon's soldiers moved into the city in full force, taking control with the discipline they had shown throughout their march. Every noble was quickly rounded up, their expressions a mix of terror and anger. The citizens watched with cautious hope, clinging to the promise that perhaps this new order would bring them respite after all. It was indeed the nobles who always made the decisions. Why punish the average citizen when the wealthy are the ones steering their ship? Nobody asked them anything… ever…

Hospet had fallen with only a few cannon shots and, with it, the last remnants of Otto's influence in the North. What remained for Pion was to deal with the surrendering nobles… and to find Otto's hideout, gathering every detail and evidence he could, knowing full well it had to be booby-trapped. Well… he now had ample noble prisoners to send ahead and test every possible magical defense and not risk his own men's health in the process.