Chapter 347: Entering the City
Stravsburg.
The once bustling city was now engulfed in silence, with residents locking their doors and windows, quietly awaiting news from the outside.
Due to the allied forces' previous "Great Conscription" campaign, the streets were strewn with discarded belongings, shattered furniture, and stained with patches of blood.
"Citywide lockdown—"
"No one leaves without orders!"
The city defense troops patrolled the streets repeatedly, vigilantly guarding against invading enemies.
"Anyone harboring outsiders will be hanged!"
Occasionally, they knocked on doors, ostensibly to root out spies, though they also took the opportunity to collect "fees" for protecting the city.
On the tall, weathered city walls of Stravsburg, the actual commander of the city garrison, Count Garrod Ponte, stood atop the ramparts, gazing anxiously at the distant horizon.
"This war will decide everything."
"The allied forces... will claim ultimate victory, as they always have against every disaster in Northland history."
He often said this.
Every moment of waiting was agonizing, and Garrod longed to see the messengers bearing the Bosk family's lion banner.
But he knew this war was unlike any other—its scale, intensity, and duration could be unprecedented. A conclusion within a few days seemed unlikely.
For the first time, the remaining eleven nations of the Northland had united their full might, forming an army of over a hundred thousand to resist the seemingly spontaneous and overwhelmingly powerful threat—the Ember Kingdom.
Even against the "Frost Calamity" or "Dragon Calamity" from the north, the nations of the Northland had never been so united in their resolve.
The nobles of these nations understood that frost giants and white dragons might bring plunder and death, but they could also weaken rival nations and bring personal gain.
The Ember Kingdom, however, would treat them all equally—hanging them on the gallows and destroying everything they relied upon to survive.
"No one can defeat the united Skanians."
"Not even that dragon."
Count Garrod murmured to himself.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy hoofbeats and footsteps broke the silence—not hurried, but deliberate.
Instantly, officers, soldiers, and even civilian craftsmen on the tall walls turned their eyes to the distant horizon, hearts racing.
"How is this possible?"
"It's only been thirteen days... could the war be over already?"
Garrod's expression grew grim as he stared intently at the horizon, sweat dripping from the hand tightly gripping his sword.
A terrifying thought loomed in the count's mind, though he refused to believe it.
After a moment's thought, Garrod gave instructions to the adjutant beside him.
"Send out a squad of scouts to investigate, and remember—"
But he stopped abruptly as distant figures emerged on the horizon.
The figures wore uniforms in familiar shades of yellow, black, and brown—Bosk family uniforms designed for effective camouflage and symbolizing the color of lion fur.
"It's the duchy's army!"
"They've returned victorious!"
Seeing the returning soldiers of the duchy, cheers erupted from the walls, with soldiers raising their weapons in celebration.
But Count Garrod rubbed his chin, bowing his head, his brow still furrowed in worry.
"How could this be..."
Something felt off.
If it were such a resounding victory, the duchy's messengers would have delivered the news long ago. Yet, not a single messenger had arrived.
Furthermore, the vanguard of such an army should have been accompanied by fluttering lion banners, not the subdued procession before him.
Suddenly, the soldiers' cheers came to an abrupt halt.
A dead silence enveloped the ramparts.
Count Garrod instinctively looked up, only to see a mass of chaotic, shifting black clouds looming over the horizon, casting a shadow over the advancing army.
No, that wasn't a black cloud.
Wiping his eyes in disbelief, his lips quivered.
"Wyverns?"
"Could it be the Ember Kingdom?"
Overhead, wyverns and chimeras flew in dense formations, their wings brushing against each other, forming thick clouds that blocked out the sun.
On the ground below, trailing the defeated allied soldiers, marched orderly ranks of tieflings, goblins, and hulking land drakes the size of small mountains.
"Oh, gods..."
"Is that our enemy?"
"The allied forces... have been captured?"
Officers and soldiers alike were jolted from their daze, their cries of fear echoing as they struggled to comprehend this enemy.
With roaring cries, countless wyverns scattered abruptly in mid-air, opening up a vast space.
The sky turned a fiery orange in an instant.
The red dragon flapped its massive wings slowly, appearing at the horizon's edge.
"The Northlands have fallen."
"Ember shall endure."
The calm, clear voice reverberated across the wilderness, audible to everyone inside and outside Stravsburg.
"The Northlands have fallen. Ember shall endure!"
On the ground, ogres and tieflings roared with fervor, welcoming the red dragon's arrival.
Even the players joined in with their chaotic shouts, some running naked across the wilderness, filling the air with a wild, unrestrained energy.
"No..."
"The Northlands are gone."
Count Garrod fell to his knees on the ramparts, his eyes filled with despair.
Though he had anticipated the worst, witnessing this soul-crushing scene shattered his world.
Garrod Ponte had been personally granted his title of count by Grand Duke Leo before the duke's departure.
The grand duke had solemnly promised that as long as he defended Stravsburg, he would be rewarded with a true ducal domain, securing his place among the Northland nobility's elite.
But now, it was all over.
Garrod's hand trembled as he gripped his sword.
Soon, the steady march of footsteps signaled the kingdom's vanguard entering the city.
Goblin and tiefling infantry climbed the walls with the help of ladders, swiftly taking control of the ramparts with barely any resistance.
Among their discoveries was a high-ranking Northland noble who had slit his own throat atop the walls—though this was of little importance to them.
The city defense forces left in Stravsburg were no elite soldiers, more akin to thuggish conscripts.
Against the Ember Kingdom's disciplined forces and the sight of tens of thousands of captured allied soldiers, they lost all will to resist. Some even waved white flags when the kingdom's army was still hundreds of meters away.
"Don't kill me!"
"I surrender! I surrender!"
The once-arrogant city guards, who had lorded over the citizens, now knelt trembling on the ground, some even wetting themselves in terror.
Stravsburg, the nearly millennia-old, historically prosperous "Lion City" and capital of the Duchy of Bosk, fell to the Ember Kingdom.