In the ruined city of Lionji, which only a few weeks earlier had been a thriving port, the atmosphere was completely different. There were no screams of terror, but rather raucous laughter and sounds of celebration. The pirates, led by their captain Rajin, were enjoying their spoils. Six hundred men, their faces rough and their clothes stained with blood, roamed the burned streets, looting what remained, and enslaving the remaining inhabitants. Lionji had been transformed into a pirate den, a place of chaos and corruption.
Inside Leonac's destroyed palace, which had become Rajin's temporary headquarters, the pirate sat on Leonac's broken throne, sipping wine from a stolen silver goblet. Rajin was a massive man, with a braided black beard and eyes gleaming with cunning and brutality.
"Glory to Rajin! Glory to Lionji!" shouted one of the pirates, as he threw a bag of gold onto the floor.
Rajin laughed loudly, his voice echoing through the ruined hall. "Yes! Glory to us! Lionji was an easy catch! No one dares to face us!"
At that moment, one of the pirates entered, his face bearing an urgent look. "My Lord Captain! We have news from our spies! Disturbing news!"
Rajin's brow furrowed. "What happened? Are royal ships approaching?"
"Not exactly, My Lord," the pirate said. "We've learned that Viscount Zidan, the noble of Kisor, and Prince Geral, one of the King's sons, are both planning to invade Lionji! Zidan wants to reclaim it, and Geral wants to seize it for himself!"
Rajin laughed loudly, a sinister laugh that shook the palace walls. "What? Fighting over a pile of ashes? That's hilarious! Very hilarious!"
Rajin stopped laughing and looked at the pirate with cunning eyes. "Listen, coward! We don't want to be part of this ridiculous battle. Let them fight. Let them bleed each other dry. When they're done, and when one of them is weakened, we'll return and reap the benefits! We'll take what's left, and we'll enslave whoever remains! That's our way!"
"As you command, My Lord Captain!" the pirate said.
"Go! Move! Gather all remaining spoils! Prepare the ships! We'll return to the sea again! Let them fight over this desolate land!" Rajin shouted, rising from his broken throne, laughing loudly. Lionji was merely a stop on their journey, not a prize worth fighting for.
Lin's Arrival in Kisor
Meanwhile, in Kisor, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Lin, the daughter of the slain Noble Leonac, arrived in Kisor. She was accompanied by Lysander, one of Javer's assistants whom Zidan had sent to receive her, and her few servants and exhausted guards. Lin had heard much about Kisor and its just noble, but she hadn't expected what she saw.
As the group approached Kisor's gates, astonishment was evident on their faces. This was no ordinary city. The streets were clean, the houses tidy, and people walked with confidence. The scent of fresh bread filled the air, instead of the smell of decay and destruction.
Kisor's grand doors opened wide. Zidan awaited them in the palace's inner courtyard, surrounded by his closest commanders. Marion, the intelligence chief, stood beside him, his eyes sharp. Master Rojo, with his white beard, stood calmly, his eyes gleaming with intelligence. The army commander Sevara, and the second army commander Zinan, stood tall, their armor gleaming. Leelin and Marg, heroes of recent battles, stood at attention, along with the rest of Zidan's key entourage.
Lin slowly advanced, her eyes taking in the faces before her. She felt awe, but she also felt safe.
"Welcome to Kisor, Princess Lin," Zidan said, his voice calm yet carrying a tone of deep respect. "We have heard of your tragedy, and of your father's bravery, Noble Leonac. I am very sorry for your loss."
Zidan took a step forward and extended his hand. "I am Zidan, Viscount of Kisor. These are my commanders and advisors. You are safe here."
Lin took Zidan's hand and felt a strange warmth. This was the first time she had felt safe in weeks. "Thank you, My Lord Baron," Lin said, her voice barely a whisper.
"There's no need for thanks, Princess," Zidan said. "Your father was a friend to me, and an honorable man. He supported me in my time of need. And now, it's time for me to return the favor."
Zidan looked at his commanders. "Gentlemen, it's time to discuss war. It's time to reclaim Lionji. It's time to bring justice."
The War Council in Kisor
Everyone gathered in the palace's main hall. The hall was well-lit, and a map of the kingdom was spread across the large table. Zidan sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his commanders: Sevara, Zinan, Marion, Rojo, Leelin, and Marg. Lin sat beside Zidan, listening attentively, her eyes watching every movement.
"Gentlemen," Zidan began, his voice serious. "We've received reports from Marion. Two threats are approaching. A force of 7,000 soldiers from Prince Geral's forces is heading towards Lionji. And another force, 5,000 strong from Royal Duke Elianus's forces, is heading towards Kisor."
A profound silence fell over the hall. The threats were immense, but no one seemed afraid. They trusted Zidan.
"What is our plan, My Lord Baron?" Sevara asked. "Do we divide our forces?"
"Exactly, Sevara," Zidan said. "Zinan, what is your proposal?"
Zinan stepped forward and pointed to the map. "My Lord Baron, I suggest we place an army of 2,000 soldiers to protect Kisor. This force will be sufficient to repel any attack from Elianus's forces, especially with our new fortifications and cannons."
"2,000 soldiers?" Sevara said. "That leaves us with only 4,000 soldiers to face Geral, especially since we recruited an additional 2,400 soldiers, bringing our total forces to 6,000. 2,000 to protect Kisor leaves 4,000, and 3,000 for the fight in Lionji leaves 1,000 to protect Sigret."
"That's correct, My Lord Commander," Zinan said. "But I propose we send a force of 3,000 soldiers to suppress Geral's army in the village of Merod."
Everyone looked at Merod on the map. It was a small village located south of Lionji, between a hill and a forest.
"Merod?" Sevara asked. "Why Merod?"
"Merod is located below a hill, and between a forest," Zinan explained. "This makes it an ideal location for an ambush. We can make a surprise move and strike them before they can prepare. Geral's forces believe Lionji is empty, and they will easily seize it. They won't expect an attack in Merod."
"This is a bold plan, Zinan," Leelin said, his eyes gleaming. "But it could be effective. 3,000 soldiers against 7,000... that's a big challenge."
"Leelin, we have weapons they don't," Zinan said, his eyes gleaming with confidence. "We have cannons, bombs, and our soldiers are incredibly trained. We can crush them."
"And what about the new weapons?" Sevara asked, looking at Zidan. "Is it time to use them?"
Zidan smiled. "Yes, Sevara. It's time to use them. I propose using the flintlock pistol."
Sevara and Zinan's eyes widened. The flintlock pistol! The new weapon made by Master Rojo.
"My Lord Baron, this is an individual weapon," Sevara said. "Do you mean to arm our elite soldiers with it?"
"Exactly, Sevara," Zidan said. "We will choose our best 500 soldiers and arm them with flintlock pistols. This will be a shock force, capable of causing tremendous destruction in the enemy ranks in close combat. It will be a surprise they never expected."
Everyone looked at each other. The plan was bold and risky, but it bore Zidan's signature: innovation, surprise, and the use of technology to change the rules of war.
"So, the plan is as follows," Zidan said, pounding his fist on the table. "2,000 soldiers to protect Kisor, led by Sevara. 2,500 soldiers to invade Merod, led by Zinan, with 500 soldiers armed with flintlock pistols. Marion, the Special Unit will be our eyes and ears everywhere. I want accurate reports on every enemy movement. Master Rojo, prepare the pistols and bombs. Leelin and Marg, you will be part of Zinan's force. It's time to fight. It's time to reclaim Lionji, protect Kisor, and bring justice."
The atmosphere in the hall was charged with determination. They were ready. This was the battle that would determine the fate of the north, and perhaps the fate of the entire Kingdom of Albido.