After several days of rest and reorganization for the troops, I led the army to continue its advance, directing our forces straight toward Onira. Taking advantage of the fact that the Khuzaits' main forces were engaged in a standoff with the Southern Empire, the garrison in the city had been reduced, and I decided to seize Onira first.
From a distance, the walls of Onira stood silent like a slumbering beast, while the patrolling guards atop the battlements watched our every move with cold, scrutinizing eyes.
"A direct assault would be arduous, but the vast plains outside the city are our greatest advantage," I declared, sitting astride my horse, my gaze as sharp as an eagle's. The battlefield was a blank canvas yet to be stained, and I would paint it in my own colors—with blood and strategy.
At the break of dawn, the first rays of sunlight spilled like molten gold across the land. Light cavalry and infantry appeared in formation beneath the city walls, their weapons clashing against shields as the provocative blare of war horns pierced through the walls, unsettling the hearts of the Khuzaits' commanders inside.
The moment the city gates swung open, it was as if a raging tide had found a narrow breach. Hundreds of Khuzait cavalry poured out like a flock of swift birds, sweeping across the plains and charging straight toward our forces. But they did not know that what awaited them was not a hunt—but a trap long since laid.
On the other side of the battlefield, dust suddenly billowed as if the earth itself had split open to reveal a hidden torrent. At my command, heavily armored cavalry thundered forth, their iron-shod hooves shattering the silence of the wilderness, their lances forming an unyielding forest as they met the enemy head-on. The moment of impact sent tremors through the entire plain, the air thick with the aura of slaughter. The Khuzait light cavalry were swift as the wind, but this time, their wind was crushed beneath my steel. The charge struck like a hammer, shattering their shield wall, mingling cries of agony with the screams of horses.
The Khuzait cavalry fell like leaves caught in a tempest. Their commander paled, attempting to retreat back to the city, only to realize it was too late—the tide had turned.
Yet, the city gates closed in the end, and I failed to breach Onira in one decisive strike. The sturdy walls stood firm like an immovable boulder, blocking my path. The siege horns blared from dawn till dusk, the morale of the defenders stretched taut like a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment.
Days later, unrest finally erupted within the city. Hunger and despair ignited the fury of the populace, flames writhing like blood-red serpents through the streets, accompanied by wails and chaos. Upon hearing this news, I smirked coldly—the city was on the verge of collapse, needing only one final push.
"All forces, advance!"
Under the cover of night, the defenders of Onira had already lost their will to fight. I personally led the charge, scaling the walls amidst a storm of blades and arrows, watching as the enemy fell like withered timber. The gates were breached, and the battle was decided. By the time the first light of dawn touched Onira, the city was firmly under my control.
Standing atop the battlements, gazing down at the ruins below, I knew that blood and fire would accompany me through this war-torn era.
The glorious victory of capturing Onira spread my name like wildfire among the nobility of the Southern Empire. And the next city in my sights was Danustica.
Danustica's towering walls loomed like a crouching lion, stern and unyielding. My troops, their morale high, marched with banners fluttering in the wind, war drums pounding relentlessly. The yellow sand swirled in the gusts, like threads of fate pulling us toward this uncertain battle.
The siege was imminent. The battering ram crashed against the gates with thunderous force, siege ladders crawling up the walls like iron insects, while our archers blanketed the battlements with arrows. But soon, I witnessed the true terror of the Aserai.
When rows of heavily armored Palace Guards appeared at the city gates, the very air on the battlefield seemed to freeze. Wielding great axes, their formation was tight as a moving wall of bronze. Arrows clattered harmlessly off their armor, producing only sharp, futile echoes.
I watched as my soldiers charged again and again, only to be repelled each time. Great axes cleaved through chests, shields shattered bones, and the Palace Guards stood unshaken, cold and arrogant, as if mocking our helplessness.
At the same time, Aserai reinforcements closed in from all sides, pinning down my supporting forces outside the city. The battlefield became a cacophony of screams, hoofbeats, and the clash of steel. My soldiers fell like petals scattered by the wind.
"Retreat!" I had no choice but to give the order, though it pained me like a knife to the heart. The troops pulled back like a receding tide, while Danustica remained standing, an unconquered monolith.
I reined in my horse and looked back. Under the glow of the setting sun, the banners atop Danustica's walls still fluttered proudly, like an eagle gazing down upon the world. My army trudged through the yellow sand, each step heavy with defeat.
This battle taught me one thing: the Aserai Palace Guards were not just infantry—they were a symbol of conviction, the most ruthless killing machines on the battlefield.
It seemed that close-quarters combat was not the way to defeat the Aserai.