Inside the city, Count Tomás Denisse moved frantically among his officers, reorganizing the defenses with a tension that betrayed his usual composure.
It was obvious the walls of Vayllen City would not endure much longer. The mages of the Douglas army outnumbered—and outmatched—his own, making every attempt to reinforce the city's magical barrier increasingly futile. The arrival of reinforcements from House Armett had only tightened the noose, sealing his forces within a siege that bordered on inescapable.
Desperation began to stain every decision.
The enemy's superiority in both numbers and sorcery was overwhelming, and Tomás knew that unless they took drastic measures, the city would inevitably fall. His gaze swept over the empty streets and silent rooftops. Every shadow felt like a reminder of how close defeat truly was.
For now, their only hope lay in the large-scale spells that weakened invaders—and in the possibility that the summoned demons would return in time. The monsters had departed days ago, gathering strength beyond the city's borders. Deep down, Tomás suspected he would not live to see their return.
He cursed his fortune—and his ambition.
A count only three generations removed from obscurity could not command the prestige or power of duchies that had stood since the kingdom's founding. That frustration had driven him toward dangerous alliances, even with the empire, in a desperate attempt to stand as an equal to the House of Douglas.
Now, he was paying the price.
He regretted every decision. Had he maintained the status quo, the city would not be teetering on collapse. But regret was a luxury he could no longer afford. His hands trembled as he reviewed maps and battle orders. Every movement had to be calculated with precision; even the smallest error could cost hundreds of lives—and the city itself.
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Still, his mind searched for alternatives.
Negotiation with Laurence was virtually impossible. The young duke's love for his son Caleb was well known, as was the ruthless determination he had already displayed on the battlefield.
The door burst open. A soldier stumbled inside, dust from the assault still clinging to his armor.
"My lord… the wall has fallen," he gasped. "Douglas forces have begun invading the city. The prudent course would be to withdraw and regroup."
Count Tomás Denisse stared at him, rage and desperation blazing in his eyes. His fist slammed against the table, rattling the parchments.
"Withdraw? To where?" His voice echoed against the office walls. "Kneel before the king? That bastard would execute me and present my head to Laurence."
His breathing quickened.
"No… we fight to the end. Deploy all forces. Intercept the invaders. Do not let them reach the family castle!"
The soldiers retreated, leaving behind a strained silence.
Face pale with fury, the count stepped into an adjoining chamber. Shadows pooled in the corners, trembling as if alive. A figure waited there, seated calmly, its mere presence enough to chill the blood.
Gargranelt smiled.
It was the kind of smile that suggested he knew every fear Tomás harbored—and savored each one.
"You look dreadful, human," Gargranelt said, his deep voice smooth and unhurried. "I have told you many times—do not trouble yourself so much. Those insects will fall… and they will not lay a finger on you."
Tomás closed his eyes briefly, willing the tremor in his hands to subside.
"Your confidence reassures me, my lord," he replied, his voice steadier than he felt. "With a demonic duke at my side, I fear nothing… though I would prefer the city endure without excessive suffering."
Gargranelt leaned back, fingers interlaced, as though the world were nothing more than a board beneath his control.
"My brothers will arrive soon. Relax, human. Everything will resolve…"
His smile widened.
"…in our favor."
A heavy silence settled over the chamber, broken only by the distant thunder of battle spreading through the streets of Vayllen City.
