Four figures stood high atop the battlements overlooking the city’s main gate and staging field: myself, Peter, Michael, and Lady Siralyn. Behind us loomed the heart of Darneth’s rising power.
Below us stretched the culmination of planning, innovation, and vengeance.
We had built more than a kingdom. We had built a war machine.
THE WAR ASSEMBLED
Peter’s voice was calm as he began reciting the details to no one in particular—his eyes locked on the formations.
“Final diagnostics complete. All units functioning at peak capacity.”
TANK – L.DESTROYER
- Fires Tier 3 destructive fireballs with zero chant delay.
- Reinforced with Tier 4 Defense Magic, warded alloy plating, and mana-conductive treads.
- Fully autonomous, all units synched to Michael’s battlefield command AI.
- Secondary function: Pulse blast to clear infantry formations within 200 meters.
AUTONOMOUS PLANE – SLICER I
- Flight Speed: Mach 2 (two times the speed of sound)
- Primary weapon: Rapid-fire Tier 2 fireball turrets (fire rate: 10/second)
- Payload: Two Tier 4 explosive magic bombs, enough to crater small fortresses.
- Secondary: Long-range scanning, night ops enabled.
SURVEILLANCE DRONES
- Full integration with Hive Mind.
- Views shared live to all commanding officers and field units.
- Functions: Aerial view, ground scan, thermal vision, night vision, terrain camouflage.
- Flight time: Unlimited (leyline-charged cores).
ANDROID SOLDIERS
- Carrying capacity: 500 kg
- Ground speed: 50 km/h
- Modular limbs (interchangeable weapons, medical tools, excavation drills)
COMMANDER ANDROIDS
- Mid-battlefield deployment support.
- Can relay orders and override drone pathing in emergencies.
- Tactical uplink with Peter, Michael, and myself.
MEDICAL UNIT – MENDARRAY I
- Field-wide teleportation retrieval system.
- Can heal up to 50 soldiers simultaneously.
- Operates on both organic and mechanical targets.
- Staffed with four triage androids per zone.
Our forces stood in formation behind the wall. Tanks in straight lines. Planes hovering under illusion fields. Medical units stationed behind rune-walls. Androids silent—watching.
“This is no longer a backwater rebellion,” Michael said quietly. “This is a nation.”
I didn’t respond. I was watching the skies.
Suddenly, the surveillance drone blinked red above us.
“—ALERT: Movement detected 4.2 km east of Gate One. Estimated infantry count: 700.
Race: Human. Identification probability: 89%.
Banner match: Kingdom of Twaggel.
Threat Level: Low.”
“Let them approach,” I said. “Aman, prepare temporary shelter. Keep weapons concealed but eyes open.”
“Understood,” Aman’s voice replied from the gatehouse comms.
From atop the tower, we watched them arrive.
They came in military march, formation proper, armor marked by royal seal. No threat posture. No siege units. No weapons drawn. It wasn’t an invasion.
It was a reinforcement column.
At the city gate, one of our android soldiers stepped forward.
“State your name and purpose,” it said in a voice devoid of emotion.
A few younger human soldiers chuckled. One of them stepped forward, tried to push the android back.
In the next second, that soldier was face-first in the dirt, held down with one limb behind his back, a sword-sized blade pointed at the nape of his neck.
The crowd fell silent.
“BACKUP REQUESTED,” the android said, not even looking at its captive.
Four more androids materialized from nearby watchpoints. Each identical. Silent.
“State. Your. Name,” the lead repeated.
A voice answered calmly from behind the line.
“Prince Edmarion Twaggel. First Son of the Crown. We come with command approval to reinforce the Darneth domain. This is not an inspection. It is a vow.”
The androids paused. They scanned the royal seal and stepped aside in perfect unison.
“Your troops will be housed. Come with me,” said Aman, arriving from the inner gate.
“I wish to see the King,” Edmarion added.
“He awaits.”
I stood in the tower command room as my brother entered, flanked by android guards who never turned their backs.
Edmarion looked at me. Hardened. Battle-worn. But familiar.
“You’ve changed, Anis.”
“So have you.”
“We were children last time we met. But that scroll…” His voice dropped. “You didn’t fabricate that, did you?”
“No. That was the truth.”
He nodded. He didn’t speak again. Just extended a hand.
I took it.
No more words were needed.
Narrator (serious): “Once, he was exiled. Now, his blood returns. Not in shame—but in formation.”
Beneath Darneth’s command hall was the Information Wing, a chamber of mirrors, glowing projection crystals, and whispering orbs. At its heart, seated in an ornate chair with skull embroidery and a porcelain tea set beside her, was Lady Siralyn Merrow.
Her gloves were off.
Literally and figuratively.
Peter entered first, datapad flickering in one hand. Michael followed, unnerved by how silent the whole room had become.
She turned slightly, offering them a perfect smile.
“I’ve completed the gift package for Count Brussel,” she said.
“Define gift package,” Peter asked cautiously.
She gestured toward a glowing projection of a magical missive.
On the crystal display was a magical illusion: the image of Count Brussel being slowly buried alive beneath a mound of golden coins—each one screaming.
“Emotive Hex Laced,” she explained calmly. “Anyone watching will feel three things: regret, fear, and the taste of rust.”
Michael looked mildly disturbed. Peter looked impressed.
“And the music?” Peter asked.
“Just a soft lullaby,” she said sweetly. “Backwards. Sung by a choir of disembodied children’s voices.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Michael blinked. “Why?”
“Because monsters don’t fear steel, dear. They fear imagination.”
Back above ground, the missive was finalized.
I signed the scroll with a final, smooth stroke.
“Deliver it,” I said to Peter. “Make sure he gets it... and make sure the room is full when it’s read.”
Peter nodded. “Broadcast spell attached. It will be seen across his court.”
Brussel’s court, once decadent with stained glass and gold-trimmed carpets, was now a palace of panic.
The scroll shimmered open in front of his nobles. The illusion played. The hex took effect.
Brussel stood frozen, watching as a perfect replica of himself screamed silently beneath piles of coins—his nobles unable to look away as terror washed through their minds.
One advisor vomited. Another fainted.
Brussel turned, eyes wild.
“Summon aid! Anyone! Pay for mercenaries—buy foreign summoners! BRIBE THE REPUBLIC!” he screamed.
“S-sire,” his spymaster whimpered, “our trade routes... the pirates... they’ve taken everything. We have nothing left.”
He turned to his mage council.
“Gate reinforcements now—NOW—”
“We can’t, sire. The scroll activated a counterspell. The teleportation matrix is jammed.”
Brussel’s hands trembled.
“It was just one letter... I only threatened his wife...”
And now, his end had begun.
Back in Darneth, the war room fell quiet after the scroll’s dispatch.
Edmarion stood near the window, watching a tank’s turret rotate with almost sentient calm.
He turned to me, face solemn.
“Anis. You’ve built something terrifying. Something brilliant. But I must ask—don’t kill the civilians.”
I didn’t answer at first.
He walked closer, voice firm. “Your war is righteous. But innocent blood cannot cleanse injustice.”
I looked at him.
Really looked at him.
Then I said, “Come with me.”
We walked through the newly established refugee quarters.
Dozens of tents. Heated magically. Stocked with food, water, medics.
Women sat under blankets, trembling hands curled around tin cups of broth.
Children clung to mothers who had scars so deep they looked carved by hatred itself.
Some had missing limbs. Others had bruises that would never fade.
And this wasn’t just one case.
This was all of them.
I led Edmarion to a covered section.
A woman lay curled in bed. Her face was blank. Her left arm gone from the shoulder down.
Peter stood nearby, watching from a distance. Michael stood behind, arms folded.
“They came from that carriage convoy,” I said. “The one headed for Brussel’s land.”
Edmarion’s jaw clenched.
“They weren’t refugees. They were products.”
He turned away, jaw clenched.
“And he said he’d do the same to my wife.”
I stepped close.
“So let me be clear: I don’t care about negotiations. I care about justice.”
“You want me to spare him?”
“Then tell that to the girl missing an arm because someone wanted a discount.”
Edmarion looked down.
Then he whispered.
“Still… I won’t fight beside you if civilians die.”
“Then don’t.”
That night, the kingdom went silent.
Siralyn finalized a second psy-ops message: this one designed for mid-battle morale collapse.
Peter reinforced the bomb schematics.
Michael selected his vanguard squad for entry through the forested flank.
I stood over the map.
Tomorrow... the skies burn.
Narrator (solemnly): “Once, the world called him cursed. Now, they will remember his name... because his silence is gone. And what remains—marches like fire.”
Perfect. Let's keep it focused and intense. Below is the refined and extended conclusion to Chapter 12, centered entirely on the Darneth war room and the long-awaited midnight strike at 3 AM—with zero distractions, maximum rage, and fully-charged carnage.
The war room was silent.
No banter. No remarks. Just glowing runes, flickering maps, and an entire empire’s wrath simmering in controlled breath.
I stood at the edge of the central table, surrounded by the people who had turned a criminal cesspit into a city of steel and vengeance.
Peter.
Michael.
Lady Siralyn.
Astraea and the Maid Corps.
Every key commander, every link in the chain.
“This is it,” I said, my voice low. “Tonight, we stop pretending we’re small.”
“Tonight, we show the world what happens when you spit on mercy... and threaten what I love.”
“Slicers,” I commanded, “initiate strike vector Ω-Zeta. Rain begins at 03:00 sharp. First wave: shock and awe. Second wave: building collapse.”
Peter’s tablet shimmered. “Flight paths locked. Altitude adjusted. Bomb load prepped. Tier-4 ordinance armed.”
“All tank units,” I continued, “activate. Defensive spells to Tier 4. Focus fire on gates, towers, and choke points.”
Michael nodded. “Autonomous targeting active. AI sync engaged. Tanks will operate in squad-level assault clusters. Estimated breach in under four minutes.”
“Surveillance drones?”
“Positioned. Feeding real-time data to every commander’s hive node. Visibility range is clear. No magical distortion in enemy skies.”
“Commander androids?”
“At their marks,” Michael confirmed. “Each one relays commands directly to us. Hive confirmed. Ready to adapt mid-battle.”
I turned toward Astraea and her elite maid corps. They stood like marble statues with kitchen precision and battlefield instincts.
“You’re heading to the church.”
“Secure the rooftop. Construct the stage. Activate full Tier-4 shielding.”
“I want that man tied to a chair in the most elegant fashion possible. Facing his ruin.”
“And the music?”
“Play something... cheerful .”
Astraea gave a quiet bow. “We shall play Moonlight Lament in five-part harmony.”
“Good. Let him listen to sorrow while everything he owns burns.”
The map pulsed red.
Somewhere in the clouds above Count Brussel’s estate, twelve Slicer Units blinked into visibility for just a moment.
And then they opened fire.
The first volley of Tier-2 fireball salvos screamed through the air—each one wrapped in rune-forged compression shells for deeper explosion radius.
They hit with surgical precision:
- The western wall ignited.
- The barracks combusted.
- The outer towers shattered like glass.
Seconds later—boom. boom. boom. The bombs dropped.
Tier-4 shockwave rounds. Screaming winds. Magic-infused combustion.
Towers snapped. Wards failed. Earth split.
"GATES BREACHED."
"CITY PANICKED."
"ENEMY RESPONSE: CHAOTIC AND UNSYNCHRONIZED."
From the east, Michael’s shadow troops charged through the forest flank. Silent. Fast. Deadly.
From the west and north, tanks emerged—lumbering monsters clad in burnished rune armor. Their cannons glowed red, each shot reducing fortresses to rubble.
Every infantry unit moved like clockwork.
- Autonomous.
- Communicating silently.
- No mercy.
“Enemy soldiers fleeing the central barracks,” Peter announced. “Suggest flanking encirclement to prevent regrouping”
“Do it,” I said. “No one gets out unless we allow it..not even civilians”
In the heart of the city, the old cathedral stood tall—still untouched. For now.
But on its roof, a shining marble-white platform rose, summoned by the maids. Encased in Tier-4 defensive spells, it shimmered like a divine stage amidst chaos.
Brussel had been captured by Astraea herself.
Dragged. Kicking. Screaming.
He was now strapped into a ceremonial chair—velvet, gilded, facing the destruction of his own kingdom.
“What are you DOING?!” he howled. “YOU MONSTERS!”
The five maids took their places around him.
Violins. Lutes. A harp. A flute.
They began to play.
The piece was soft. cheerful. Piercing.
All around, the city crumbled. His home. His halls. His soldiers. His entire legacy.
Brussel screamed again.
No one answered.
Back in Darneth’s war room, the visual projections filled the sky.
Smoke curled up from Brussel’s domain like snakes in mourning.
“Status?” I asked.
Peter smiled.
“Enemy broken. No response forces inbound. Reinforcements blocked. Teleportation gates disabled.”
Michael checked his feed.
“Only one structure untouched. The church.”
I nodded.
“Good. Let it stand. Let it echo.”
“And let every kingdom in this world understand—”
“I am done asking.”