A sharp hit from Corco's axe and the final one of the siege ladder's claws splintered under a shower of wood. Up to this point, the Bornish knight had fought his way through the carnage with a valiant heart. Through the fire of muskets, over his fallen comrades and up the ladder. Now, he was a mere four rungs away from his goal, from the top of Etra's walls, but the desperation in his eyes told Corco that the knight knew his fate. The knight knew that he wouldn't make it in time, that he would fail, and he also knew what that meant for him. Thus, rather than continue on, he stopped to stare at Corco, to beg for mercy, without words.

In response, Corco only clenched his jaws and brought his weapon down onto the ladder all the same. This was no place for mercy. Not here, not now. The final hit of the axe split apart the splintered wood and released the ladder's grip on the walls. Used to the motion by now, the troops of Etra took their poles to push the long ladder away from their city, the butchers away from their homes. Even though the prince's eyes refused to follow the action, Corco swore that he could still hear the man's desperate screams over the rage of battle, just as he could still see the man's desperate eyes, locked onto his own.

Another gag reflex was coming on, Corco could feel it. However, there would be no respite for the weary. The chief commander had to keep going and he had to look strong while doing so. Thus, he stepped back for a moment, back into the second row of battle, to collect his breath and regain his senses.

Once Corco had left the front lines to the waiting reserves, he turned to disappear into the turret behind his position, which had been chosen as the city's command center. Of course there were taller buildings atop the walls of Etra, but the square corner towers were far too vulnerable to cannon fire, so Corco had opted for one of the smaller turrets instead.

Once he entered inside, the prince could see Atau leaned against a wall by the entrance, as he chugged down a large flask of water, visibly drained from the long combat. Of course the cultivation techniques of Medala brought them great advantages in their fights, but all that additional strength also required far more energy than the movements of a regular soldier. As such, the cultivators had to retreat inside here to regain their strength in between attacks. To preserve supplies, they would only come out when there was a dire need for their help. Unfortunately, this need had grown more and more over the course of the siege. At this point, neither of the cousins even bothered with greetings any more. Both were far too drained, physically and mentally.

Corco himself reached the highest area of the tower soon after. Above this little room would only be the turret's top, where their old-fashioned archers did their best to provide some additional fire to make their muskets last longer. This vantage point was the best place for Corco to observe the battlefield and pretend to organize the unshapable chaos of war.

With a loud groan, Corco let himself fall back onto the chair he had been giving his empty commands from over the last month. However, tired and confused as he was, the chief commander managed to fall completely short of his goal. Just as he was about to hit the ground, a pair of hands grabbed under his arms for support. Only a little bit of human contact was enough to make the tensed Corco flinch, but soon he relaxed again. This one wasn't an enemy.

“Thanks,” Corco said as he looked up to Fadelio, his nominal attendant, who helped him take a seat at last. In response to the prince's gratitude, the massive warrior only nodded his head, nothing more. Throughout the siege, Fadelio hadn't left his side even for a second, always determined to guarantee his master's safety above anyone else's, even above the city's. So natural had the warrior's presence become that he had become almost invisible to Corco. Throughout the battles, Fadelio had been the only one of them who had never seemed tired. However, one look at his friend revealed to Corco that, just like the city of Etra, he wasn't the unscalable wall his stony exterior portrayed.

For the battle, Fadelio had put on the plate armor of eastern knights, but by now its shiny metal skin had gone blunt, dented and bruised all over. Even worse, Corco knew that his armor had been breached at the waist, when a lucky shot from an arrow had landed in between the plates. Even beyond the injuries, physical signs of exhaustion could now be seen even on him. From within the opened visor of his helmet, the warrior observed his master with sharp eyes, but they were underlined by black bars. After a month without proper rest, Fadelio was just as tired as the rest of them, even though he wouldn't ever admit it. The same as before, the warrior did his duty, silent and watchful.

Inspired by his friend's dedication, Corco got back on his feet as well and picked up the telescope to the side of the window. Once again, he forced himself to glance across the battlefield. War had swept over most of the walls, but by now, the flood was retreating. For now, it seemed like they had survived the latest storm.

After Corco's little speech on day ten of the attack, his words had soon spread among the soldiers and united them like nothing had done before. The fear towards Duke Herak was far too great among the men of Etra. Faced with the ruthless butcher of Borna, the only option they saw was a desperate fight for their lives. Concerning the problem of ammunition, they had managed to score some additional gunpowder from within Etra itself. After the War of the Blue Hell, most of Etra's merchants had followed the Bornish example and equipped their own ships with cannons. As such, they all had a good amount of powder stored away. With the city in danger and public opinion so firmly in Corco's favor, they had been given no other choice but to hand over their stashes.

Even the Bornish rams they had dealt with somehow. In the middle of the night, they, the cultivators, had used a specially built metal plow to create deep ridges all across the front of the gates. It hadn't been much, but it had still slowed down the ram's advance. With the time gained, they had managed to set the siege weapon on fire in time before it could destroy the gate. By now, the way to the front gate was blocked – by bodies and debris – with almost no way through for additional rams. Even better, there had been a lot of rain over the passing month. The Etra hill had become wet and tough to scale, while the Bornish cannons and muskets had no longer been able to fire under the poor conditions.

However, their prospects were still grim. Despite all of their advantages, despite the fact that the Bornish had lost men at a ratio of five to one or more, Etra was still hopelessly outnumbered. Corco's view sailed over the back of the enemy's formation, where the tired soldiers of Borna could go to find some respite. Over there, they could relax and recharge for a few days while they prepared themselves for the next attack. Meanwhile, no one in Etra had been gifted a good rest throughout the entirety of the siege. Even all the additional supplies had only bought them a few days. By now, they were running low on powder again, this time without an easy fix. The last hidden supplies of the merchants had been raided already. He couldn't very well raid them again.

Low on men, low on morale, low on ammo. Meanwhile, the sun had been up for the past few days, busily drying the enemy ammunition. It wouldn't be long before the cannon fire picked up again. At the same time, Corco had observed Bornish reinforcements close in from the south and meet up with the main army. He hadn't even needed a telescope for that one. Duke Herak had made sure that every man inside Etra could see their enemies get stronger, while they could feel their own strength drain from their bodies. Whatever the prince could think up, it might not be enough to guarantee them victory, or even just to save their lives. No matter how hard he thought, no matter how much he knew, he couldn't find a way out. Not this time.

With a heavy sigh, Corco moved his telescoped view closer to home, atop the walls, where his own soldiers slumped against the crenelations, too tired to even stand. Without warning, Fadelio dragged Corco to the side, before a whizzing sound brushed over the crown prince's head and crashed into the ceiling above. Terrified, the prince ducked out of view, back behind the safety of the stone walls.

Corco didn't even have to check to know who had attacked him. All he would find above his head would be another one of Duke Herak's arrows. Over the course of the siege, the man's favorite past time had been to take out his enormous longbow and take aim at Corco, to snipe the enemy commander off of the battlements.

So far, the duke had always missed his mark, but not for a lack of skill. More than once, it had been Fadelio, at the last second, who had saved the prince's life. It was then that the warrior had received his own injury.

Even still, he had continued his duties, unperturbed by his own aching body or the commands of his own master. No matter how much Corco insisted, the warrior wouldn't listen. Instead, he ignored his own safety in favor of his friend's. In that regard, servant and master were one and the same.

“The city isn't safe,” Fadelio started again, like so many times before. “We need leave Etra, now. If you still cannot see that the city is a lost cause, then I have to assume you to have lost your mind.”

Corco could see the warrior tense his body, as he braced himself for another heated argument. They had gone through this play before. Fadelio would suggest retreat, worried for Corco's safety, while the prince would insist on standing his ground as he explained his plans one more time. However, this time, Corco didn't react. Instead, he just lay there beneath the window, while his eyes went up to the ceiling. Up, where the heavy arrow of Duke Herak had lodged itself into the stone, where it swung like the Sword of Damocles.

“I've made a mistake.” At last, with a shaking voice, Corco admitted to himself what he had known for a long time. They wouldn't win.

Rather than answer, rather than say 'I told you so', Fadelio just stood there, with a worried frown, and looked down onto his master. The prince understood his attendant's feelings well. Since he had been gifted these memories, this knowledge, Corco had always been certain of his actions. With absolute surety, the prince had used his new talents to steer their group from success to success. Seeing that perfect facade collapse must have been a shock even to the stoic warrior. Still, it was time to face the facts.

“I though I was right, you know? Thought I had it all figured out. We'd hold out with our new weapons and new tactics, catch the Bornish off guard. In the meantime, the cities and countries around Borna would observe our war. As the siege went on, they should have seen Borna's determination for conquest, should have understood the true ambition of the Bornish. At the same time, they should have seen just how much trouble Borna had with the tiny, demilitarized Etra. They would seem greedy, overambitious, and vulnerable. Ideal conditions for someone else to take a bite out of their country under the guise of benevolence. The plan was perfect... what happened?”

Fadelio opened his mouth, but soon closed it again without a word. There were no good answers to his master's question. The plan itself had been solid. Still, there had been a fatal flaw within: With their own weakness exposed in front of an entire country's might, their little group was far too reliant on the decisions of others. For Corco's plans to work, the neighbors of Borna had to act in the way he had predicted: Logical, calculated and with forward vision. However, people weren't so easy to understand.

“I... shouldn't have been so sure of myself. No matter how much I know, I'll never know the future. We should prepa-” As Corco was about to admit his defeat, admit his fallibility and call for retreat, a resounding tone from beyond the window interrupted him. What laid its presence all over the battlefield was a military bugle, but not the Bornish one they had all become so familiar with over the month. Someone else had announced their arrival on the battlefield. While the stunned Corco was still lying on the ground, Fadelio peeked out of the window, careful to stay in cover. His tired face decorated by a wide grin, the servant turned to face his master.

“It's the Free Alliance of Southern Cities,” he said with glee. “You were right again, Boss, exactly like you predicted. The war is over. It's our win.”