The Siege of Iskandar Keep

  Western Front – The Mountain Fortress of Iskandar Keep The wind howled through the jagged cliffs of Iskandar Pass, carrying the scent of burning oil and steel. Atop the mighty stone walls of Iskandar Keep, the Aetherion banners whipped violently in the air, their golden insignia gleaming against the stormy sky.

  Below them, stretching across the valley like an unending tide, stood the Zephyrian Legions. Tens of thousands of soldiers. At their front, the Iron Phalanx stood in perfect formation, their massive tower shields locked together, forming an impenetrable wall of steel.

  Behind them, the Skyborne Cavalry circled like vultures, wyvern riders soaring in tight battle formations, their spears crackling with lightning magic. And at the rear, massive siege engines—arcane-infused trebuchets and magitek ballistae—were being loaded for destruction. This was no mere skirmish. This was an onslaught.

  And standing at the center of the fortress, clad in black and crimson battle armor, was Haruka Sato.

  Haruka gave a sharp grin, fire sparking in her eyes. “Finally.”

  Inside the fortress, Aetherion’s military commanders gathered around a war table, studying the battlefield below. Haruka leaned forward, knuckles pressed against the map.

  “They have numbers, discipline, and siege weapons. We have a fortress, high ground, and superior warriors.”

  Aldric’s lips twitched with grim amusement. “So we make them bleed for every step.”

  Haruka nodded. “Exactly.”

  Her plan was simple—

  1. Hold the walls. The defenders would use archers, ballistae, and barricades to stall the enemy’s advance.

  2. Lure the Iron Phalanx into the kill zone. The narrow pass would restrict their movement, allowing Aetherion’s warriors to counterattack.

  3. Use the storm against them. A massive thunderstorm was brewing—the perfect cover for disrupting enemy formations.

  4. Counterattack at the right moment. Once the enemy’s lines were overextended, Haruka’s warriors would descend upon them like a raging inferno.

  She smirked, adjusting the grip on her twin swords.

  “Let’s show them what Aetherion is made of.”

  —

  The Siege Begins – The first assault came at dawn.

  The Zephyrian Iron Phalanx advanced, shields locked together, a moving fortress of steel. Aetherion defenders unleashed hell. Arrows rained down, piercing through armor gaps. Boulders and burning oil were hurled over the walls, crashing into enemy ranks. Ballistae fired enchanted spears, impaling multiple soldiers in a single shot.

  And yet—they kept coming. The Zyphyrian Phalanx was trained to endure, their shields enchanted with barrier magic, blocking even the heaviest projectiles. At the same time, the Skyborne Cavalry struck from above. Wyverns dove down, launching bolts of lightning that shattered stone and sent Aetherion’s warriors flying.

  Haruka growled, eyes narrowing. “They’re testing us.”

  Then, the siege engines fired. The air shook as massive arcane-infused projectiles slammed into the fortress walls, sending stone and debris flying.

  A section of the western wall collapsed. And through the smoke and rubble— The Phalanx charged.

  Haruka’s blood burned with excitement as she descended the wall, landing with a thunderous crash right in front of the advancing enemy. The Phalanx soldiers barely had time to react before she rushed them. Her twin swords blazed with crimson energy as she slashed through shields and armor, carving a path through the unstoppable formation.

  One soldier lunged—Haruka ducked under his spear and severed his leg with a clean cut. Another raised his shield—she shattered it with a flaming strike, sending him flying. A third aimed a crossbow—she deflected the bolt mid-air and drove her blade through his chest.

  Blood sprayed across the battlefield. She was a whirlwind of destruction. But the Phalanx adapted quickly. Realizing she was a threat, they began tightening their ranks, focusing all their attacks on her.

  A spear thrust forward—she barely dodged. A shield bashed toward her—she blocked, but the force knocked her back. A second wave surrounded her, their movements coordinated, relentless.

  Haruka gritted her teeth. “Alright. Let’s stop playing around.” She slammed both swords into the ground—and the air exploded.

  "Tenryū Bakudan! (Heavenly Dragon Bomb!)"

  A wave of pure force erupted outward, sending dozens of soldiers flying.

  The battlefield erupted into chaos. And that was when Aetherion’s counterattack began.

  With the enemy overextended, Haruka gave the signal. The defenders surged forward, cutting through the broken formation like wildfire. Vintergard’s berserkers tore through enemy lines, their battle axes cleaving through armor. Solmaria’s divine paladins unleashed holy energy, burning away Zephyros’ dark magic. Eldoria’s mages countered the siege engines, sending arcane storms and fire balls crashing into the enemy ranks.

  The battle turned. Zephyros had not expected this level of resistance. And then—Kurohazan and Uriel descended. The legendary dragon and divine beast swept across the battlefield, their power overwhelming even the wyvern knights. Haruka grinned. “Time to end this.”

  Through the chaos, one figure strode toward her. A towering warrior, clad in black and gold armor, wielding a massive glaive infused with thunder magic. General Varus Tiberius. One of Zephyros’s greatest warlords.

  “You’re the Aetherion General, aren’t you?” he sneered.

  Haruka spun her blades. “And you’re the dead man walking.”

  Varus curled his lip into something halfway between a sneer and a smile. “Let’s test that theory.”

  Then he charged. The clash was earth-shattering. Haruka met him head-on, their weapons colliding in a shockwave that sent soldiers flying. He was strong—brutally strong. Each swing of his glaive carried enough force to shatter stone. But Haruka was faster. She danced around his attacks, her flaming swords slicing through his armor. They exchanged strike after strike, blow after blow, neither willing to fall.

  And then—Haruka saw her opening. She dodged under his final swing, twisting her body— and drove her blade straight through his chest.

  Varus staggered. For the first time, his expression faltered. Haruka leaned in, smirking. “Told you.”

  With a final twist of her sword, she ended it. The Zephyrian Army saw their general fall. Their morale collapsed.

  And with a final Aetherion charge, the battle was won.

  Victory is the only thing she can think – Aetherion Holds the Western Front. As the surviving enemy forces retreated, Haruka stood atop the bloodstained battlefield, her swords dripping with victory. She turned toward the sky, watching the Aetherion banners still standing over the fortress.

  She grinned. “Not bad for our first war.”

  As Aetherion secured the west, the North braced for its own storm.

  —

  The Battle of the Frozen Wastes

  Northern Front – The Icefields of Vintergard.

  Just a few days after the siege at Iskandar Keep the winds howled like dying beasts, cutting through the warriors of Vintergard like a blade of pure frost. The Frozen Wastes, an unforgiving stretch of land where snow storms could last for weeks, now stood as the next battlefield of Aetherion’s war.

  Towering ice cliffs loomed in the distance, and beneath them, nestled in the heart of the tundra, lay Frosthold, the great fortress city of Vintergard.

  It was Aetherion’s gateway to the North. And Zephyros wanted it.

  Their army had marched relentlessly through the snow, adapting their strategies for the bitter cold, bringing with them their elite Frost Legion—warriors trained in sub-zero warfare.

  Alongside them, Zankoku’s shadow corps lurked in the darkness, waiting to strike.

  It was a siege that could determine the fate of the North. And Lord Aldric Frostbane would not allow his home to fall.

  Inside the halls of Frosthold, the leaders of Vintergard’s war council stood gathered. Lord Aldric, clad in fur-lined armor, his greatsword resting beside him, scanned the map of their forces. Beside him stood Warlord Eirik “The Stormbreaker”, commander of the Frostfang Berserkers, his breath steaming in the freezing air.

  Further down the table, Jarl Ingrid Snowsong, Vintergard’s most renowned shieldmaiden, crossed her arms, her battle axe glinting in the torchlight. They all turned to Aldric as he spoke.

  “We stand at the brink of war. The Zephyrian legions march to our doorstep, believing we will bow to their might.”

  His voice boomed through the halls, carrying the weight of centuries of northern pride.

  “They come with numbers. We meet them with unyielding steel.”

  He slammed his fist against the table.

  “This is our land. We do not run. We do not kneel. We will fight until the last man, and by the gods, we will break them.”

  A roar of agreement echoed through the hall. The warriors of Vintergard were ready.

  —

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  At first light, the Zephyrian army began its march through the snow, the Frozen Wastes trembling beneath their advance. Their Frost Legion, clad in silver and blue armor, moved with terrifying discipline, shields raised, their spears gleaming in the pale sun.

  Behind them, the Magitek Artillery Corps positioned their arcane trebuchets, preparing to bombard Frosthold’s gates. And hidden in the blizzard, the Zankoku assassins slithered like shadows, waiting to strike. The defenders stood atop the icy battlements, their breaths forming clouds of frost.

  And then—the first horn blew. Aldric raised his greatsword, his voice thundering.

  “SHIELDWALL!”

  At once, the Frostfang Berserkers and Vintergard’s shieldmaidens formed an unyielding barrier, their massive tower shields locking together.

  Then— “ARCHERS! FIRE!”

  A rain of ice-tipped arrows streaked through the sky, impaling the first wave of Zephyrian warriors.

  The battle erupted in chaos. Amidst the clashing steel, Aldric’s eyes locked onto a single figure. A warrior clad in enchanted silver armor, wielding a massive frost-spear, his presence radiating an unnatural cold. General Svarog of Zephyros. The commander of the Frost Legion. He strode forward, his voice dripping with disdain.

  “You think your barbaric warriors can withstand the might of Zephyros?”

  Aldric smirked. “I think you’ve mistaken us for men and women who fear death.”

  Svarog lunged first, his spear striking like a frozen viper.

  Aldric parried with his greatsword, the clash sending ice and sparks flying.

  Svarog thrusted again—Aldric sidestepped, countering with a devastating downward slash. The frost-spear clashed against steel, ice cracking beneath their feet. The battle turned into a brutal contest of strength, speed, and sheer endurance.

  Svarog was fast, his movements almost supernatural.

  But Aldric was stronger. With a roar, he drove his greatsword into the ground, creating a shockwave that shattered ice and sent Svarog flying. The Zephyrian commander staggered backward, coughing blood into the snow. Aldric pointed his blade at him.

  “Your empire thinks us weak because we don’t wear golden crowns.”

  He stepped forward, his footsteps cracking the ice. “But here in the North—our crowns are carved from battle.”

  Then, with a final swing, he decapitated Svarog, his head rolling across the frozen battlefield. The Frost Legion hesitated. And in war, a moment of hesitation is death. Aldric raised his sword high.

  “VINTERGARD! CRUSH THEM!”

  The defenders charged. And the Frozen Wastes ran red with blood.

  As the Zephyrian army wavered, a new threat emerged—the Zankoku assassins. They struck from the shadows like wraiths, blades laced with poisoned frost, cutting down soldiers with terrifying precision. Screams pierced the chaos.

  Jarl Ingrid barely had time to react before one of them lunged from behind, dagger aimed for her throat. She twisted away just in time—but not unscathed. The blade sliced across her side, drawing blood.

  From atop the command post, Lord Aldric witnessed the ambush unfold. His eyes narrowed.

  “This isn’t just a battle,” he muttered.

  “It’s a distraction—they're targeting our commanders! Protect the war council!”

  Before his words finished echoing, a new figure stepped onto the battlefield. Clad in blackened armor, his presence radiated dread. His mask bore the ancient mark of the Zankoku warlords—the emblem of a kingdom long vanished but never forgotten.

  He spoke, his voice as cold and sharp as the northern winds.

  “We remember Aikyo’s sins… and now, Aetherion bears its guilt.”

  His twin blades shimmered in the frost, like fangs of vengeance drawn from the abyss.

  “Today, we begin your reckoning.”

  A blur of steel answered him. Lord Aldric charged forward, intercepting the warlord with a resounding clash.

  Heavy strikes met honed precision—brute strength against centuries of killing instinct. Yet Aldric’s experience and iron resolve held firm. Inch by inch, he pushed the warlord back, guiding the tide of battle by sheer will.

  The Zankoku ambush began to falter.

  The Zephyrian army, caught between fury and failure, broke formation and began to retreat—disorder spreading through their ranks like wildfire.

  Then came the roar— The Vintergard troops raised their war cry, a thunderous howl that shook the very sky.

  Their defiance echoed across the battlefield, across the frost, across the wounded earth.

  The Northern Border was safe— for now.

  But the war was far from over.

  —

  The Fall of the Southern Border

  At the same time as the northern war. The morning was cold, and the air was thick with tension. The southern border of Aetherion had been quiet for days, the enemy’s movements hidden behind a wall of storm clouds and dust.

  But the quiet before the storm never lasted long.

  Zephyros, along with the Zankoku remnants, had launched a full-scale offensive against the southern border, catching Aetherion off guard as their forces were split across multiple fronts. The Zephyrian Magitek artillery bombarded from a distance, while the Zankoku assassins moved unseen, their shadowy figures striking down strategic outposts and cutting through supply lines one after another.

  For the first time, Aetherion’s soldiers felt the sting of defeat. While Lord Aldric Frostbane, already hardened from the northern campaign, Grand Magister Lucius had been leading the defense at the southern front. The Aetherion army fought valiantly, their sword crashing through the enemy lines, mages launched devastating fire balls like a hell rain but still they were outnumbered.

  In a desperate attempt to hold the border, Grand Magister Lucius ordered a full retreat to their second defensive line, hoping to buy enough time to regroup their forces.

  But the Zankoku assassins had infiltrated their ranks, and Zephyros’ main force was too overwhelming. The southern defense crumbled, and with it, the hope of securing the border.

  Back in Aetherion’s capital, the royal court was already in chaos when the news reached them. Haruka, who had been overseeing reinforcements at the Iskandar Keep, was the first to arrive at the war council.

  “This cannot happen. We cannot let them win,” she growled.

  The room fell silent as Haruka’s voice boomed through the chamber. “We must act now or Aetherion will fall!”

  Hime, sitting calmly at the head of the table, held her gaze steady. “We’re already spread too thin. We can’t afford to send reinforcements to the south without weakening the frontlines elsewhere.”

  Haruka’s eyes flared. “Then we take action ourselves. We can’t just wait for them to crush us!”

  Hime raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a slight smile. “Perhaps it’s time we use our greatest weapon.”

  Hana, who had been sitting quietly, murmured with unease, “What do you mean by that?”

  “We have you, Hana,” Hime said softly. “You’re not just the Empress—you’re our greatest strength.”

  Hana’s eyes widened. “You want me to—fight?!”

  Haruka smirked. “You have the power to change the tide of battle. Use it.”

  Reluctantly, Hana agreed. The war council quickly decided to send reinforcements under Haruka’s leadership, and Hana, alongside Hime, prepared to lead the charge.

  As she donned her armor, Hana’s heart was heavy. She knew this wasn’t the peaceful life she had hoped for, but with the empire on the brink of collapse, she had no choice.

  At her side, Kurohazan and Uriel manifested. The legendary sword, shimmering in its blackened steel, glowed as it connected to her will. And her staff, Uriel, pulsed with divine light as it completed the divine set.

  Kurohazan’s eternal flame flickered ominously, and Hana could hear the sword whispering in her mind, urging her to take the offensive.

  With a deep breath, Hana turned toward the battlefield.

  —

  Southern Border – The Battle of Blood and Steel

  As Hana, Hime, and Haruka led the reinforcements to the southern border, the battle had already reached a climax. Grand Magister Lucius already did his best to hold the line but The Zankoku assassins had penetrated Aetherion’s inner defenses, killing off commanders, disrupting lines of communication, and sabotaging supply routes.

  Haruka’s soldiers were fighting valiantly, but the Zephyrian forces continued to pour in like a relentless tide, breaking down their defenses and leaving chaos in their wake.

  When Hana arrived on the frontlines, the scene was grim. Bloodied bodies lay scattered across the battlefield. The air was thick with the scent of charred wood, flesh, and steel.

  And then, in the middle of the madness—she entered the fray.

  Hana Unleashed one command “Rengoku!” As Hana unsheathed Kurohazan, the ground beneath her feet began to shudder, dark flame coiling around her. With a single strike, she cut through lines of enemies, the dark flame coursing through the air as reality itself bent in her wake.

  “Kami no sabaki (Divine Judgment!)” she cried, as Uriel, in her other hand, flared with radiant celestial energy.

  A massive explosion of light erupted from the sky, cleansing the battlefield of Zephyros' forces and blinding the Zankoku assassins. The soldiers around her paused, watching as the divine force manifested in front of them. They had never seen such raw power, such magnitude in one person.

  Hana moved like a storm, cutting through enemies with unmatched grace and fury. She swung Kurohazan again—dozens of Zephyrian soldiers were launched into the air, their formations unraveling under the weight of raw stormforce. Not to destroy, but to protect everything behind her. And still, the ground trembled in fear.

  Hana then turned her gaze upward, her golden eyes glowing brightly. “Now, it’s time to end this.”

  As she raised Kurohazan and Uriel together, the very air turned heavy—the sky cracked, and the earth shuddered beneath her feet. A deep tremor rippled through the battlefield, as if the world itself held its breath.

  Above, the heavens roared in answer, clouds swirling into a stormbound vortex of light and flame. Her eyes burned with unyielding fury.

  Then—she spoke. Only one command.

  “Ten no Ikari! (Heaven’s Wrath!)”

  A surge of blinding radiance intertwined with dark flame, coiling like celestial serpents as they tore through the sky. The blast struck the Zephyrian front lines with divine fury—

  the explosion swallowed the horizon.

  When the light faded, silence reigned. In the heart of the battlefield, a massive crater smoldered, blackened and glowing with lingering sparks.

  Just as Zephyros’s remaining forces began to retreat in disarray, Kurohazan's full dragon form descended from the stormlit skies. The heavens split with his arrival, the ground trembling beneath his presence. His scales shimmered black as the void, wings slicing through the clouds as he roared—a deafening sound that echoed across the war-torn plains.

  Moments later, Uriel appeared beside Hana, her divine wolf form glowing with celestial light. Her silver fur shimmered, swaying gently in the wind stirred by battle. Her eyes burned with righteous purpose.

  With a mighty roar, Kurohazan unleashed a blazing torrent of fire, melting Zephyros's siege weapons in seconds. Their once-formidable magitek artillery crumbled, reduced to rivers of molten slag. The dragon surged forward, tearing through enemy ranks with claws of ruin and fire-born wrath, his very presence shattering their formation.

  Meanwhile, Uriel dashed into the fray, her speed a blur of light and silver. With every strike of her claws, Zephyrian soldiers fell—cut down like shadows beneath the moon. Then she howled.

  The earth answered. Pillars of radiant light erupted from the ground, hurling enemy soldiers into the air like leaves in a storm. The very terrain had turned against them.

  The Zephyrian troops, once feared as an army in their own right, scattered in terror—realizing at last that they were no longer facing mortals, but forces of divine retribution.

  With the arrival of the Divine Beasts and Hana’s unrelenting fury, the remaining Zephyrian troops had only two choices—surrender or flee. And flee they did.

  The Southern Border was secured.

  Hana stood amidst the devastation—her clothes torn, her body covered in sweat and grime—but with the fire of victory burning in her eyes. She had fought with all her strength, with all her heart—and Aetherion had emerged victorious.

  But there would be no time for rest. The war was not over. The Zephyros Dominion still loomed, and Zankoku’s shadow remained. And Hana knew, deep down— This war was far from finished.

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