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"General," the Lord says, leaning slightly closer, his voice quiet but penetrating Morsh's very consciousness. "At dawn tomorrow, when the first rays of the sun touch the walls, my troops will begin their assault. It will look like the most ferocious onslaught the Emperor has ever seen."
"When my mortars begin to fire, and my grenadiers throw smoke grenades to conceal what is truly happening, your task is to neutralize the key defensive points in your sector," the Lord says. "Remove the sentries, divert the troops loyal to the Sultan, create corridors."
"At that very moment, General, open the gates that appear most fortified to the Emperor, or the ones he has already tried to take," the Lord continues. "This will create the impression that we have broken through the strongest part of the defense."
"Your men, those loyal to you, must create the appearance of fierce but quickly fading resistance," he instructs Morsh. "Let the imperials believe they have broken their will, but without suffering heavy losses themselves."
"When my 'Legion of the Dead' and 'Death Squads' enter the city through the gates you've opened and the corridors you've created, they will meet no organized resistance. We will move directly to the citadel to capture Sultan Achim, if he has not already fled."
Morsh ibn Ska nods, his face alight with understanding and anticipation. He sees his path to power. The Lord hands him signal flares—green to confirm readiness, red if unforeseen problems arise.
The next dawn, as fog still clung to the ground, the imperial camp waited in suspense. Suddenly, from the Lord's position, the sky above the city was lit up by mortar flashes, followed by plumes of thick, acrid smoke spewed by his grenadiers. The smoke quickly enveloped the breaches in the walls and the approaches to them, concealing the precise movement of his troops.
Under the cover of the smokescreen, the Lord's forces advanced. It was not a reckless assault, but a carefully calculated, lightning-fast incursion. In the shadow of the smoke, General Morsh ibn Ska had already put his plan into action. Suddenly, one of the massive gates that the imperials had futilely tried to breach creaked open. Inside, through the smoke and confusion, only retreating figures and minor skirmishes, meant to feign resistance, were visible.
The "Legion of the Dead," a monolithic, silent avalanche, poured into the opened passage. They were followed by the "Death Squads," their silhouettes barely discernible in the smoke. They moved swiftly, without a single shot or shout, straight to the heart of the city—to the Sultan's citadel. The resistance was minimal, almost nonexistent—only a few disoriented defenders who had not understood what was happening or were not part of the conspiracy.
The imperial forces finally rushed into the breaches, trying to keep up with the Lord's speed, but the smoke and the rapid advance of his forces hid the true picture of events from them. To them, it was the fierce, lightning-fast assault they had been waiting for, led by his mysterious and mighty army. The city was falling not to brute force, but to a carefully constructed intrigue. The Lord saw this and knew that every drop of sweat, every strategic move, every piece of knowledge gained from the Spear, had led him to this moment.
The smoke cleared over the battlefield, revealing the scene of a surprisingly swift and "victorious" culmination of the siege. The Lord's troops—the "Legion of the Dead" and the "Death Squads"—having suffered no significant losses, had secured the citadel, which Sultan Achim had left empty, having fled just as General Morsh ibn Ska had predicted. His escape was undoubtedly facilitated, or even organized, by the subversive work of the Thieves' Guild and men loyal to General Morsh.
The Emperor, whose forces had been decimated in endless and fruitless assaults, suffering enormous losses, was stunned by the Lord's lightning-fast effectiveness. He, of course, suspected nothing of the carefully planned betrayal. To him, it looked like a sudden and devastating strike by the Lord’s enigmatic army, which, with its mere appearance and a decisive (smoke-shrouded) assault, had turned the tide of the entire campaign. He could not understand how it had been achieved with such ease and with minimal losses for the Lord, but the result was clear: the city had fallen.
Unwilling to show his weakness and inability to take the city on his own, and seeing that the "infidels" had been "punished" (though not in the way he had imagined), the Emperor, his face weary but striving to appear triumphant, immediately declared that the goal of the Crusade had been achieved. He proclaimed a great victory, gave thanks to the gods, and, to the delight of his exhausted troops, announced: "It is time to go home!" His battered and weary army, relieved, prepared for the journey back, leaving behind a ruined but now "conquered" city.
The plan worked flawlessly. The Lord of the North had not only achieved his goal but had done so with minimal losses. His elite troops—the "Legion of the Dead" and the "Death Squads"—emerged from the campaign almost without a scratch. While the imperial forces had paid for the siege with blood and tens of thousands of lives, the Lord's army, stationed on the high ground, had preserved its strength and combat readiness.
Sultan Achim had fled, and his power had collapsed. The city surrendered, avoiding the bloody assault and plunder that would have surely followed had it fallen to the imperials. Instead, the city came under the Lord’s shadow control. Now governed by General Morsh ibn Ska, it became a loyal vassal, a source of resources and information, and another node in his growing "shadow empire."
Although the Emperor did not fully grasp the extent of the Lord's cunning, he was forced to acknowledge his decisive role in the city's fall. This raised the Lord's prestige and increased the Emperor's dependence on him. To everyone, it looked like a triumph and proof that the Lord of the North was not merely a vassal, but a power to be reckoned with.
The Lord of the North watched the departing imperial troops with a sense of deep satisfaction. Another facet of his pragmatism and strategic genius had been brilliantly displayed. The Sultanate's city was his, without a single major battle, thanks to the power of his intellect and the Spear of Longinus.
General Morsh ibn Ska is not a puppet, but rather a temporary, situational ally. He is a pragmatist, like the Lord, and his actions are dictated by personal gain and the pursuit of power, not blind devotion. His loyalty will last only as long as it is beneficial to him. He got what he wanted—control over the city—and now his interests may diverge from the Lord's. This is an important nuance that must be considered in his future strategy.
So, the Emperor has left, leaving the city in the hands of General Morsh. The Lord's troops, having occupied the citadel, now effectively control its key points. The city, exhausted by the siege, is slowly recovering under its new authority.
The Lord of the North immediately gives an order. Now that the city is in his hands and the Emperor is leaving, it is time to extract the maximum benefit from it, starting with what interests him most—new technologies. Of particular interest to the Lord are the poisons for which the Sultanate was so famous. He has always relied on pragmatism and science, and these deadly substances, despite their sinister reputation, are first and foremost a matter of chemistry, a subject for study and application.
On the Lord's command, the "Legion of the Dead" and the "Death Squads" thoroughly search the occupied citadel. Their methodical and disciplined approach ensures that no corner is left unexamined. They comb through every corridor, every room, every hiding place. Special attention is paid to laboratories, warehouses, the personal chambers of the Sultan and his confidants, and any places where state secrets might have been stored. The Lord's warriors are searching not only for the poisons themselves but also for recipes, alchemical formulas, and records of their production and use. Perhaps they will even find captive alchemists or scientists of the Sultanate who can shed light on these secrets. The citadel, despite the Sultan's hasty flight, holds many secrets, and now the Lord's most effective forces are busy uncovering them.
While General Morsh ibn Ska, in accordance with their unspoken agreement, is actively engaged in restoring order in the streets of the besieged city, asserting his new, albeit temporary, authority, the Lord's troops in the citadel are working with their customary thoroughness. In abandoned but not yet looted laboratories or secret vaults hidden deep beneath the Sultan's palace, his warriors discover something priceless. It is not heaps of gold, but a find far more interesting to the Lord: the complete formula for the "Tarantula" poison.
The Lord examines the scrolls or records, possibly written in a foreign language, but thanks to the Spear of Longinus, whose stream of knowledge continues to enrich his mind, he intuitively or directly begins to understand the complex alchemical or chemical symbols and processes. This is not just a legendary poison; it is the key to a whole new field of lethal technology. Its reputation was undoubtedly based on its speed, the agony it caused, or perhaps its lack of obvious traces. The discovery of the "Tarantula" formula is proof of the Lord's pragmatic approach: he has found real, tangible knowledge that can be studied, reproduced, and used.
The Lord of the North overlooks no aspect of victory. In addition to the precious poison formula, his troops, acting on his orders while General Morsh is busy restoring order, also take some of the Sultan's concubines. Taking the enemy's women is an ancient symbol of the complete subjugation and deposition of a foe. This is not just a trophy, but part of the Lord's triumph, a demonstration that the Sultan's power has been utterly destroyed. The concubines could be more than just slaves; they might be valuable assets. They could be keepers of secrets, informants, or even possess certain skills or connections. Given his pragmatic approach, the Lord likely sees them not merely as women, but as a potential source of valuable information and influence, yet to be unlocked.
So, the citadel is under the Lord's control. The formula for the "Tarantula" poison is in his hands, and part of the Sultan's harem is now his.
The Lord of the North made a decision that perfectly aligns with his pragmatism and strategic genius. He has nothing more to do in this city. He has gotten what he came for: the "Tarantula" poison formula is in his possession, he has demonstrated his overwhelming power to the Emperor, and he has a new, albeit temporary, ally in General Morsh ibn Ska, who will now govern this important city.
The next day, with the imperial forces already having left the Sultanate's borders on their way home, the Lord gives the order to move out. Without ceremony, without bidding farewell to the imperial command, his troops—the "Legion of the Dead" and the "Death Squads"—depart from the city.
General Morsh ibn Ska, standing at the gates, watched the Lord's departure. In his eyes was a mixture of relief, wariness, and the undeniable sense of power he had just gained thanks to the Lord. He knew he was now the sole governor, but he also understood that this power rested on the Lord's tacit support and unpredictable might. The Lord left no garrisons behind, demanded no open oaths of fealty, but his departure was in itself a demonstration of trust and a reminder of his strength.
The Lord, with his elite troops who had suffered no losses, laden with valuable finds and new knowledge, sets off back to his impregnable "Honey Mug." The victory in the Crusade, though formally attributed to the Emperor, was in fact his personal triumph, expanding the influence of his Mountain Empire far beyond its borders and establishing him as a true shadow sovereign.
The army of the Lord of the North, hardened in battle and burdened with new secrets, moved slowly across the endless sands, leaving the dusty mirages of the Sultanate behind. The Spear of Longinus, securely fastened but palpably pulsating with invisible energy, acted like a beacon, attracting not only attention but also something far more ancient and sinister.
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