The cannons were lined up along the wall, with soldiers clad in orange battle gear and black fingerless gloves standing beside them. They held their weapons on their shoulders, their left knees resting on the ground and their right feet firmly planted. In their midst stood a man in a green uniform, also carrying his weapon on his shoulder, his gaze unwavering. The wall, circular in shape, encircled a space the size of a small city, barely allowing a view of the ground below. The sky above them was bathed in sunlight that had just emerged moments ago, and the only sound was a deep silence so profound it seemed they could hear their own heartbeats.

For six hours, they remained in this state, waiting for the impending event they had been preparing for over the years.

"They are late, Commander," one of the soldiers whispered anxiously to the green-clad leader, his face flushed with fear.

"Shut up! This is the moment we have been waiting for. The delay doesn't matter," the commander replied, his eyes fixed straight ahead. He continued, "This is the decisive moment. The lives of those behind us depend on us. Everything hinges on us. We must succeed, even if just this once."

His eyes widened with clear anger as he tightened his grip on his weapon. "Even if just this once."

The soldier looked at him with a mix of hope and fear, then turned his gaze forward and swallowed hard. "We hope so."

Minutes passed with the soldiers maintaining their stance. Some displayed a yearning for revenge, while others showed signs of exhaustion and despair. A few silently wept behind their weapons, trembling with fear.

Their attention was drawn by the sound of a shell being fired from one side of the wall towards the sky, followed by the commander's commanding shout:

"Death or life, both are freedom!"

The voices of all the soldiers echoed in a powerful chorus around the massive wall: "Death or life, both are freedom!"

Then the shells and weapons continued to fire rapidly towards their target. The target was a group of soldiers riding fast horses, wearing masks that concealed all but one eye emitting sparks of anger. Clad in black, they appeared like a mirage of bats. They carried shells on their shoulders, led by a single fighter in a red suit and black mask, riding a horse distinguished by its impressive size. Each fighter carried a shell on their right shoulder, holding it with one hand while the other held the reins, except for their red-clad leader, who carried a sword in its sheath behind his back.

The shells continued to bombard them as the commander yelled frantically, "Don't stop! Never stop! Keep targeting them. They won't succeed this time either."

The barrage of shells and missiles from the wall intensified against the approaching black-clad soldiers on their swift horses. It became clear to the defenders that they were failing; not a single black-clad soldier had fallen, while they closed in at an alarming speed.

"Sir, it's futile!" one of the soldiers cried out next to the commander, dropping his weapon and visibly terrified. He knelt and bowed his head in surrender, beginning to sob uncontrollably.

"What are you doing?" the commander shouted at him.

The soldier continued to cry like a child who had lost his mother, while others stopped firing at the masked soldiers and froze in place, signaling surrender.

The commander realized he could no longer convince his soldiers to fight one-on-one. The only thing left was for him to fight to the last breath and accept the outcome of the battle, whatever it might be.

The black army was now just meters from the wall. Another shell soared into the sky from behind them.

"The wall has collapsed to the south," the commander whispered to himself, feeling the weight of defeat.

The black army began their assault on the wall, hurling shells that penetrated the several-meter-thick structure. The commander knew the wall would soon be reduced to rubble.

"Everyone, fall back! Quickly!" the commander ordered with a hoarse voice from shouting in pain.

His orders were relayed among the soldiers as they began to descend one by one, each tightening the ropes tied to sturdy pegs on the wall and connected to their waists. The wall crumbled, stones falling one after another. Some sections were completely destroyed as soldiers struggled to retreat, with falling debris striking and killing some of them. Who would have thought that such small shells could bring down a wall of this magnitude?

Some soldiers reached the ground, discarding their heavy armor and belts and fleeing in terror. Others were killed by falling debris, while a few remained steadfast, waiting for the black soldiers to approach, their faces showing clear fear.

The commander reached the ground and signaled to the soldiers to retreat as they watched the black-clad soldiers advancing at a terrifying speed through the debris. The commander gripped his weapon for a final stand, and the others followed suit.

"At least we tried," he said with a strong voice, his teeth chattering with anger, "Perhaps we failed, but the rest will not. Future generations will not fail. They will not fail."

Suddenly, a soldier on horseback, moving at a speed almost equal to that of the black soldiers' horses, appeared in front of the commander. The only thing visible of him was a red cloak similar to that of the red-clad leader. Then he vanished into the swirling dust created by the wall's destruction, leaving their hearts filled with wonder and dread.

The black soldiers' ammunition surged towards them, creating a scene of overwhelming destruction in the blink of an eye.