As the meeting concluded, the room gradually emptied. Officers and marines left their positions, some heading to transport ships for preparations, while others made their way to the armory for a final check on their equipment. Yet, one voice still echoed in the main corridor—Ragner's, his decisive footsteps leading the troops gathered in the open field of the base.
From a distance, Isvel leaned against a stone pillar, her eyes watching with a neutral expression, bordering on boredom. But beneath her indifferent demeanor, her mind worked quickly, analyzing everything she observed.
Ragner stood atop a small wooden platform overlooking his troops. The cold sea breeze swept across the field, carrying the salty scent of the nearby dock. With his hands on his hips and his posture upright, he surveyed the faces of the marines and soldiers standing at attention. Behind him, the warship Sovershennyy loomed majestically over the water, a symbol of the power backing every word he was about to say.
"Listen carefully, all of you!" Ragner's voice boomed, filled with energy that stirred the crowd. "Today is not just about attacking a small town. It's about showing this world who we are and who we follow!"
He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the troops, ensuring he had their undivided attention.
"Director Cero," he continued, his tone growing more fervent, "is not just a leader who brought us to this new world, but one who gave us purpose. He's not merely a commander—he is the reason we stand here today. Without him, we would be lost souls. But with him, we are a force destined to carve a new history!"
A few marines cheered, raising their weapons high. Ragner pressed on, his tone becoming increasingly fiery.
"He is not just a leader. He is a symbol! A symbol of strength, intelligence, and courage! And today, we fight not for a minor victory. We fight for the grand vision he has instilled in all of us!"
From her vantage point, Isvel tilted her head slightly, observing the crowd with her usual detached gaze. But in her eyes lay a flicker of profound curiosity.
"Fanaticism," she murmured softly, her voice barely audible even to herself. "Not just loyalty… it's more than that."
A guard standing nearby glanced at her but remained silent. Isvel leaned back against the pillar again, her eyes returning to Ragner. She recognized that speeches like this were more than mere morale boosters. They were subtle indoctrination—turning respect into reverence, and reverence into fervent devotion.
She smirked faintly, though a trace of cynicism curled at the corner of her lips. "Fascinating," she whispered again. "A leader who doesn't just command but creates a cult of personality around him."
As Ragner's speech continued, a young marine serving as a translator approached Isvel. His face was eager, though he tried to maintain a professional demeanor.
"Lady Isvel," he began politely, "what do you think of the speech?"
Isvel glanced at him with a sharp gaze before offering a faint smile. "A good speech," she replied. "It stirs the spirit, instills confidence… That's its purpose, isn't it?"
The marine nodded. "Ragner is extremely loyal to Director Cero. Everyone here is—"
"Not just loyal," Isvel interrupted gently, her words cutting with precision. "You don't just follow Cero. You worship him."
The young marine looked slightly unsettled but tried to hide his discomfort. "Cero gave us direction. He gave us a vision. Of course, we respect him."
"Respect, huh?" Isvel chuckled softly. "Of course. You know, fanaticism is a double-edged sword. It can be a great strength… or a devastating weakness if misdirected."
The marine seemed unsure how to respond, so he simply saluted and walked away, leaving Isvel to return her gaze to Ragner's speech.
In his modest yet well-appointed office, Baron Valric sat in a large wooden chair adorned with the crest of his family. The sunlight streaming through the grand window behind him illuminated the maps and documents scattered across his desk. He felt a rare moment of contentment that day; the month's mining revenue was stable, and there were no reports of trouble from his guards.
He lifted a porcelain teacup, savoring the warmth as he took a slow sip. His heart was calm—a rare luxury in his life as a local lord. But the tranquility didn't last long.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion shook the ground, rattling the office walls. Baron Valric jolted, the teacup slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor. He was thrown from his chair, landing heavily on the wooden planks. Shards of glass rained down from the shattered window, and a sudden gust of cold air carried the acrid scent of smoke and dust into the room.
"What's happening?!" Valric shouted in panic, scrambling to his feet. He reached for the bell on his desk, ringing it furiously to summon his guards. But no one came. The distant sounds of screams began to echo, mingling with the frantic clatter of running footsteps and sharp commands.
"An attack?" he muttered, his face paling. "But… who?"
In the small market square at the town's center, life proceeded as usual. Fruit vendors called out their wares, children dashed around the stalls, and the rhythmic hammering of the blacksmith echoed in the air. The people of Dralven were accustomed to this routine, feeling safe even as they lived in a small, often-overlooked territory.
But everything changed in an instant.
BOOM!
The first explosion obliterated the watchtower at the town's gate. Fragments of stone rained down, striking stalls and unsuspecting civilians. Panic erupted as screams filled the air. People scattered in every direction, desperate to find shelter.
A young woman clutched her child tightly, tears streaming down her face as she cried out, "Run! Quickly!" She pushed the child forward. An old man stumbled, his leg wounded by shards of wood, crying out for help. Smoke began to fill the air, transforming the once-peaceful market into a scene of chaos.
Some residents fled toward the town hall, hoping the guards could protect them. But before they could arrive, the sound of gunfire erupted from the direction of the gate.
Sergeant Liam led the main force down the central road toward the heart of the town. His expression was cold, his focus unshaken. Behind him, marines moved in flawless formation, weapons raised, eyes scanning every corner with practiced vigilance.
"Neutralize targets. No civilian casualties unless absolutely necessary," Liam said calmly through his radio.
As they approached the market, the screams and sobs grew louder. The marines remained unaffected, their steps steady and deliberate. One of them, a younger soldier, hesitated slightly as he spotted a woman injured in the street, clutching her crying child.
"Sergeant, that woman—"
"Focus on the mission," Liam cut him off sharply. "Evacuation is another team's responsibility."
The young soldier clenched his jaw but pressed forward, leaving the woman and her child behind. The other marines continued their advance, clearing the path with precise gunfire. Any guards who attempted resistance were forced to retreat deeper into the town's center.
At the town hall, Baron Valric had finally managed to gather a small number of the remaining guards. They stood in a defensive formation, though it was evident they were outnumbered and outgunned.
"Hold your ground!" Valric shouted, gripping his sword tightly, though his trembling hands betrayed his fear. "This is our land! Don't let them take it!"
But their resolve faltered as the hall's heavy doors exploded inward. Marines entered in a disciplined formation, their weapons trained on the guards. The ensuing skirmish was brief—modern weaponry swiftly overwhelmed the meager resistance.
Baron Valric found himself cornered, his back pressed against the cold stone wall. His breath came in ragged gasps as he surveyed the carnage. His guards lay sprawled on the floor, lifeless. One of the marines raised his rifle, aiming directly at Valric.
Before the trigger could be pulled, Sergeant Liam raised a hand sharply. "No," he ordered. "He's to be interrogated."
The marine lowered his weapon. Liam stepped forward, his expression as unyielding as ever. "Baron Valric, by the authority of Director Arcana Cero, this territory is now under our control. Cooperate, and your life may yet be spared."
Valric, pale and trembling, could only nod. The realization of his hopeless situation had left him mute. Any further resistance would be tantamount to suicide.
Outside, the once-peaceful town was now a desolate battlefield. The market lay in ruins, stalls and carts reduced to rubble. The streets were littered with debris, and the acrid scent of smoke lingered in the air. Survivors knelt amidst the devastation, their hands raised in surrender, silently pleading not to be mistaken for threats.
A woman sobbed uncontrollably, clutching the lifeless body of her husband who had been caught in the crossfire. Nearby, children sat in stunned silence, their eyes vacant as they stared at the destruction around them.
The marines moved with detached efficiency, securing the area without acknowledging the suffering of the townspeople. Sergeant Liam issued orders for the remaining civilians to be gathered in a designated safe zone while another team began evacuating the injured and dead.
Liam's voice was calm but commanding as he relayed the final objective: to ensure the town's complete subjugation under Cero's rule. The emotional toll on the civilians was irrelevant. For the marines, the mission was everything. The cost—human or otherwise—was a necessary consequence of conquest.