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Jahrdrung-18-21-2492

The plan had worked well. Our scouts had clearly seen the Bretonnian army beginning to move south, no doubt alerted by their messengers that the Imperials had crossed the Grismerie and launched the offensive toward Quenelles. For them, stopping that attack was the priority, and they wasted no time in moving the bulk of their forces, leaving behind the peasants who could barely keep pace.

That was when I saw the opportunity. With the Bretonnians gone, I marched north immediately with my personal forces—around eighteen thousand men—and borrowed every cannon I could from the Imperial army. This time, there was no need to rely on my gifts of Chamon; better that the siege be won with powder and steel, without arousing suspicion with every miracle that opened the walls for us.

The advance was swift. Every village we passed through was nothing but a ghost town. These were settlements already ravaged by earlier raids—empty houses, collapsing roofs, nothing left but rotten husks of what had once been Bretonnian hamlets. At times, they had served as temporary shelters for their rearguard, but now all that remained were blackened stones and rotting beams.

Every bridge we found was destroyed one by one. Wooden ones went up in flames within minutes; stone ones were reduced to rubble under cannon fire, their remains dragged away by the current. I would leave no crossing behind us. The Grismerie would be a wall of water between the city and any reinforcements.

After two days of uninterrupted marching, we stood before the jewel: Gisoreux. The city rose solid and proud, but we outnumbered it five to one. It was only a matter of time. I immediately sent detachments to secure its three gates and ordered the bridges linking it to Bastonne and Artois destroyed, leaving the city completely isolated.

We wasted no time. The camp went up—palisades, watchtowers, and positions for sixty cannons, all aimed at the same section of wall. We also raised assault ladders on purpose, so the defenders would think we planned a frontal attack and concentrate their men there. When I saw them crowding the walls, I gave the order.

The thunder of the cannons shook the earth. Shot after shot slammed not only into the stone but into the packed defenders on the battlements as well. With a little aid from my magic, the projectiles struck true, tearing through the wall guards who could barely respond. I saw bodies hurled from eight meters up, breaking against the ground, others crushed under falling masonry. For hours the bombardment was relentless. The air reeked of gunpowder, mingled with the screams of Bretonnians tumbling from the walls.

"Good. Punish those walls," I ordered the Nuln gunners, who answered with discipline, loading and firing without pause. Slowly, the stone began to crack, though to my surprise the walls still stood.

I frowned, incredulous. "How in Sigmar's name are they still standing after such a pounding?"

That was when I felt it. A magical presence—no, several. I extended my hand and called for a spyglass. When I looked into the city, my suspicion was confirmed: four glowing auras within. Cursed Bretonnian sorceresses.

I saw clearly as massive roots burst from the earth and gripped the walls, holding the stone together like colossal arms, keeping them steady despite the fractures. They weren't trying to defeat us; they only meant to stall for as long as possible.

"Damn it…" I muttered. "There are witches inside the city, and they won't let those walls fall. They're trying to buy time for Bretonnia's main host to return and break the siege." I lowered the spyglass, cursing under my breath.

I thought of a quick solution. I could have tried to strangle them with my power, but the four were too close together. Killing them all at once was impossible—one counterspell would ruin the attempt.

So I chose something greater, something none of them could stop. I closed my eyes and began to trace the earth beneath Gisoreux. After a few moments, I found it: a mineral vein running under part of the city. Not vast, but enough for my purpose.

I made it vibrate, fracturing the rock, heating it until it began to melt and weaken the hidden foundations of the city. Then I felt it—more than stone, a cavity beneath Gisoreux. The vibrations spread, and the ground began to roar.

The horses screamed as if Morr himself stood before them. Some soldiers fell to their knees, others lifted their eyes to the sky, thinking it divine punishment. The roar of the earth surrounded us.

The walls shook, cannons rattled in their carriages, and my men stared at me with terror in their eyes. Slowly, we watched entire streets split open, buildings collapsing, and part of the city beginning to sink. That was what I wanted: an entire section of wall crumbled, though part of the ditch filled with the same soil and stone torn down by the tremor.

"Sigmar's blood, what the hell was that!" one of my men shouted, eyes fixed on the city as whole houses vanished under clouds of dust.

Suddenly, I felt two of the magical presences vanish. I sought their traces and found them buried under tons of rubble, blood seeping beneath the ruins of a fallen castle tower that had blocked one of the inner roads. The other two sorceresses still lived, struggling to aid their entombed companions.

"Don't waste this chance! Clear the rubble from the wall and prepare an entry into the city. Bring mantlets forward and advance in small groups!" I ordered.

My men split into firing squads, pushing forward reinforced wooden shields that four soldiers lifted like giant walls, shielding themselves from the arrows that still fell from the battlements.

Despite the chaos within Gisoreux, the fires, and the collapsing buildings, the defenders clung to their walls with fanatic resolve, fighting as though it did not matter that half their district was burning or buried under their feet.

Our musketeers managed to get close enough to the walls to begin harassing the defenders in a constant duel of projectiles. Meanwhile, we started to shift part of the siege camp, moving the cannons into new positions and trying to get them back into service as quickly as possible.

The exchange of fire never ceased. Lead balls whistled against the battlements as we continued to advance little by little. Inside the city, the sorceresses began to act against us, though they didn't seem intent on destroying us directly. Instead, they used their power to bolster the morale and endurance of the Bretonnian warriors, pouring all their magic into them.

Even so, we slowly gained the upper hand. More and more defenders fell from the walls pierced by gunfire, and many survivors began retreating to deal with the fires consuming entire districts inside the city. The blaze, sparked by the tremor I had caused, spread uncontrollably through the wooden houses, devouring everything in its path.

That forced the Grail Damsels to shift their magic from the warriors to the flames, desperately trying to put them out. Without their support, the Bretonnians began to falter, abandoning the walls and leaving them nearly undefended.

We did not waste the chance. At once, we began clearing rubble from the breach. Men and beasts worked tirelessly, hauling stone after stone. Smoke from the burning city mixed with the dust of shattered walls. If we didn't break through before nightfall, the Bretonnians would build barricades inside the city, forcing us into street fighting that could drag on for days—costing far more lives. But I couldn't demand more of my men, exhausted after a day of marching, construction, and now the siege.

At last, we cleared enough space to make an entry. We formed columns and began moving into the city. The first line took defensive positions inside merchant houses, their windows offering ideal vantage points to fire into the streets. Slowly, we secured the first blocks.

Urban fighting erupted quickly. It reminded me of Marienburg, though much simpler. The Bretonnians had only bows, and those arrows I could deflect with a mere gesture, while my men's weapons were vastly superior. The echo of muskets thundered down every alley, and the smell of powder mixed with the smoke of the fires.

The sun was nearly set and the fighting still raged. I pushed my men to keep pressing; I couldn't allow the battle to drag into another day of siege. The defenders fell back step by step, searching for stronger positions where they could rally, but it was clear their line was breaking.

Then I saw her. One of the Grail Damsels appeared in the midst of the fray, leading the defense. Ten Grail Knights surrounded her, dismounted, forming a circle of steel to guard her. She raised her hands and began to cast.

I was faster. Alone, she was an easy target for me. I closed my will around her throat. I saw her clutch desperately at her own collar as it dug into her flesh, her lips whispering prayers that would never be heard. Her eyes widened, her magic unraveled in sparks, and she dropped to her knees, kicking weakly until she collapsed lifeless on the ground.

There was no time to waste. I placed my best soldiers for a decisive assault: five hundred men, all armed with muskets, runic armor, and runic steel blades, formed in three tight lines down one of the main avenues of Gisoreux. Ahead of them, the Bretonnian redoubts, still resisting with fury.

The column advanced with flawless discipline. The earth rumbled with the steady, unified march of five hundred boots, men shoulder to shoulder, their rhythm unbroken. Arrows rained from the rooftops, but they bounced off the runic plates as if they were twigs.

The Grail Knights, seeing the threat, charged in desperation, crying out the name of their Lady. They surged like a wave of steel and faith, determined to shatter our line.

"Fire!"

The three ranks of musketeers halted, aimed in unison, and pulled their triggers all at once. The detonation was deafening, a single blast that split the evening in two. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of Bretonnians fell in an instant. Horses collapsed, men riddled with shot, the front line of their charge dissolved as though it had slammed into an invisible wall.

"For the Empire and for Sigmar!" I shouted, raising my runic sword, gleaming in the fading light.

And we charged. My men surged forward in fury against the disoriented Bretonnians, who could scarcely comprehend what had just happened to their ranks. Imperial discipline and steel hammered down upon their confusion.

The defenders tried to regroup once more, but were struck with brutal force. The runic steel of my men cut through Bretonnian armor like butter, carving paths through their resistance with ease. We surrounded the Grail Knights, who still fought with monstrous strength. Each one could hold their ground against several warriors at once, but now they faced seasoned soldiers, armed with runic swords, protected by armor as fine—or finer—than the Lady's chosen.

I cut down three Bretonnian peasants who stumbled into my path. Then I hurled myself with animal fury at a Grail Knight already locked against three of my men. My sword met his in a brutal clash that shook the air. He blocked my thrust, barely dodging the strikes of my soldiers, but he had no time to react when I slammed my boot into his foot. He toppled backward with a crash of steel, and in an instant my men pounced on him. They pinned his arms and legs like hounds, while one drove a dagger straight through the visor, piercing his eye.

The knight writhed like a maddened beast, kicking and roaring, until blood poured from his helm and his movements ceased.

The scene repeated again and again. My soldiers hurled themselves en masse against the Grail Knights, dragging them down amidst screams and steel. Others rammed into them with their bodies, tackling them, while sheer numbers did the rest. Each knight had to fight ten men at once, some pinning their arms and legs, others forcing daggers into the joints of their armor or even into their throats, shoving the blades deep beneath their helms.

The remaining defenders, seeing the Lady's chosen fall, began to flee, while the rest of my army spread through the city, hunting down survivors. Yet no matter how hard we searched, we never found the last Grail Damsel. It seemed she had escaped.

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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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