The imposing two-story structure of the town hall lood over the town square, its foundation hewn from solid marble, its exterior walls crafted from stones quarried from the legendary Mount Roca. These ancient walls, weathered by ti and battle, bore silent witness to the shifting tides of power.
Inside, the second floor housed ten rooms, while the ground level featured a vast central hall flanked by six chambers, were the towns people do their business. A hidden dungeon, accessible only through a narrow, dimly lit stairwell in the rear, had long been a place of whispered fear—a prison for the town’s secrets, betrayals, and sins.
Carles and the neighboring town of Aplaya stood among the wealthiest settlents in all of Estalis and Northem, their fortunes built upon the twin treasures of the land and sea. Mount Roca yielded veins of gleaming marble and precious stones, while the bountiful Orient Sea lured foreign rchants to its shores every dry season, their ships heavy with trade goods. These riches made Carles a coveted prize in the long war between Estalis and Northem.
It was for this reason that Mayor Roder Fuerte pledged his allegiance to Estalis, bargaining with the kingdom for power. The King of Estalis made an irresistible offer—if Carles joined Estalis, it would be granted autonomy, a self-governing region under Fuerte’s rule but still part of the kingdom. It was a taste of sovereignty too tempting to refuse.
The Mayor, who tasted power and autonomy, and blinded by ambition, agreed without hesitation and sealed his fate. Who did not want power?
But power is a fickle ally. The tides of war shifted once more, and the twenty-four towns that Estalis had claid along the foot of the Alta-Sierra mountain range were wrenched back into Northem’s grasp over the past two years.
Fuerte’s private army, nurtured since the day he took office three years prior, was no match for the hardened warriors of Northem. Desperate, he turned to the shadows—secretly forging alliances with the bandits, the rebels and the rcenary forces of Zura.
Yesterday, as Estalis’ grip crumbled and their soldiers surrendered, the mayor erged unscathed, striding into the town hall to welco General Odin and the victorious Northem soldiers. After all, he was still the mayor of Carles—now under the rule of King Heimdal of Northem.
On the surface he showed allegiance to the King of Northem but in reality, he wanted to break free and declare himself as the autonomous ruler of Carles.
...
That evening, General Odin convened with his five commanders in the central hall, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows upon the stone walls. Outside, against the jagged silhouette of Mount Roca, the building stood defiant, enclosed by sturdy wooden fences rising two ters high. Three gates punctuated its periter—the Eastern Gate, the main entrance, and two flanking Southern and Northern Gates.
"If the worst cos to pass, we escape through the western walls to Mount Roca," Odin declared, his voice steady. "Lieutenant Cobar, take fifty n and secure that position. If we are forced to flee, I will not risk an ambush awaiting us."
Cobar nodded without hesitation. Though he had always fought at the vanguard, he knew that securing their retreat was no lesser task. A soldier’s duty was not always to charge forward—sotis, it was to ensure survival. He trusted the decision of his general and he would not question it no matter what.
Later that night, Cobar understood why Odin had entrusted him with this task. More than a hundred figures lurked in the darkness beyond the southern walls—not soldiers, but bandits. These were not warriors of Estalis, but scavengers of war, slavers and thieves who had long plagued Northem’s borders, trading in human lives.
Besides fighting lee battles, he also specialized in secretly neutralizing their enemies before they realized what happened.
Cobar and his fifty n moved like shadows, striking with lethal precision. The bandits fell soundlessly, their deaths unnoticed by the night. Not a single Northem soldier fell in the skirmish.
A satisfied smirk played on Cobar’s lips.
His deputy, crouched beside him in the brush, exhaled sharply. "Commander, I thought General Odin had lost faith in you. I nearly protested when he sent you to guard the rear. I was not reconciled."
Cobar’s gaze remained steady. "Never question General Odin. He is a war veteran, a renowned strategist."
The deputy nodded. "His instincts were spot on." He paused as if troubled by sothing. "I still don’t understand—why would Estalis stoop so low to turn to bandits to fight their war?"
Cobar’s expression darkened. "Desperation. But this works to our advantage—we’ve rid ourselves of two enemies tonight. These bastards have plagued Northem long enough, so it is like hitting two birds with one stone."
...
At midnight, when the half-moon was veiled behind thick clouds, the town of Carles was swallowed by darkness. It was then that the soldiers of Estalis made their move.
Under the cover of night, they crept toward the town hall. The three gates stood open—left unlatched by town hall attendants who had been bribed or coerced. Confidence brimming, the enemy soldiers scaled the walls and slipped through windows, fifty more crawling through an underground tunnel.
The last man to erge from the tunnel froze in horror. Before him, his comrades—gagged, bound, and utterly defeated—lay in rows against the cold stone walls of the dungeon. Before he could react, Northem soldiers stord in.
A heavy clang echoed through the chamber as an iron door, repurposed from one of the cells, slamd down over the tunnel entrance, sealing them in. The bound Estalis soldiers were tossed into the cell like lambs to be slaughtered.
"How could this be? Didn’t the commander say this is an easy win as the enemies were incapacitated?"
Panic surged through the last soldier as he scrambled to untie his comrades. "What happened?!" he demanded, his voice a hushed hiss.
Their leader cursed. "Damn it! We were deceived! Those Northem soldiers—they were never incapacitated. It is a trap!"
He glanced around at the cramped space, packed shoulder to shoulder with his n. Escape seed impossible.
"Find a way to move this door," he ordered. "We have to crawl back out—"
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