In the heart of the Bido Kingdom, within the towering royal palace of the capital, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation and tension. The palace's golden walls couldn't conceal the frailty that had overtaken King Alexander Bido. The king sat on his throne, his body gaunt, his face pale, his eyes bearing the marks of a terminal illness consuming his strength. His silence weighed heavily on the hall as his three children stood before him, awaiting words that could change the kingdom's fate.
To the king's right stood Prince Leo, Duke of Serali, 28 years old. Leo possessed vast southern lands and commanded his own forces. Broad-shouldered with sharp features and black eyes reflecting wild ambition, he saw himself as the rightful heir and despised his younger brother.
To the king's left stood Prince Geral, Duke of Qiritha, 25 years old. Ruling western territories with his own army, Geral was leaner than his brother but possessed keen intelligence and a sharp tongue. He loathed Leo, believing his own intellect made him more worthy of the throne.
Their rivalry was an open secret at court, evident in every word, glance, and gesture. Each awaited the moment their father would name his successor, each fearing the other might be chosen.
Behind them stood seventeen-year-old Princess Lira, different from her brothers. Disinterested in politics or throne conflicts, she was a natural warrior whose sword skills surpassed many knights. Preferring training grounds or forests to court intrigues, she wore practical clothes with a sword at her waist, her green eyes reflecting an untamed spirit. She watched her brothers with weary eyes, wishing their conflict would end.
"Father..." Leo began, his voice carrying feigned respect, "The kingdom is in danger. Friedrich's rebellion grows while Yannis's forces retreat. We need a strong leader for these dire times."
"Strength isn't everything, brother," Geral interrupted sharply. "Wisdom and strategy are what we need now. Friedrich's army is massive—muscle alone won't defeat it."
"Do you think your cleverness can stop 45,000 soldiers, Geral?" Leo mocked.
"Enough!" King Alexander's weak voice still carried royal authority. "I'll have no more of this rivalry. The kingdom crumbles while you squabble over a throne I haven't relinquished!"
The king sighed deeply, exhaustion evident. He hesitated to appoint any heir, loving all his children equally and dreading a bloody succession war after his death. He dreamed of their peaceful coexistence, but reality was far different.
"My lords," the king said, his eyes moving between his sons, "I've heard of Miradny's fall and Yannis's retreat. The situation is grave. We must unite. I will consider this matter. Leave me now."
The three bowed and departed. Lira hastened to the training grounds while Leo and Geral exchanged veiled hateful glances, each secretly plotting how to outmaneuver the other.
In Kisor: Fortress of Hope
Meanwhile in Kisor, three weeks had passed since the Battle of Givari and Miradny's fall. The town had transformed into a massive beehive of activity under Zidan's leadership.
Kisor's active soldiers now numbered 3,600—a staggering increase resulting from refugees finding safety and generosity in Kisor, many joining the army. Training camps buzzed with recruits drilling alongside veterans, mastering modern formations and benefiting from improved nutrition.
"Sifara, how goes the new recruits' training?" Zidan asked during an inspection.
"Exceptionally well, Lord Baron!" Sifara answered, eyes shining with pride. "The recruits are highly motivated, seeing how we care for them and how they've grown stronger and more disciplined. They've integrated seamlessly with veterans. Though still outnumbered by Friedrich's forces, our troops are far more effective. Kisor's 3,600 could face a much larger army."
"That's what I want, Sifara," Zidan said. "True strength lies not just in numbers but in training, discipline, and morale. Keep pushing them. The great battle is inevitable."
The army wasn't alone in growing. Refugee numbers had swelled to 25,000, their camps spreading across southern Kisor into a massive tent city.
"Javier, how are we managing this influx?" Zidan asked while reviewing camp maps with his steward.
Javier sighed—this time not in despair but exhausted satisfaction. "It's extremely difficult, Lord Baron, but we're managing. The new crops, thanks to fertilizer, provide enormous food supplies. We've begun cultivating more land around the camps. A strict distribution system ensures everyone gets fed."
"And sanitation? Health?" Zidan asked, remembering Earth's public health lessons.
"We've built more latrines and waste collection points," Javier answered. "Locals and refugees cooperate well, having seen how cleanliness improves living conditions. They've become more conscientious."
"Well done, Javier," Zidan said. "That's crucial. A strong, healthy people can endure anything."
Meanwhile, Marion delivered his intelligence report: "Lord Baron, our spies confirm Friedrich's forces fully occupy Tel Mima, regrouping there after heavy Givari Forest losses."
"And Royal Duke Yannis?"
"Retreated to Al-Manara, Lord. His forces are exhausted, morale low. He sent desperate pleas to nobles, but few responded. We've heard of his fury at your refusal to send reinforcements."
Zidan smiled faintly. "Let him rage. This isn't the time to reveal our hand. When the moment comes, all will know who the true ally is."
Zidan knew Kisor had become a beacon in a chaotic kingdom—a refugee haven, growing military power, and innovation hub. Friedrich would come; Yannis might become an enemy too. But he was ready. He'd built a cement fortress, an army of steel, and most importantly—hope in his people's hearts.