Chapter 488.1: This Is Our Response To Your Ultimatum!

Falcon City.

Once a prosperous metropolis, its streets now lay eerily desolate.

Except for a few main roads leading to the royal palace and military camps that remained open, the rest of the avenues and alleys were cluttered with barricades and makeshift fortifications.

A few laborers worked hard to rivet together scrap iron into caltrop-shaped anti-tank hedgehogs, which was the eleventh one they had finished that day.

Their foreman told them it could stop the New Alliance's tanks. But nearly everyone believed it was a pointless effort.

If even the Levees couldn't stop the New Alliance's tank treads, how could these hastily assembled contraptions do anything? They could easily just smash through the buildings lining the streets and go around them.

"I heard Bist Town has fallen," said a shirtless man, wiping the sweat from his brow, leaning against a freshly assembled hedgehog.

The laborers around him all looked over. An older man in his forties or fifties muttered skeptically, "Really?"

The man replied with certainty, "Absolutely! I was working outside the city yesterday. I saw with my own eyes a unit retreating from the direction of Bist Town..."

Whether or not they cared about the war, every resident of Falcon City knew of the fortress-like settlement. Before the Wislanders arrived, their impoverished kingdom had never even attempted to build a fortress in the desert. The royal family often used that fortress, standing proudly in the sands, to boast about the wisdom of aligning with the Army, to show off the Army's advanced engineering, and their friendship,

And for the most part, it was true, until two weeks ago, Bist Town still served as a critical logistics hub for the frontlines.

No one could believe that the once-invincible fortress had fallen so easily...

"Bist... Even that place has fallen."

"The New Alliance is coming to kill us."

"I heard the New Alliance is full of savage wastelanders who eat raw meat and drink blood, born in poverty and barbarity. Spirit of the Desert... Please, protect us. Who knows what those brutes will do to the royal palace when they get here."

People murmured in hushed tones.

A boy with sunburnt cheeks asked nervously, "W-what about the Army?"

Those tall Wislander soldiers still gave him a sense of safety.

The radio said reinforcements from the west were arriving soon. If they could just hold out a little longer, the New Alliance would be buried under tens of thousands of tanks.

However, the adults didn’t seem to beleive that.

The next moment, the dark-skinned man beside them shook his head. "The Wislanders set up three layers of defenses again, but I don’t think it'll work... Not even half made it back from Oasis No.3. I think this war's nearly over."

Hearing what he said, the older man was startled and quickly covered his mouth. "

Shhh

! Shut it! Watch out for the patrols!"

A resident in a headscarf glared at him. "Lies! That’s nonsense!"

He was quickly echoed by others. "That’s right! His Majesty is a chosen warrior, how could he lose?"

The dark-skinned man seemed to realize his slip and quickly backpedaled. "I mean it’s ending, for the New Alliance. Of course our wise and mighty King will win."

But even the most devout loyalists didn’t believe that anymore.

At that moment, patrolling guards appeared in the distance. Everyone fell silent and resumed working.

"... Do we even need to patrol anymore? Feels like there’s hardly anyone left in this city," said one guard, yawning, rifle slung over his shoulder, glancing at the obedient laborers.

These were the most peaceful days Falcon City had ever seen. There were no thieves and no bandits. There weren’t even pedestrians.

Every male between ages 12 and 46 who could lift a gun had been conscripted, either to the army or the labor camps.

Outside of the royal court, there were barely any idlers left in all of Falcon City.

"Patrols aren’t for catching criminals. They’re for catching stragglers," said the older guard as he looked toward a small alley, preparing to check it out.

Just then, a piercing alarm sounded in the distance.

“Shit! Air raid?!”

He wasn’t the only one whose face changed. The laborers on the street dropped their tools and bolted for the alleyways, searching desperately for cover.

Word was that the New Alliance’s aircraft were as nimble as sparrows. Wislander radar couldn’t catch them. Once the air raid siren started, the bombs would follow shortly.

However... Something felt off this time.

They waited a long time, and no bombs came. There wasn’t even a glimpse of a plane.

Sensing something unusual and the older guard frowned.

A dud?

Just as he thought that, white slips of paper began fluttering down from the sky.

“What’s that?” The younger guard reached out and caught one, unfolding it.

He froze. The lines of text nearly took his breath away.

[To the royal house of Falcon Kingdom:

We will carry out a strategic bombing of the Falcon City palace and military facilities on the final day of this week. Surrender is your only path to survival. Continued resistance leads only to annihilation.

]

[Note 1:

Civilians in the city should evacuate combat zones. If unable to evacuate, shelter in place to avoid injuries from stray bullets and bomb fragments.

]

[Note 2:

All Army and Falcon Kingdom soldiers and officers can use this leaflet to surrender at New Alliance positions and avoid being taken as prisoners.

]

[Note 3:

(Air Raid Emergency Shelter Guide), (Safe Zone Locations)

]

The New Alliance... they were already here. Why had the radio never said anything?

Panic rose in his eyes and he looked up at his superior, only to see the officer staring at the same leaflet, then tossing it away like it was burning his hand.

“R-report, sir! I swear I wasn’t...”

“Shut it.” The older guard glanced around, then picked up the discarded leaflet.

“We need to gather these and destroy them... You take that alley,” he ordered.

The young guard exhaled in relief and nodded quickly, jogging off into the alley.

The older guard looked at the leaflet again. His eyes paused on the map marking the safe zones. After memorizing the location, he folded the leaflet down to a thumb-size and stuffed it into his boot.

Keeping enemy propaganda was a serious crime. But somehow... He did it anyway.

His commanders constantly brainwashed them. They mentioned that the Falcon army was winning, sweeping through the Lion and Camel Kingdoms.

But hardly anyone believed that anymore.

Every soldier returning from the east looked haunted, eyes vacant, terrified.

They weren’t like victors at all.

Not far from him, the dark-skinned laborer and the older man each secretly tucked away a leaflet as well.

They met eyes and shared a silent understanding. Even if not for themselves, then for their defenseless families...

Across the city, as air raid sirens wailed, this same scene played out over and over.

...

In the Falcon Royal Palace.

Unlike the chaos outside, the palace was deathly quiet.

On the ornate throne, the aging King Morgott stared blankly at a neatly written list.

It was from the emergency court, a list of the next people to be executed.

During times of victory, the list had only one or two names. But now, as the war turned, one page sometimes wasn’t even enough.

Among the condemned, some were spies, some deserters. Some had questioned royal decisions. Others were simply political enemies added during the confusion.

King Morgott knew very well that many of the names on that list were likely innocent. But he no longer had the will to care about such trivialities.

He signed the list and impatiently tossed it to his royal guard commander. “Send it to Count Kernway.”

Count Kernway was the judge he had appointed to oversee the emergency court, whose authority superseded both military and civil courts.

His sole job was to punish traitors.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The commander bowed solemnly and took the list. Morgott suddenly noticed the man’s hands were trembling.

He looked up and called him by name. “Midal.”

The man flinched. “Y-yes, Your Majesty?”

“You’re afraid.”

“No, I...”

Before he could finish, he fell to his knees with a thud. Morgott’s murky gaze softened. He placed a hand gently on Midal’s shoulder. “No need to worry. The Wislanders promised me... General Griffin himself swore we would be victorious.”

There was no doubt.

And not just Griffin, his son, William, was also a brilliant Marshal.

He had prepared for this war for over a decade, for the future of his people, to fulfill their ancestral dream... He held a full deck. There was no reason they would lose.

Midal swallowed hard. He wanted to say something, but didn't dare. A bitter smile crept across his sunken face.

He knew full well... his king had gone mad. His Majesty wasn’t the only one either. Everyone in the palace was mad, including himself.

“... Yes, Your Majesty.”

Just then, footsteps echoed from outside. A military officer ran in and dropped to one knee, reporting quickly, “Your Majesty! The New Alliance has airdropped leaflets across the city! They’ve declared they will bomb us at the end of this week!”

“Impossible!” Morgott roared, cutting him off. “How could their aircraft reach this far?!”

Then, he snapped dismissively, “Bring one over.”

“Yes.” The officer stood up nervously and handed the crumpled leaflet to the royal guard, who passed it to the king.

Morgott barely glanced at it and he sneered, “... What arrogance...”

He crushed the leaflet into a ball and threw it aside.

Two months ago, William’s letter had said the Prosperous Capital of the Lion Kingdom was under siege. Even with setbacks, the war shouldn’t have reached the capital already.

“The Defense Force Commander suggests you evacuate to the underground shelter...” The officer, who was still sweating bullets, tried to persuade him.

However, he was cut off immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Morgott looked down at the kneeling officer and he clenched his fists. A flicker of madness crossed his eyes.

“I want to see for myself, how the New Alliance thinks they can fly past my mighty army!”

...