Appearing in the distance was Victor's final card to play.
Grand Admiral Nelson was onboard the Holy Trinity, commanding a fleet of 20 Ships Of The Line, 45 Third-Rate Ships, and 10 Rocket Ships. All of the transport ships remained in the distance as the warships approached.
Pietro froze in horror; he had not calculated that the Luxenberg would do the almost month-long trip from Sinolla to Madena. His spies had reported that the Luxenberg fleet had not moved from the northern port city since they arrived in Zandar.
With the arrival of the Luxenberg fleet, the usually composed Pietro Garbisi began to panic. He was confident that the city would only be assaulted by land, hence why he unloaded all of his marines and cannons into the city to defend against Victor and Alphonse's land forces.
The ships in the port were manned by a skeleton crew with no guns and no crews to man them. In a sense, they were sitting ducks.
From the battery positions, the men began to cheer; the sight of Luxenberg sails inspired all the men. Alphonse looked at Victor in disbelief. "This was the reinforcements you were talking about."
Victor nodded, "They certainly are, it took a few days for the messenger pigeon to reach them, but when we got our reply, they had already begun preparations to sail."
Alphonse was stunned; he had not suspected that Victor would call upon his fleet to support them in the siege. Although this may have been a good sign, Alphonse had a chilling thought that made him go white. 'What if the fleet decides to fire upon the city?"
Victor's fleet could fire unopposed into the city and level the place if they so desired. With no fleet to challenge them, they could wreak havoc. Pietro Garbisi knew this as well, and it put him in a difficult position.
While the Marquis was fretting, Giovanni approached him, his eyes brimming with conviction. "Uncle, our men have fought valiantly, but now they are needlessly putting up a fight. If that fleet fires into the city, untold amounts of destruction would befall us."
Pietro looked at his nephew with a flurry of emotions gleaming in his eyes, "What would you have me do? Surrender? You do realise that at the very least, our family will rot in a cell for the rest of our lives. And that's only if Alphonse is feeling merciful. I imagine there will be executions awaiting us in Roma."
Giovanni, still composed, placed a hand upon his uncle's shoulder. "I would rather be a captive than let the population of this city be decimated in the maelstrom of cannon fire. As my father's heir and the figurehead of the Red Visconte faction, I order you to wave the white flag and surrender."
As much as Pietro wanted to defy that order, he knew his nephew was speaking with wisdom. This city was home; his family had ruled here for centuries. To dishonour their legacy by allowing the decimation of the city would be a stain he could never remove, even in death.
Pietro called out, "Captain." A man in an officer's uniform approached the pair. "Your orders, My Lord."
"Wave the white flag, we have truly lost." Pietro sighed. The captain nodded and promptly left to relay the orders.
Within minutes, three white flags were fluttering like pale moths caught in the sea breeze, atop the northern wall.
Then a fourth.
Then two more.
Farther down, another flag rose shakily on a spear haft—no ceremony, no precision, just the raw, human motion of defeat.
The guns in the Allied trenches fell silent not by order but by instinct. News raced through the lines faster than any courier. Men climbed from trenches, lowering tools. Officers shaded their eyes with gloved hands, staring in disbelief.
Victor broke first. "It seems Garbisi realises the futility of continuing this siege."
Alphonse watched the city long and hard, not a word coming from his mouth.
Bertrand approached, his face streaked with soil, his hair sticking out at all angles. "Your Majesty… what are your orders?"
"Tell all cannons to stand," Victor said. "Victory is ours."
Alphonse raised his looking glass. Behind the battlements, he saw movement—figures gathering in clusters, gestures heated and frantic. Red Visconte officers waving arms. Civilians on the wall-walk. Confusion, argument, fear.
And then—
A gate signal.
A long white banner lowered carefully down the front of the northern tower.
A universal invitation.
"Surrender," Alphonse murmured.
Just after midday, the northern gate creaked. Slowly. Painfully. Each inch scraped as though the city resisted even as it relented.
A small delegation emerged—four guards unarmed, and behind them a young man draped in modest attire. His blue hair was a dead giveaway as to who he was.
When the delegation arrived at the Luxenberg camp, Prince Alphonse, Victor, and many Luxenberg commanders gathered to witness the surrender.
"Uncle, it is nice to finally meet you, although it would have been better under more pleasant circumstances," Giovanni said warmly.
Alphonse, taken aback, replied, "Giovanni, you really do look like your father when he was that age."
For a moment, silence hung in the air, not one of tension, but relief that the battle was over.
"What are your terms of surrender?" Victor asked, his domineering presence not affecting Giovanni in the slightest.
"Firstly, I wish for the city to be spared from any looting, raping and other depraved acts that follow a siege," Giovanni stated. "Secondly, I would ask that you treat my family and me with the respect of our positions. That is all I ask."
Victor turned to Alphonse; the decision was ultimately his.
For Alphonse, there was no need to overthink it. With this surrender, a twenty-year civil war would finally conclude. The hundreds of thousands of casualties sustained during the war would finally mean something. Their sacrifice would not have been in vain.
Alphonse accepted the terms of surrender. Now that Madena surrendered, Luxenberg and Green Visconte troops began to pile into the city. They assisted the civilians in rebuilding and tending to he wounded.
As for Pietro Garbisi, he, his sister and his nephews were escorted into a carriage and transported to Roma. Alphonse wanted to keep them all in Roma until he could decide their fates.
With Madena captured, Victor's time in Zandar was nearing its conclusion.