The road to Lisan was lined with silence.
What remained of the army moved not in triumph, but in grim continuation. The battle in the sands had taken its toll, and though victory belonged to Field Marshal Schwarzenberg, it had been paid for in blood enough to weigh on every man who marched beneath his command.
Eighty thousand gone. The survivors did not speak of it openly, but it followed them all the same. Ahead, the port city rose against the horizon.
Lisan stood where the desert met the sea, its walls pale against the light, its towers watching both land and water. Once, it had been a place of trade and movement, a gateway for ships and caravans alike. Now it was a fortress, hastily reinforced, filled with men who knew exactly what approached.
Within its walls stood forty-eight thousand defenders.
Eight thousand were veterans, the shattered remnants of General Amir Kahn's army who had escaped the slaughter in the sands. They carried with them the memory of that defeat, the knowledge of what the Luxenberg army could do.
The remaining forty thousand were militia. Farmers, labourers, and dockworkers given muskets and orders to stand. They filled the walls. They did not strengthen them.
Schwarzenberg did not delay.
"The siege begins immediately," he said as his army formed before the city.
His officers nodded, though many glanced toward the long, covered wagons that had been drawn forward from the rear. They knew what lay within them.
"Prepare the rockets," Schwarzenberg ordered.
Inside Lisan, the first sight of them caused unease.
"They are bringing something forward," one officer said, squinting through the heat haze.
"What kind of artillery is that?" another asked.
No one answered. On the second hour of the first day, the answer came. The rockets screamed as they launched.
It was not the deep thunder of cannon, but a sharp, rising shriek that cut through the air, unnatural and terrifying. Trails of smoke followed them as they arced toward the city, descending in wild, unpredictable paths.
Then they struck.
Explosions ripped across the walls, fire bursting outward in violent flashes. Some rockets struck stone and shattered, others plunged into the city itself, igniting rooftops, streets, anything they touched.
The effect was immediate. Men flinched. Lines wavered.
"What is that?" a militia soldier shouted, dropping his musket as another rocket screamed overhead.
"Hold your positions!" an officer roared. "Hold…"
Another explosion cut him off.
Schwarzenberg watched the impact without expression. "Continue," he said.
The rockets launched again. And again.
Between them, the cannons spoke, their steady thunder adding to the chaos. Where the rockets brought fear and fire, the artillery brought precision, striking the walls again and again, breaking stone, widening cracks.
The two together became something overwhelming.
The first day shattered confidence.
The second broke cohesion.
Within Lisan, the defenders struggled to respond. The eight thousand veterans tried to impose order, dragging militia back into position, forcing them to hold the walls, to fire back, to stand their ground.
But the rockets changed the nature of the fight. They did not strike in predictable arcs. They did not land where expected. They came screaming out of the sky, striking at random, igniting fires, spreading panic.
A group of militia broke and ran from the western wall after a volley struck near them, the explosion tearing through their ranks.
"Back to your posts!" a veteran shouted, grabbing one by the collar.
"They will kill us all!" the man cried, struggling free.
Another rocket struck nearby. The veteran let him go.
On the third day, the walls began to fail.
The cannons, relentless and precise, had done their work. Cracks widened into fractures. Sections weakened under the constant impact. Schwarzenberg stood with his artillery commanders, watching through the smoke.
"There," one of them said, pointing to a section near the northern gate. "It is giving way."
Schwarzenberg nodded. "Concentrate fire," he said.
The guns shifted. The rockets followed. That section of the wall became the focus of everything.
The bombardment intensified, the combined force of cannon and rocket tearing into the same point again and again. Stone crumbled. Dust filled the air. Defenders scrambled to reinforce it, piling debris, forming makeshift barriers.
It did not matter.
Inside the city, the command struggled to hold together.
"They cannot keep this up," one officer said, though there was no certainty left in his voice.
"They can," another replied quietly.
The veterans understood.
They had seen it before.
"We must prepare for the breach," one said. "Pull men back. Form a second line."
"And abandon the wall?"
"It is already lost."
The order was given. Militia were pulled from the collapsing section, many of them retreating with visible relief, others dragged back by force. The veterans took position behind the expected point of impact, forming a line that would meet the assault when it came.
They would stand. Even if the others could not.
The fourth day began with fire.
Schwarzenberg gave no speech, no dramatic order. He simply raised his hand. Every available gun fired. The rockets launched in waves, their shrieking descent blending into a constant, unbroken sound. The cannons followed, their shots striking with brutal precision.
The wall could not hold. With a deep, cracking roar, the section gave way.
Stone collapsed inward, a massive breach opening in the defences of Lisan. Dust and debris surged outward, momentarily obscuring everything.
When it cleared, the city stood open.
"Advance," Schwarzenberg said.
The Luxenberg army moved immediately.
Columns surged forward, their formations disciplined despite the chaos of the battlefield. They crossed the broken ground quickly, climbing over rubble, pushing through the breach before the defenders could fully react.
Inside, the veterans met them.
The eight thousand who had survived Amir Kahn's defeat stood their ground, forming a line amid the dust and ruin. They fired their volleys with precision, cutting into the advancing troops, slowing them for a moment.
It was not enough. The weight of the assault broke against them and kept coming.
Militia, already shaken, began to falter almost immediately. Some fired wildly. Others turned and ran at the first sight of the advancing enemy.
"Hold!" a veteran officer shouted. "Hold the line!"
They tried. But they stood alone.
The line broke.
Luxenberg soldiers poured through the breach, their numbers overwhelming, their advance relentless. The veterans fought hard, cutting down those who came too close, holding for as long as they could.
One by one, they fell.
The militia collapsed entirely, scattering into the streets, abandoning positions, and throwing down weapons in desperate attempts to escape.
Within hours, resistance had ended.
By midday, Lisan was taken.
Schwarzenberg entered the city without ceremony, the smoke of fires still rising around him, the streets filled with the aftermath of the brief but decisive assault.
"It is done," one of his officers said.
"Yes," Schwarzenberg replied.
He looked toward the shattered wall, where the breach still gaped open, a scar carved by fire and iron. "They never stood a chance."
Behind him, the army secured the city.
Ahead, the war continued.