The Year of Saston, After the Purgatory 620, the 13th day of the Lamos Month.
Asmanda, located on the border of Tengritugen and Alphamos, was a small town nestled in the heart of fertile lands surrounded by valleys and shadowed by mountains, holding great strategic importance despite its size. The ground was full of precious metal beneath, and hard work covered the surface; the old stone houses looked like a temple, with ivy growing between the stones. The watchtowers built on the edge of the high cliffs were gradually constructed by the hands of old soldiers; each one was like a natural shelter. Most of them in habitants were old, perhaps, but they were far from ordinary; nearly every household was home to a retired soldier who had once fought in the Tengritugen army and soaked his sword in blood.
The leadership of Asmanda was held by a sharp-eyed, gray-bearded man named Commander Alpen, who had spent many years in the Tengritugen army and witnessed countless battles. Even in his silence, this old commander commanded discipline; he never missed a detail and was always prepared for the worst. When he heard the enemy's marching rhythm, he could predict which valley they would pass through by the arrangement of three stones, and he was cautious enough to sense an ambush from the direction of the birds in the sky.
On the day Caesar took the throne, Alpen had anticipated the first attack and trained the villagers accordingly. He taught the young the watch system and made the elders memorize the communication signals once again. He had lookout towers camouflaged within the forest built, secret trenches dug at the town's entrance, and the basements of houses converted into armories. Every hand became a weapon, every eye a lookout.
He might not have known when the war would start, but he knew very well what the enemy was capable of. Because Alpen was one of those who won wars not just with the sword, but with patience, intelligence, and most importantly, foresight.
Neva, who planned to attack a small town, had not brought a large force with him. He was one of Alphamos' young and ambitious commanders; after a few quick victories on the battlefield, his pride had grown beyond measure, and he now saw every conflict as an easy march. Thinking, "A tiny border town is nothing but a few weak defenses and old villagers," he took only a lightly armored, highly mobile small unit with him.
Setting out at sunrise, he inspired confidence in his soldiers with a self-assured smile as they left the dusty roads behind on horseback. However, when he arrived at Asmanda, his first shock came from arrows fired by lookouts hidden at the edge of the forest. The roads at the village entrance had been narrowed, surrounded by thorny trenches, and defenders were stationed even on the rooftops.
Neva's expectation of an "easy victory" was shattered after the very first clash. Before him stood not a scattered crowd of retired soldiers and villagers, but a silent resistance organized with military discipline. Even in the town's every breath, there was a plan, a preparation.
At that moment, he began to realize for the first time that this underestimated town might witness a resistance that would make history.
Taking cover behind a rock to dodge the incoming arrows, Neva shouted angrily.
"This was supposed to be a small town full of old men! But in front of us stands practically a small organized army! What kind of damn mess have we gotten into?"
Neva's right-hand man, Asteros, replied in a shaky voice.
"I don't know, sir. This was the intelligence we received. I didn't understand it either!"
Neva gave him an angry glare and snapped.
"Don't talk about your intelligence now. Just tell me how we get out of this mess, you idiot!"
Asteros lowered his head and swallowed hard before answering.
"Sir... Maybe it's wiser to retreat and regroup. This defense is much stronger than we expected. We don't have enough soldiers to break through their lines."
Neva clenched his teeth, poked his head out from behind the rock once more to assess the situation, then pulled back as an arrowhead stuck into the ground just a few inches away. His face was bright red.
"Retreat? From this lousy town? If I retreat from here, Caesar will erase me from the face of the earth, do you understand? He'll wipe out my entire family before killing me!"
Asteros suggested quietly,
"What if we change tactics? A night raid on the village? We couldn't break their defenses during the day, but at night those advantages disappear. Fire, smoke, confusion... Maybe then we can find their weak spots."
Neva paused for a moment. Between his anger, he started weighing the logic of the plan. He was still furious but not panicked just under pressure.
"Alright... We pull back until sunset. To the forest line... Quietly, without leaving a trace. When night falls... We'll set fire to the roofs of this cursed town."
Then he placed his fist on Asteros' shoulder and continued.
"And if this plan fails too... Then we die together, my friend. But at least we'll slit our own throats, not Balamir's old wolf's. I'd rather die by my own hand than face Caesar's wrath."
Asteros lowered his head, meeting the dark determination in Neva's eyes.
"I'm ready to die with you, sir... But first, let's take this village."
After consecutive losses, Neva swallowed his anger and held it back. When he raised his sword into the air and swung it backward, it was a clear command to his army: retreat! Arrows whistled through the air, some soldiers fell lifeless to the ground, while others crawled back wounded. Amidst screams, neighing horses, and the clang of metal on metal, everything was chaos for those caught in between.
With anger and frustration covering his face, Neva led the remaining soldiers into the shadowy depths of the forest. Hiding behind the trees, this retreating group was now fighting for nothing but survival.
And inside Neva's mind, only one thought repeated: "This damned town will kneel before me... but not yet."