Gunmage
Chapter 84: A city submerged, a kingdom shaken

Chapter 84: Chapter 84: A city submerged, a kingdom shaken

News of the catastrophe at Drakensmar spread like wildfire across the kingdom.

At first, few believed it. An entire city swallowed by water, drowned in a deluge of destruction? It was the stuff of myths, apocalyptic tales meant to scare children into obedience.

But as the official newspapers ran the headlines, complete with photographs of the ruined city and grim-faced soldiers pulling survivors from the wreckage, denial crumbled into horrified acceptance.

Public reaction varied wildly. Some were gripped by fear, uncertain of what force could so thoroughly annihilate a city.

Those who had family in the old capital were devastated, desperately searching lists of survivors published by the authorities, hoping for a familiar name.

Others, detached from the tragedy, merely acknowledged the horror before moving on, deeming it irrelevant so long as it did not touch their own lives.

Yet for all the shock Drakensmar’s fall elicited, it was overshadowed by the enigma of Prince Lovainne.

Theories, conspiracies, and outlandish rumors circled the third prince like vultures. Survivors’ accounts painted a picture of hell itself manifesting on the voyage through the Devil Sea

What should have been a triumphant military operation had turned into something else entirely.

The Battle of Tavroska Beach, where soldiers fought just to board the ships, the nightmarish deep-sea creatures that lurked beneath the waves, the eerie glow of the blood-red waters, the massive whirlpool that swallowed entire vessels.

Every tale sounded too exaggerated to be real. Yet, when the death toll was revealed—over 8,000 men lost in the crossing alone—it silenced the doubters.

This was not exaggeration. It was a miracle that any of them survived at all.

Then came the Siege of Drakensmar, a battle that would forever alter history. The name of Major General Lovainne burned itself into the consciousness of the people.

He was either a savior or a monster, depending on who was asked. His most controversial decision—arming untrained civilians, many of whom were women and children—drew fierce condemnation.

War criminal! some cried. He should stand trial before the Central Courts for his reckless endangerment of non-combatants.

Others, however, lauded him as a hero, a leader who refused to abandon those under his care, who turned the desperate into warriors and held the city against overwhelming odds.

The battlefield itself was a testament to his ruthless ingenuity. The Hellspawn Tactics, the midnight assault, the sudden redirection of the river, the destruction of bridges, and the clever repurposing of the FSV-12’s primary weapon.

each move was calculated to perfection.

Despite being outnumbered, his forces not only survived but repelled the Heieg legions, securing the entire northeastern sector.

Respect was an unavoidable consequence of such brilliance, even among those who despised him. The Third Prince of Ophris was a strategist the world could not afford to ignore.

Yet, at the center of this storm, the prince himself lay unconscious, trapped in a coma. Whether he would wake remained uncertain.

Prisoners of war rescued from Drakensmar had already been bound for transport to the capital, and with them, whispers of something far more dangerous than war itself.

Magic.

The true spectacle had not been the battle but the sky itself, where the impossible unfolded. Thousands of glowing blue magic circles, tornadoes of fire, divine beams of light, and shockwaves that leveled buildings.

It was undeniable.

The magical civilizations had intervened in Drakensmar. The delicate veil that had kept magic at the edges of mundane affairs was shattered.

Now, no one could pretend that humans fought alone.

The implications were cataclysmic. The Ophris Kingdom had long adhered to anti-magic laws, enforced by the magical civilizations.

If magic was used in Drakensmar, answers would be demanded, and retribution. Political leaders across the continent convened in frantic emergency meetings, desperate to understand the ramifications.

Would this mean war with the magical nations?

Or worse, would it mean the return of mage supremacy?

Even before these questions could be answered, the power vacuum in Drakensmar attracted vultures of another kind.

Delegates from the Empyrean Court, elves from Jazeer, beastkin dignitaries, and rogue mages all converged upon the drowned city, eager to unearth its secrets.

Among the most coveted artifacts was The Ring of Nyxis, once wielded by the Great Sage of the Sylphs, who had perished in the calamity.

Whoever recovered the ring would claim absolute control over mana, an unparalleled advantage in the growing tensions.

A hidden war began in the ruins of Drakensmar, not fought with armies, but with assassins, spies, and clandestine sorcerers.

The scramble for power had begun, and the Third Prince, unconscious or not, remained at the heart of it.

Meanwhile, Lugh sat in the cold confines of an armored transport, part of a long convoy heading toward the capital Pyrellis.

The road stretched endlessly before them, yet for all its familiarity, the world had already changed. Drakensmar was gone. Other nations would not stay silent. The flames of war had only just begun to rise.

...

At the edges of the capital city of Pyrellis, nestled within sprawling acres of meticulously maintained land, stood the Von Heim manor.

An estate befitting one of the most powerful noble families in Ophris.

The manor itself was a grand structure, a testament to old wealth and aristocratic refinement.

Its towering white marble columns framed an imposing façade, adorned with intricate carvings of sigils and mythological beasts.

Expansive gardens stretched far beyond the main building, meticulously shaped into geometric patterns, with fountains and statues dotting the landscape.

A private lake gleamed under the evening sun, reflecting the grandeur of the manor’s many gabled roofs and its soaring central tower.

Inside one of the estate’s many halls, Selaphiel Von Heim had just finished her secret fencing session.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and polished steel, the wooden training floor still echoing the faint reverberations of her last strike.

She methodically wiped down the sweat from her toned arms, her breathing controlled. As the eldest daughter of the Von Heim family, she was expected to embody perfection, grace, intellect, and poise.

But her passions lay elsewhere. Fencing, despite being an unladylike pursuit, was her escape, a small defiance against the suffocating expectations placed upon her.

Unlike Lyra Cross, who had cast away all societal expectations in favor of her own desires, Selaphiel could not afford such reckless freedom.

Duty bound her like invisible chains, and she bore them with silent resolve.

As she folded the cloth she had used to wipe her sweat, a voice called from behind her.

"Sister Sela! Sister, look!"

Selaphiel turned with her usual measured grace. It was her third sister, Lirienne, the girl with a perpetual frown, her sharp features always etched with an air of dissatisfaction.

In her hands was a folded newspaper, its headline barely visible under her grip.

"Lirienne, what is it?"

Selaphiel asked, her tone cool as ever.

"Have you seen the headlines? About what happened in Drakensmar?"

Lirienne’s voice was urgent, almost breathless.

Selaphiel gave a slow nod.

"Yes, I have."

The entire kingdom had. The images, the reports, the staggering death toll, all of it was impossible to ignore.

Lirienne stepped closer, unfolding the newspaper with deliberate precision.

"Another list of survivors was published"

She said, her voice now tinged with something unreadable.

"There’s a curious name on it."

Selaphiel remained impassive, waiting for the revelation.

Lirienne looked at her with something between triumph and disbelief.

"The name is Lugh Von Heim."

Selaphiel’s hand tightened around the cloth in her palm.

Her eyes widened.