Within minutes, the soldiers loyal to the politicians crossed into the capital city. Their boots clattered against the cobblestone streets as they made their way through narrow alleys and open squares, all converging toward the central building—the heart of the government. Exhausted and worn from their long march through rough terrain and hostile wildlife, the soldiers were far from battle-ready. Their uniforms were stained with dirt, sweat, and fatigue, and their heavy gear weighed them down with every step.
As they entered the main district, a low hum began to grow louder in the sky. One of the soldiers, already on edge, looked up and froze in place. His voice trembled as he pointed skyward. "Is… is that an airship? No, wait—three of them!"
Panic set in almost immediately. Heads turned upward. Eyes widened.
Another soldier cried out in horror, "One of them's a b-bomber airship!"
The realization hit like thunder. The skies, once calm, now carried the threat of devastation. Their rifles and ground-based weapons were no match for what loomed above them. They had no air defenses, no cover, and no time to organize. Chaos erupted through the ranks like a wave crashing into a brittle wall.
Lenso, their commander, stepped forward and stared up at the oncoming threat. His mind raced. Why are airships here? Who's backing them? His eyes narrowed. Is this Armin's backup… or something else entirely?
Meanwhile, far above in the central building, Armin stood calmly on the rooftop balcony. He watched the disorganized troops swarm the streets below like ants. Kliner and Maverick stood beside him, cups of coffee in hand. Armin took a sip, then glanced down casually.
"They've arrived," he muttered. "Drink your coffee slowly. Don't rush—nothing is going to happen."
Kliner smirked. "They look confused already. Just the sight of the airships has them rattled."
Maverick chuckled, lifting his cup. "They came expecting a siege. Instead, they'll get a wake-up call."
Back on the ground, many soldiers began stepping back instinctively, unsure whether to flee or follow orders. Their weapons were raised, but their hands trembled. The overwhelming calm of the enemy unnerved them more than any direct threat.
Lenso, however, was not ready to lose control. He shouted at the top of his lungs, "Soldiers! Don't get scared! Move forward! Armin doesn't even have any weapons! Shoot him from here! He's wide open!"
But hesitation lingered like fog.
One of his men hesitated before replying, "Sir… but he seems very confident. And those airships—there's no way we can stand against that. We won't survive this."
Lenso's patience snapped. "I don't care, damn it! Whatever backs them up, we'll kill them too! We didn't march all this way just to turn around like cowards!"
Yet despite his fury, no one moved. No one fired a shot. They just stood there, frozen by the overwhelming imbalance of power.
Seeing their hesitation, Lenso boiled over with rage. "Why are you all so scared of him?! He's standing there like a statue! Not even moving! He's an easy target! SHOOT HIM!"
Then came a moment that silenced the entire squad.
One soldier stepped forward and removed his rifle. Calmly, he extended it toward Lenso. "If you want him dead so badly… here. Shoot him yourself. You've got a gun, and he's just standing there. Why are you hesitating? Isn't this what you told us to do?"
Lenso's face twisted with indignation. "Who the hell do you think you are, giving me orders?! Take your damn gun back and do it yourself! That's not my job!"
The soldier didn't move. Neither did anyone else.
What started as a confident march into the capital had dissolved into mutiny and doubt. The fear in their hearts was not just from the airships above, but from the eerie stillness of the enemy, from the haunting realization that Armin was not afraid—because he didn't need to be.
Armin stood unmoving, still sipping his coffee, watching the panic ripple through his enemies. He didn't raise a weapon, didn't bark a single command. He simply let the scene play out.
Kliner turned to him. "This might be the first battle in history won by coffee and silence."
Maverick laughed, watching the enemy fall apart without a single shot fired. "Let them implode. Lenso won't be able to hold them together much longer."
Lenso turned back to his disintegrating force, veins bulging in his neck. He yelled, threatened, and cursed, but the fire had already gone out. Doubt had infected every soldier. Their loyalty to the politicians, once unwavering, now felt misplaced. The man they were ordered to kill stood above them, fearless, and it shook them to their core.
The tide was already turning—and no bullet had left a barrel.
And up on the rooftop, Armin leaned into the railing, the morning sun casting a golden hue across the city. "Let them learn," he said quietly. "This capital belongs to those who don't need to scream to be heard."
The skies above remained steady. The airships hovered like silent guardians.
And down below, the invading army had already begun to crumble.
As the tense standoff in the capital continued, the soldiers under Lenso's command began marching hesitantly forward—uncertain, anxious, but still moving. All except one.
The lone soldier stopped in his tracks and raised his voice above the noise of the march. His words rang with conviction, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Armin is right!" he shouted. "He's the only one doing something that actually matters! You politicians—none of you care about lives. All you care about is power, control, and money. This world is falling apart because of people like you. Greedy bastards who sit on thrones built from the bodies of the people!"
His comrades turned to him, stunned.
"He's not trying to destroy the country," the soldier continued. "He's trying to change it. He's here to wipe out the rot, the corruption, and the lies you've been feeding us since the day we picked up our rifles. You want us to fight for your seats in parliament. Armin wants to fight for something bigger."
A heavy silence fell across the ranks.
Lenso's face darkened. His expression twisted with fury as he pointed a trembling finger at the soldier. "Traitor…" he hissed. "Kill him. Kill this traitor immediately!"
But none of the soldiers moved.
One of them stepped forward instead, looking directly at Lenso. "Isn't he right?" he asked quietly. "Why are we even fighting Armin? What have these politicians done for us? For anyone?"
More soldiers began lowering their weapons. Their eyes no longer reflected fear—but something far more dangerous to Lenso: disobedience.
Lenso's rage boiled over. "Fine!" he barked. "If none of you cowards will do it, I'll handle this myself!"
He reached for his sidearm with shaking hands, raising it toward the outspoken soldier.
But before he could pull the trigger, several soldiers turned and leveled their rifles at Lenso.
Their leader was now staring down the barrels of his own army's guns.
"No," said one of them coldly. "We've followed orders long enough. But not this time. We're done being pawns."
Lenso's hand froze midair. His breath hitched. He looked around and saw the truth: control was slipping through his fingers. The tide had turned.
And he was standing alone.
Lenso's face twisted with rage as he shouted, "You fools! You're all being manipulated by that damn traitor! Armin doesn't care about you—he will kill you all without mercy the moment you outlive your usefulness. I, on the other hand, can build a future! I can develop this country if you just give me the chance to lead it!"
But the soldiers no longer looked convinced. One stepped forward and barked, "Shut up! You've lost your grip on power, and no one believes your lies anymore. You can't do anything now. Get on your knees."
Lenso's eyes darted around, calculating. Then, in one swift motion, he drew a hidden dagger and slashed it across the throat of the soldier who had spoken. Before the others could react, he plunged the blade into the neck of another soldier beside him.
Chaos erupted.
A soldier fired in panic, but the shot missed. Lenso didn't flinch. He hurled his bloodied dagger through the air—its blade finding home in the eye of the one who fired, dropping him instantly.
The others backed away in horror as Lenso drew a second dagger from his belt, his eyes wild with fury.
"Cowards!" he roared, lunging at the remaining soldiers.
Steel clashed. Screams echoed through the capital square. Lenso fought like a man possessed—feral, deadly, and without hesitation. His attacks were swift and ruthless, cutting down anyone who dared raise a weapon against him. Every move was a blur of violence and desperation, fueled by the knowledge that his reign was crumbling.
But no matter how fiercely he fought, the tide had turned.
He was surrounded, outnumbered, and bleeding from a dozen shallow wounds. Still, he grinned through bloodstained teeth, refusing to surrender.
If he was going down, he'd take as many as he could with him.
Armin stood at the window of the central building, calmly observing the chaos unfolding below. A faint smile crept onto his face as he sipped his coffee.
"Everything is going exactly as I planned," he said quietly.
Maverick, standing beside him, narrowed his eyes at the scene. "They're turning on each other… the soldiers are fighting among themselves."
Kliner let out a scoff. "What a bunch of punks. Crumbling the moment pressure hits them. Pathetic."
Meanwhile, aboard one of the incoming airships, General Rowen watched through a side window, eyes wide with realization. "They… they're fighting their own," he muttered. "Even the soldiers have seen through the lies. They know what the politicians truly are."
The battlefield below was unraveling without a single move from Armin's forces. Fear, doubt, and long-suppressed anger had turned the politicians' army against itself.
Armin placed his cup down and turned from the window, his expression unreadable.
"No need to waste bullets on those who'll destroy themselves," he said.
Maverick smirked. "You were right. Let them tear each other apart."
Kliner nodded. "Less work for us."
The airships drew closer. The capital was secure—and now, the real change could begin.
Lenso lay in the dirt, his once-proud frame now broken and bloodied. He coughed violently, spitting up blood as his body trembled from the pain. One of his legs was mangled by a bullet wound, and his right arm had been severed in the chaos. His face, now pale and smeared with blood, bore an expression of rage and desperation. Around him stood the very soldiers who once followed his orders—now silent, rifles raised, eyes filled with betrayal.
Despite the agony, Lenso's voice cracked through the silence.
"Kill me, then!" he growled, his breathing labored. "Do it! You'll regret it. You'll all regret the day you turned against me! If my death is the only way you feel peace, then shoot! What are you waiting for?"
The soldiers remained still, watching him. Some clenched their jaws. Others blinked back tears. Among them stepped forward a young soldier, his hands shaking slightly as he pointed his rifle at Lenso's broken body. His voice was low but steady.
"Because of you… my parents died."
Lenso looked up, his eyes narrowing, but the soldier didn't flinch.
"You remember that rally? The one you held after your election? It was supposed to be a celebration. Families came out. Children. My parents were there, proud of the new minister… proud of you."
The soldier's grip tightened on the rifle.
"And then the bomb went off. Dozens died. Including my parents. You survived without a scratch. And instead of mourning them… you called it unfortunate collateral and moved on to your next speech."
Lenso's mouth opened, but no words came.
The soldier's voice turned to a whisper. "You never even cared."
A single shot rang out.
Lenso's head snapped back, his body going limp in an instant.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, as if a dam had broken, the other soldiers opened fire—not out of anger alone, but out of grief, betrayal, and the weight of all the lives ruined under his leadership.
The echo of gunfire faded, and all that remained was a still, lifeless body at their feet.
Justice, perhaps. But not peace.
Not yet.
Minutes after the last gunshot faded, the thunder of engines filled the air. The airships touched down one by one, their steel hulls gleaming under the midday sun. Hatches dropped open, and General Rowen's soldiers marched out in formation, weapons raised, prepared for the final standoff.
Tension rippled across the battlefield as the two forces faced each other—guns locked, fingers poised on triggers. The soldiers who had followed the now-dead politicians stood in silence, unsure of what was next.
General Rowen stepped out from his airship, his coat billowing in the wind, eyes scanning the field. His voice cut through the standoff.
"Raise your weapons. Take them down. No hesitation."
But before a single shot could be fired, a figure emerged from the center of the chaos. Armin stepped forward, calm and unarmed. He raised a hand, signaling both sides to stand down.
"Stop," he said firmly. "Why are you still fighting?"
The soldiers looked at him, startled by his presence.
"The central enemy is already dead. The politicians who led this chaos are gone. So, tell me—what are you still fighting for? Power? Revenge? Pride?"
There was silence. Guns began to lower, hesitantly at first, then steadily. The weight of Armin's words settled over them like a heavy fog.
Kliner stepped beside Armin and surveyed the scene. "The war ended before it even began," he said with a smirk. "Now we have the chance to do what no one ever could—unite this country. No more pawns of greedy leaders. No more divisions."
A wave of relief spread through the soldiers as they dropped their weapons to the ground. Some exhaled deeply; others simply stared, trying to make sense of the sudden peace after so much bloodshed.
Armin stood quietly for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, almost to himself, he murmured, "It worked."
He looked across the battlefield—at the united army that now stood before him. The technologically advanced forces of General Rowen, the numbers and resilience of the former opposing side, and the fierce loyalty of Sheath and the younger recruits. All standing as one.
"With this," Armin whispered, "we can finally end it. With this united strength, we can kill it."
He didn't need to say what it was. Those closest to him knew. The dark force. The real threat. The enemy beyond politics or war.
For the first time, they were ready.