Building an empire which the sun never set-Chapter 39: Preparation for the Aragon attack

As Arthur rode toward the fortress, his royal guards flanking him, his eyes were drawn to the battlements above. A group of Pendralis soldiers had gathered at the highest point of the walls, where the Aragonese flag still flew, tattered and beaten.

Moments later, the banner was lowered, its golden lion crest disappearing into history. In its place, the Pendralis flag was raised, its crimson and gold colors snapping in the wind, a symbol of victory that would be remembered for centuries.

This fortress, once an unbreakable stronghold, would be recorded in history as the first conquest of an empire that would one day span half the world. The island nation of Pendralis, now claiming its place on the global stage, had taken its first step toward becoming an empire upon which the sun would never set.

Arthur passed through the fortress gates, his horse's hooves echoing on the stone-paved streets, still stained with blood and gunpowder. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of spent cartridges and burned flesh, and the bodies of fallen Aragonese knights lay scattered in the rubble-strewn alleys. The dead had yet to be cleared, their armor twisted and broken, some still clutching the weapons they had failed to defend their home with.

At the heart of the fortress stood the stone keep, once the residence of the Aragonese commander. It had already been prepared for Arthur's arrival, its previous occupants dead or imprisoned. He entered without hesitation.

That night, Arthur slept in the chamber of his fallen enemy.

By dawn, the largest hall of the fortress had been transformed into the Pendralis military command center. The efficiency of Pendralis logistics was unmatched—within a single day, field artillery, ammunition, food supplies, and military equipment had all been transported from the fleet into the stronghold. Every soldier, every rifle, and every cannon had been accounted for.

Of the Aragonese defenders, fewer than one hundred remained alive. Those who had surrendered were imprisoned, awaiting their fate.

The settlement outside the fortress, once a hub of trade and commerce, had been placed under strict military rule. To prevent riots or resistance, the area was divided into zones, each patrolled by Pendralis soldiers. A curfew was imposed, forbidding movement after nightfall.

The local population was in shock.

For generations, they had witnessed countless failed sieges. Many had lived through multiple invasions, each one repelled by Aragon's elite defenders. Yet now, in a single day, the unthinkable had happened—Pendralis had taken the fortress that had withstood every previous attack.

Inside the command center, a large map of the region was spread across a long wooden table. Around it, Pendralis commanders gathered, their discussions revolving around the next phase of the war.

The heavy doors swung open.

Arthur entered.

The room fell silent. Every officer stood at attention. Without a word, Arthur walked toward the head of the table and took his seat. Only after he had sat did the others follow.

He turned to his right, where General George Brook sat. "General, what's our casualty report?"

Brook's expression remained composed. "Your Highness, based on our findings, the enemy suffered 3,772 dead. We have taken 93 prisoners alive."

Arthur nodded. "And our own casualties?"

Brook hesitated for a brief moment before answering. "We have no fatalities. Only 27 soldiers with minor injuries and four with moderate wounds, mostly from swords during close combat."

Arthur was silent for a moment, processing the number.

He had known that Pendralis' military superiority was overwhelming, but to take the fortress without losing a single soldier? It was beyond even his expectations. Brook himself had been equally astonished when he first received the report.

For centuries, the Fasians had tried to take this fortress, losing thousands upon thousands of men with each attempt—yet Pendralis had done it in less than a day, without a single soldier falling.

Arthur leaned forward. "Has all equipment been moved from the fleet to the fortress?"

Brook nodded. "Yes, Your Highness. All supplies, artillery, and personnel have been transferred."

Arthur exhaled, then asked his next question. "What of the Aragonese main army? How soon will they arrive?"

Brook glanced at the intelligence reports before replying. "According to our informants, they will reach us in fifteen days at the latest."

Arthur's mind raced.

He had spent countless hours studying why the rebels of Fasi had never succeeded against Aragon. Their problem was simple—their armies were medieval, relying on siege ladders, shields, and swords to assault high stone walls.

The pattern was always the same.

The Fasi warriors would advance under a rain of arrows, losing men before even reaching the walls. By the time their ladders were raised, the Aragonese cavalry would emerge from the fortress gates, sweeping through their ranks and forcing them into a bloody retreat.

Even when they gained ground, they bled for every inch.

Then, before they could ever fully take the fortress, Aragon's reinforcements would arrive—forcing them to withdraw and start the cycle all over again.

But Arthur had not fought like the Fasians.

Instead of sending men to climb the walls, he had reduced those walls to rubble with artillery fire. Instead of charging blindly, he had pinned down enemy forces with suppressive bombardment, breaking their formations before the assault had even begun.

That was why Pendralis had taken the fortress in one day, rather than one decade.

Arthur then turned his thoughts to the future of Pendralis.

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Even before his campaign, Pendralis was already scientifically and economically more advanced than its neighbors. While most nations still clung to feudal traditions, Pendralis had begun its industrial revolution. Serfs were no longer bound to landowners—they were now paid workers, earning wages instead of simply giving their produce as tax.

Water powered primitive factories had begun to replace handcrafted goods, and trade had flourished under a growing capitalist economy. Yet despite these advancements, the country was still not fully industrialized.

Arthur had originally planned to modernize the military completely before launching any wars, ensuring that the country reached a higher level of industrialization before expansion.

But Aragon had forced his hand.

Pendralis' rising wealth had made it a tempting target, and the Aragonese had grown impatient. They had sought to conquer Pendralis before it became too powerful. Instead, they had given Arthur the perfect reason to crush them first.

Arthur's gaze settled on Brook once again. "When is our next supply shipment arriving?"

Brook answered immediately. "Within two weeks at most, Your Highness."

Arthur nodded in relief. No matter how advanced his weapons were, wars were won by logistics.

"Until then, fortify the fortress," Arthur ordered. "And watch the enemy's movements carefully."

His gaze drifted toward the southern wall, now riddled with cannon fire, its stonework barely standing.

He exhaled.

Perhaps… he had overdone it.

As Arthur sat deep in thought, far beyond the horizon, the sails of the Fasi fleet unfurled—their warships setting course for the ocean entrance of the strait.