Zarod was surrounded by his chiefs, all breathing a rage that was almost suffocating. Even if they hadn't all liked Kravash, his death was a clear insult to the sand bandits, and they were all ready to make Vulkania pay a heavy price.
The sand bandits, gathered in large numbers behind their leader, sharpened their weapons, reloaded their crossbows, tightened their armor, and growled with impatience.
Akram saw all of it, standing right in front of them.
His fists clenched, his heart sped up, the tension rose another notch.
But even so, he did not run. He didn't want to run. He no longer wanted to run, like that day when he had fled from Varog.
Zarod spoke again, a grin stretching across his lips.
"As you can see, Akram, we're quite numerous," he said casually.
The sand bandits burst into laughter, clearly underestimating Akram.
"And you? What are you, three, four people? I don't think you have more men than that," he continued, still just as relaxed.
"All your other people must have run away. I don't blame them. No one wants to taste that smoke. No one ever has, in the Varang."
"Not even Barid! Well, who gives a shit about Barid anyway? He's dead," he sneered.
The sand bandits exploded with laughter, each one adding to the mockery aimed at Vulkania.
The veins on Akram's forehead bulged instantly. The insult against Barid clearly didn't pass. Not for Baron either.
"If you're so confident, why come here with your whole pack of whores? Nobody got the balls to do one-on-one fights anymore?!" Akram shot back, copying his opponent's careless tone.
Shouts erupted immediately:
"Huh?! What's this son of a bitch saying?!"
"We're gonna kill you, you little bitch, and wipe out your whole crew!"
"Don't move, we're gonna take care of you, you little slut!"
The bandits took the bait like amateurs. Akram had played them perfectly.
"Easy, easy, gentlemen… no need to get so worked up," Zarod said calmly, the grin still on his face.
His troops immediately settled down, obeying his orders without hesitation.
That's some discipline, for bandits… Who the hell is this guy? Akram wondered, clearly reassessing the threat Zarod represented.
"You're right, this can be settled pretty quickly," Zarod said, gesturing with his hands.
"Surrender, and we'll let Vulkania live. At least until we get bored," he added, pointing at Akram.
"Deal?"
Akram let only a few milliseconds pass before answering sharply:
"No."
Behind Zarod, Balgrid the Reckless was breathing like a bull, barely holding himself back.
"That's enough, ENOUGH OF THIS TALK!!" he roared, shoving aside the other chiefs around him, including Zarod.
He charged straight at Akram at full speed, rushing him like a wild beast, growling as he ran.
Akram didn't even need to move.
Baron, finger on the trigger, fired a volley of explosive bolts straight at Balgrid.
The explosion kicked up a massive cloud of dust, blinding everyone for a moment.
When the dust finally settled, a heavy thud echoed, like a massive body collapsing to the ground.
A head rolled across the dirt and stopped at Zarod's feet, completely destroyed and disfigured by the blast.
Balgrid the Reckless was gone.
Shouts of shock spread through the bandits.
One of the sand lords—physically the strongest of them all—had just been completely erased in a matter of seconds.
"W-What the hell was that?! What exploded?! What the fuck?!" the troops shouted, completely stunned by what they had just seen.
Zarod clicked his tongue, visibly annoyed, then shrugged.
"So be it. He disrespected me anyway," he said, brushing off the death of his lieutenant.
What the hell was that? Why did his skull explode like that? Those turrets… what are they?! Zarod thought, far from the calm attitude he was showing.
No… not the turrets… the bolts. What did you build, you cursed Akram…
"It seems you've made your choice, Akram the Cursed," he said flatly.
"The Cursed? I'm not the one who's going to suffer a curse here," Akram replied calmly.
Zarod let out a short laugh, then raised his hand high.
Akram held his breath and turned away. The assault was about to begin.
He rushed to close the gate, pulling the lever with all his strength.
The bandits were waiting for the final order, their faces twisted with rage and hatred after yet another humiliation.
Zarod suddenly dropped his arm and roared at the top of his lungs:
"CHAAARGEEEE!"
More than two hundred bandits roared in unison and charged toward Vulkania.
Runa, Elliot, and Baron didn't waste a second and opened fire at their attackers.
Zarod didn't move. His men rushed past him, carefully avoiding him. The grin was gone now, replaced by a serious expression.
One by one, the sand lords threw themselves into the battle.
When almost no one remained around him, a shadow stayed behind.
"Your turn. Don't disappoint me," Zarod said in a deep voice.
"Yes, superior," replied a fragmented, unstable voice, before vanishing.
Meanwhile, the assault did not go the way the bandits had expected.
The three days the Vulkans had spent preparing their defenses hadn't been used only to arm their turrets.
Akram had planned something else entirely. If he couldn't win militarily, then he would win psychologically.
Bandits fell one after another into shallow traps dug by the Vulkans, filled with spikes and explosive iron chestnuts scattered everywhere.
The strength of these traps was that they weren't always lethal. The screams of wounded bandits echoed nonstop.
"ARGH?! FUCK, MY LEG! MY LEEEG!!"
"HELP, I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING! I CAN'T MOVE! AAAAAAH!"
the trapped bandits screamed.
Those screams made more and more bandits hesitate as the shock began to sink in.
At least, that was the case for the less disciplined ones.
The sand lords, however, ignored their men completely. They moved fast, avoided the traps, and quickly reached the walls.
Koard the Vicious began climbing the wall with frightening agility. In just a few seconds, he was face to face with Elliot, daggers raised, ready to strike.
As they came down on Elliot, a detonation rang out.
BOOM.