As Myth stepped out onto the veranda of the second floor, he looked down and discovered that the warriors had arrived to stand beside him, their peaceful banners waving proudly. They formed a formidable front, a large army that could indeed challenge the forces of Dara.
Seeing them filled Myth with immense joy; this was precisely what he had anticipated. He needed an army to bolster his own, allowing him to confront any adversary that dared to oppose him.
With a heart full of hope, he signaled to his guards to open the gates. As the gates swung wide, the warriors marched in, their presence a golden wave of strength. Myth descended to meet the king of the northern kingdom, the ally who had come to fight alongside him in exchange for something of great value once the war concluded.
"Welcome, my friend!" Myth exclaimed, his voice resonating with urgency. "We must go inside and prepare our defenses immediately. Time is not on our side! Our enemies will be upon us in less than three days! And I think that's a little time to ready ourselves and fortify our defenses! we must make use of every opportunity we have"
 
                   | Waring Extra |
The air crackled with anticipation, a palpable tension that hung heavy over the valley. Three days gone already and Dara is here with his army. Dara's men are already outside the gate of the golden Castle waiting for the surrender of Myth and his crew.
Dara whose a figure of regal grace atop his war-steed, surveyed his troops, his voice booming across Castle, as he sends message to Myth, a peaceful one. "I offer you a chance to save yourselves, to spare this city from the horrors of war. Surrender now, and I will ensure a just punishment for your transgressions. Save your people, save this city, and save yourselves from the inevitable bloodshed!"
His words were met with a deafening silence, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder. Myth, a towering figure of shadowed menace, emerged from the ranks of his army, his voice a chilling rasp. "It is you who need a just punishment for your crime! a treason against your king!! the king of the seven Kingdoms, Dara. You and your men are the ones who will surrender, who will swear fealty to me, your rightful king! Or else, this battle will be a bloodbath unlike any you have ever witnessed!"
Dara's gaze swept across the battlefield, landing on Obed and Micah, their faces etched with a stoic determination. He let out a sigh, his voice heavy with resignation. "I have offered you peace, but you have chosen war. The blood that will be spilled here will be on your hands, Myth!"
Dara's words echoed across the valley, a final plea for reason that fell on deaf ears. The gates of the golden castle remained closed, a silent testament to the unwavering defiance of its defenders.
Dara and his men became eager to engage Myth in open battle hoping the gate of the golden castle would be opened for proper confrontation and fair fight.
But unfortunately he was unaware of the cunning plan Myth had already set in motion. Before they could even react, a torrent of fire erupted from the golden castle, raining down upon them. Chaos erupted within their ranks as the flames engulfed some of their men, screams piercing the air.
"Coward!" Dara yelled, his voice filled with scorn. "He's attacking from afar!"
"To the wall!" Dara roared, his sword raised high, a beacon of defiance. His army surged forward, their determination fueled by anger and a thirst for war and revenge of anger.
As they reached the castle walls, they attempted to scale its towering heights. But Myth, ever the strategist, had anticipated their move. Archers, stationed atop the walls, unleashed a barrage of arrows, their deadly projectiles raining down upon Dara's army. The climb seemed insurmountable, the wall a formidable obstacle.
"They'll never make it!" one of Myth's soldiers exclaimed, his voice filled with confidence. "The wall is too high, too imposing!"
But the Dara's warriors were not deterred. They had a secret weapon – a magnetic substance that clung to the wall, allowing them to ascend with surprising speed. Despite the relentless barrage of arrows, they continued their relentless climb, their numbers overwhelming.
Seeing the enemy's relentless advance, Myth drew his sword, his face a mask of grim determination. He rallied his men, preparing to meet the attackers at the wall, to cut them down before they could breach his defenses.
Dara, witnessing the chaos unfolding before him, knew he had to act decisively or else he will just watch all his men get eliminated right in his face. He unsheathed his sword, its gleaming blade reflecting the flickering flames of the burning battlefield. "Micah, go get your dragon," he commanded, his voice ringing with urgency. "We will keep them busy, make them think they're fighting a real war!"
Micah, ever the loyal companion, nodded and leaped from his horse, disappearing into the swirling smoke and chaos.
"Obed, on me!" Dara roared, his eyes blazing with determination. Obed, his face grim, drew his sword and charged towards the wall, his movements fluid and precise. Dara, followed by Jones' elite warriors, surged forward, their swords flashing in the sunlight.
They were supposed to wait for the wall to fall, but Dara knew that delay would cost them dearly it will cost them good men and loss of army. He couldn't stand by and watch his men perish. He had to reach the top, to protect them, to buy time for Micah and his dragon to arrive.
Meanwhile, Myth, a whirlwind of fury and bloodshed, was carving a path of destruction through Dara's ranks. His sword, a blur of steel, was stained crimson with the blood of his enemies. He was unaware of Dara's ascent until a familiar voice pierced the din of battle. He didn't know when Dara ascended on to the wall from the other side.
"Myth!" Dara's voice echoed across the walls, a challenge that resonated with both fury and defiance. Myth whirled around, his eyes widening in disbelief as he saw Dara standing atop the wall, he smiled deadly instead, he believed it's a good chance to kill Dara by himself.
"You!" Myth snarled, his rage burning hotter than the fires that consumed the city. He knew Dara was the key to this war, the heart of the resistance. If he could eliminate Dara, the rest would crumble. He charged towards the Dara, his sword raised high, ready to deliver a final, fatal blow.