Barely

The small detachment of Almaini troops snuck into the fortress of Pabląg under the cover of night, the new moon leaving all the land in pitch blackness. The Magruvak patrols were on high alert, keeping their torches close in hand and their steel brandished.

For the night **** to succeed, the detachment comprised of scouts lightly armored in leather and brandishing daggers, shortswords, and crossbows; metal armor would creak and clank, making too much noise that could give them away.

It was not easy with how many troops were out on patrol, but gradually, the Almaini scouts inched closer to their goal: The gate winch.

"Look, that's the gatehouse," Said a scout, "We could make it past those patrols, but it'll be a close shave."

"We'll have to take the risk," Said the scout captain, "We don't open the gates, our men outside will die."

"Only option is forward, eh?" The scout remarked with a joking smile, "We're with ya, Sir."

"Then on me," The scout captain ordered, "On three. One, two..."

There was a rare moment in the patrol patterns when all the patrols had their backs turned, a moment that they would not miss.

"Three!"

The Almaini dashed as fast as their legs could carry them, dodging past sentries and their glowing lights and trying as hard as possible to stay close to each other. There were close misses here and there, and a few patrols called out when they nearly got caught, but none moved to pursue.

Soon, they managed to reach the interior of the gatehouse, closing the door hastily yet gently behind them, and the Almaini scouts breathed a sigh of relief.

"Whew, that was too close," A scout whispered.

"We're not out of the woods yet," The scout captain reminded, "There's still other guards inside, so we gotta take them out. Once we do that, we signal to the army outside with fire arrows and open the gates. Everyone understands?"

"Aye, sir," The scouts chorused.

They gathered behind a doorway, where they could see a handful of guards - a pittance against their number. Brandishing their weapons, they charged in with crossbows and felled the first few, before they slaughtered the rest.

"Quick, the torches!" The captain ordered, "And get on the winch!"

Outside the fortress, the army awaited with bated breath, hidden out of sight and waiting for the signal. Your hands were sweaty, your forehead glistening and your mouth swallowed subconsciously.

"Is something bothering you, Your Grace?" Questioned Sigmar, the young commander brimming with enthusiasm.

"Just jittery," You admitted.

"It is natural to feel so, Your Grace," Siegfried put forth, "When executing plans as risky as this, there is always the fear of failure, and that fear keeps us up. Have faith in the men."

You simply nod and keep your eyes fixed on the walls of Pabląg, anxiously awaiting the signal.

Then a single fire arrow flew up from the walls, and instantly your mouth flew open before the rest of your body could react.

"Prepare the troops!" You ordered, "When the gates open, we charge in!"

Your commanders swiftly followed orders as did the rest of the Confederation's military, and noble commanders of every denomination eagerly brandished steel in anticipation of the glories they would earn in this momentous battle.

Soon, loud creaking registered in your ears, and the gates were bared open for the Almain Confederation.

"Charge! Charge!" You bellowed.

Like a tidal wave, the troops of the Almain Confederation charged, eager to outdo the contributions of Ostgrenze and slaughter some barbarians for the glory of their country. The shocked Magruvak quickly tried to plug the gap, but the cavalry was first through the gate, pummeling them into the ground as horse hooves smashed apart and trampled them with sheer momentum. Those that survived the cavalry soon had to contest with the infantry who followed behind, archers in support as they rained down arrows and riddled their foes with feathered shafts.

Before long, the Magruvak caved before the Almaini like wheat to a scythe, and the fortress soon fell to the Confederation as troops quickly secured the place and rounded up any survivors.

The troops moved to secure the keep, and you and your commanders quickly rushed there with bloody swords in hand.

You find a single man on the ground in a pool of blood, three angry young girls, and a solemn matron behind him, surrounded by a group of Almaini troops.

"Your Grace, they say they are the family of Chieftain Vertrix," One of the soldiers said, "Chieftain Vertrix lies dead."

I suppose that saves us some trouble, You thought with relief, Though his family is another matter...

"Your Grace," The matron addressed, "I take it you are the leader of the Almain army?"

"Who's asking?" You questioned.

"I am Dobra, wife of Vertrix," The matron answered, "You have defeated my husband and our tribe, and we now lie defeated. If you will accept our surrender, I promise you my daughters and I will pose no harm."

It seemed almost too good to be true at first glance; few enemies surrendered willingly, and most that did often try to save their own necks so they could live in peace or try to get back at their enemies. You suspect that while trying to save her own life, she was also trying to save the lives of her daughters.

On the other hand, losing their unifying figure, the remaining Magruvak resistance would fracture and squabble among each other not unlike the Confederate Duchies, and with virtually no allies and power left, it was the only thing they could do.

And so you do the one thing you can.

"I accept your surrender, Lady Dobra," You nod, "Guards, take them away but treat them well."

The daughters are ****, but they relent and go with the guards at their mother's behest.

Now, there was the aftermath to handle.