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With the battle all but lost, the city, and consequently the kingdom, fell at the black hands of the Nilfgaardian Empire. The city was sacked, its inhabitants and defenders put to rout and scattered, then put to the torch as they moved to begin another step in the empire's grand campaign to seize the North. Hundreds perished, while hundreds more were clapped in irons, bound for slavery as the nilfgaardians hauled off their bounty.

Menno Coehoorn, after going through every report sent his way by his commanders, took note of the heavy cost the battles the army fought in and how it would put a strain on the overall performance in the campaign should he delay in taking the matter seriously. This matter, particularly, involving the elusive Punishers. Though the reports varied in their reliability, Coehoorn managed to narrow it all down by cross-referencing eye-witness accounts until he came upon a valid conclusion. The Punishers were an elite task force, possibly formed at the Queen's behest and answered to the crown of Cintra. They possessed advanced anti-infantry weapons, non-magical, but were capable of obliterating whole companies in a single volley. Coehoorn guessed they implemented shock-and-awe tactics to demoralize Cintra's enemies before they even faced the regulars, and clearly it worked for a little while.

To Coehoorn, it was a bold move from the Lioness of Cintra, but ultimately a delay of the inevitable. The kingdom still fell, and the Punishers' tactics paled in the face of the overwhelming tide of the empire's armies. It was like throwing rocks at the surf, plunging down only to be engulfed by the rushing wave. And for Nilfgaard, there was always another wave. Still, the Punishers seemed to have survived the slaughter and may prove to be a problem. It was not an overthought, but a strategic move. The Emperor's trust had been placed in the Field Marshal's hands, and he would see to it that everything must be addressed accordingly- with vigilance and cunning.

Their victory was celebrated with a night of revelry. Though overall, Coehoorn cared little for the subjugated and even less by the thought of how fair his hand was to them, the Field Marshal allowed his soldiers to take their pick among the more intact women prisoners. The plundered goods, such as the fine wine kegs and barrels hauled from far off Skellige, were distributed across the camp as the feast stretched from dusk till dawn. The air grew thick with tone-deaf songs borne on drunken lips, and smoke from roasting pigs. Frantic girls were dragged, beaten and carried into tents, left broken and weeping come the morn after the soldiers have had their fun.

Though some might see Coehoorn's reward as something not unheard of in that dark age, what he meant for the whole night of revelry made it all the more seem barbaric as he, in truth, wanted to test the rumors out for himself. The Punishers were said to be the avengers of the downtrodden, and the Field Marshal wondered if this time he would get a response as the tales said.

In his own tent, Coehoorn listened for any sign of an attack on the nilfgaardian encampment. After hearing nothing, a triumphant smirk crossed the man's face as he regarded the defiant woman's glare. Her face, smeared with her flowing makeup, still displayed that strong and undaunted look that inexplicably aroused the young commander.

"You hear that?" Coehoorn chuckled. "Neither do I. It sounds like your Punishers aren't coming to save you."

His hand reached out to yank at her beautiful red hair and grabbed her head firmly, while the other reached down to undo his belt. The woman clenched her teeth tight as she realized what was about to happen. Her eyes blazed with all the fires of hell as she looked up at him with unwavering defiance, she would not let him have his way so easily. Her courage was commendable, yet her strength laughably lacking. The Field Marshal only had to pry her jaws apart with but a firm, invading hand.

"Ah, you northern women..." Coehoorn groaned as the suffocating wetness engulfed him. He reveled in the sweet hacking sounds she made with each thrust, "Your fire just makes everything sooo...much better." He ignored her muffled squeals of protest as she beat at his stomach and thighs. "First you...then all of the North!"

Frank Castle's glare reflected the flames of the firepit blazing before him. His mind imagined all sorts of maddening and dark thoughts, the same things that kept running through his head in the silence after the battles, the kind of things that drove him to hunt down the lawless degenerates that plagued society. In the simplicity of the medieval age, the human mind was capable of so much atrocity, and Frank knew many innocent souls were suffering at that very moment he was sitting around with his students, nursing inconsequential wounds while monsters roamed free.

He was angry, angrier than before.

This was not because he could not kill more, he knew their time would come, he could kill them all later. It was because he failed in his promise to that dead king. The queen of this kingdom was dead, the royal family slaughtered in the city, and her granddaughter missing. Another reason why he hated making promises. They were always so hard to keep, something he learned the hard way.

One batch. Two batch. Penny and Dime.

"Master Castle."

Frank looked up at the Punishers who gathered around him. Though their faces were smeared with soot, dried blood and sweat, he could see they were still eager to get to work. By the time darkness filled the skies above, Lennicord's gun-carriage pulled up to the camp as they were led cautiously through the wealds outside Cintra to meet up with the rest of them. The dwarf sat at the driver's seat and leaned against the covered weapon, obscured from onlookers by a thick tarp. Their present company included many soldiers of the cintran defenders, not excluding the Temerian sorceress Triss Merigold and her coterie of surviving mages. Frank Castle was insistent on all the secrecy surrounding Lenny's inventions, and the dwarf never contested the firm restrictions placed on his discoveries.

They were at war, and right smack in the middle of it too. Although he understood Castle's wariness of these discoveries falling into the wrong hands, inwardly the dwarf wondered why ever not would the beleaguered northerners be granted such an edge against Nilfgaard?

"Master Castle." Tilera began, "What would you have us do now?"

Frank sighed deeply as he rolled the thought over and over in his head. The mission wasn't over, people still needed punishing. Though Cintra had fallen, the Punishers were all still very much alive, and the blood of the innocent called for action. "Sit down, all of you." The young men and women obeyed their teacher and sat in a circle around the fire. "You've all grown capable of handling things more than your age requires, and you've proven to me you are worthy of my name when you faced the black tide of Nilfgaard alongside me. For that, you have made me proud."

Triss, having fixed her injuries from the battle, arrived at the Punishers' part of the encampment to see if her skills as a healer were needed. She stopped to listen to Frank speak. Though not her first time eavesdropping on someone, she always found listening in on this particular group very interesting.

"Now, I have an important task for you. I need you to return to the keep. Gather all your friends and what you can carry with you, then destroy everything." Frank said, giving emphasis on the last part. "Leave no trace for salvage, only ash."

"It will be done, master." Tilera acknowledged, "But when we've finished, where should we meet you?"

Frank took a moment to consider all options. The girl was right in asking him the question, since Nilfgaard pretty much occupied the lands south of Cintra and their armies would soon press north. It would be difficult enough for them to travel through the south undetected, even harder when they'd double back north. They would need an rendezvous point, somewhere to rally the group before they could strike back at Nilfgaard.

Sensing his dilemma, the ever so perceptive Triss offered. "You can meet up at Siavelle."

The Punishers all turned their gaze to the sorceress, most in disapproval as they realized she had been listening in on them. Triss ignored their potent stares and continued, "The armies of the North are due to rally there as well. They may have been delayed in their aid for Cintra, but rest assured they take the threat of the nilfgaardian invasion seriously. It's just at Upper Sodden, across the River Yaruga to the north-east. You will find friends there, you will be more than welcome to join the struggle."

Frank immediately thought to decline the offer, preferring to keep the meeting place secret as was his habit, but decided against it. The Punishers weren't an army, though their strength might amount to a small version of one in terms of skill and weaponry. Striking out alone against the black tide would make their campaign against the guilty a fairly short one. But striking out when the enemy least expected, similar to their assault on Cintra, picking off companies one by one from the shadows... "You heard her. Siavelle it is then."

"And what about you, master?" Tilera asked. "What will you be doing?"

Frank turned to look at Kell, who was busy cleaning his sword underneath an old oak tree. "I'm going out to go looking for the missing princess. My search will start from the ruins of the city where we lost her, then wherever the path may take me."

The immortal glanced up at the Punisher and sighed, "What the hell are you looking at me for?"

"You're coming with me." Frank declared, and sensing the man's displeasure quickly added. "There's going to be lots and lots of nilfgaardians on the road. If I'm not mistaken, they'd take a great interest in the princess' whereabouts as much as we would."

"You sly dog." Kell groaned, dacnomania overtaking his better judgement. "Alright, can never resist the urge to kill more Black Ones."

"I'm coming with as well." The sorceress declared.

"No, you will not." Frank refused, "A bigger group attracts the most attention, you'll only slow us down."

Kell chuckled, noting Frank's ignorance to the benefits of having a mage in their little party, especially a woman. The immortal would enjoy the company, and his vast needs demanded sating. Their task too would require some decent firepower, and the sorceress proved in the battle past that she was more than capable of providing said firepower.

"Then I'll come alone." Triss insisted, "A group of three is hardly a big one."

"My friend, she's a mage." Kell said quietly to Frank, "If anyone of the three of us is the slowest, it would be you."

Frank's brow arched at this, and he sighed in exasperation. "Fine, if you're so set on coming with..." The Punisher stood up and bade the group of young Punishers to depart. "Go now, while it's still dark. Use everything I've taught you, and you'll survive." They dispersed into the night, the most opportune time to avoid the nilfgaardians sweeping for survivors. Frank and his two companions rode out to begin their search, heading first for the ruined city now flooded with the black tide.

The nilfgaardian army prepared to break camp and move out. Half of the Center Army Group stayed behind in the ruins of Cintra to secure their foothold on the North, while the other half moved to take control of the villages and towns the defeated kingdom once ruled over. Come the end of the fortnight, reinforcements would arrive to bolster their ranks and replenish their lost numbers from the last fight.

Fresh troops arrived early, however, bringing with them an elite task force carrying the Emperor's seal and voice. When they approached the Field Marshal's tent, they passed a broken siege tower sitting in the mud which doubled as the gallows where a great number of victims were hung. Among them hung the pale corpse of a young woman, her fiery red hair flowed with each passing breeze to cover her beautiful face now marred with bruises. From her mouth spilled a torrent of drying blood, gushed forth from a tongue so violently ripped from its roots.

The task force, instead of Menno Coehoorn, were met by his second-in-command, Havart var Moehoen. The Field Marshal sustained an injury during one of his leisure moments plundering the captured womenfolk of Cintra, resulting in the loss of one of his testicles, a fact lost on many as the humiliated commander preferred to keep the matter private.

"Greetings, I am Havart var Moehoen, Field Marhshal Menno Coehoorn's second. On his behalf, I apologize for my lord's absence." He said, giving the party a stiff salute before leading them into the commander's tent. There, a table had been set up by the squires with a plate of fresh fruits and bread for the guests. Moehoen's offer of wine was refused as the new arrivals insisted on proceeding with their mission, opting to take advantage of the chaos of the nilfgaardian invasion to better sniff out their quarry.

"You can skip with the pleasantries, commander." Their leader, the one who bore the Emperor's seal and voice, who introduced himself as Corvinus, spoke up. "Although congratulations should be in order, I find myself in need of vital information on your part."

"You have the Emperor's seal and voice, sir." Moehoen replied with a nod, "I am at your disposal."

"How fares the royal family of Cintra, after your seizure of the city?" The question made Moehoen squirm uncomfortably, but the commander did his very best not to show it.

"They are all dead." He explained, quickly adding upon noting the displeasure on the man's face. "They took poison or leapt from the balconies before my men could secure the keep, rather than risk capture."

"You were given strict orders to keep them alive, commander!" Corvinus said, glaring daggers into Moehoen's eyes. The man got up to leave, "That they might face the Emperor in person when he comes to inspect the annexed kingdoms! Especially the princess. Your failure would prove painful once the Emperor hears of this."

Moehoen swallowed the lump forming in his throat, imagining the headsman's axe descending upon his neck. "There is...a way to salvage this travesty, sir."

"Oh?" Corvinus turned to face the man again, "Pray tell, how could it be?"

"We have made an accounting of the remains, based on the reports of the spy we have planted in court." Moehoen offered, "And the final conclusion states that the princess had survived the slaughter- her and the royal spymaster."

"Meaning you haven't found the bodies."

"No sir, it means they have survived the slaughter." Moehoen firmly replied, holding true to the facts as they were his only lifeline. He had no intention of dying for such a trivial matter.

Corvinus allowed an amused smirk to form its way through his lips, "Very well, commander. You can keep your head." He paused to take the refused bottle of wine to pour himself a drink, "But for the deaths of the queen and her court, someone has to pay."

Moehoen arched his brow, showing a bright bead of sweat trickling past his temple. "Who did you have in mind, sir?"

Corvinus only had to wave his hand and his bodyguards turned heel and marched for Menno Coehoorn's tent. The half-naked Field Marshal was brought out screaming in agony as his wound had not yet been treated properly by the army medics. The whole army bore witness to the further humiliation brought upon their leader as Corvinus' bodyguards dragged him through the mud and threw the noose of a roughly hewn rope around his neck. "Indeed, congratulations would be in order, Havart var Moehoen."

Coehoorn kicked and struggled as the rope yanked hard against his neck. The men heaved and heaved until the man hung ten feet off the ground. Seconds passed into a full minute before the life left the commander's body, and his corpse was left to hang beside the many others he had hoisted up against the siege tower.

"You just got promoted." Corvinus joked, turning heel to begin his search for Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.

As the man prepared to mount his horse, his eyes fell upon the hanged corpse of the redheaded woman. Though he considered himself as a rational man, Corvinus could've sworn he hadn't seen that smirk of approval on the corpse's face before. Seemingly unnerved, the man kicked his horse to a gallop and headed for the ruins of the city.

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