By the end of the day, the city hall in Vofors was crowded with people once again.

This time, fortunately, is not because of the secessionist or angry mob. It was the soldiers who had finished their mission. 𝘳𝑎.𝗇t

As night descended over the city, the street lamps flickered to life, illuminating the city hall and its vicinity.

Outside the city hall, the soldiers stood in small groups, talking in hushed tones while awaiting for the next instructions.

Their uniforms smeared with dirt and sweat, proof of the grueling task they had completed earlier.

However, the success in restoring order to the city come at a cost. Some of them suffered injuries and many were clearly fatigued from the hours of urban warfare.

Meanwhile, inside the city hall, Wilmot sat at the head of a long oak table inside one of its meeting room.

The room was filled with tension as his officers gathered around, waiting to report about the aftermath of their operation.

Clearing his throat, Wilmot scanned the room with a serious expression. He addressed his officers, “Officers, I need a comprehensive report on the situation.”

“Sir, we’ve successfully gained control over Vofors. In the process, we unfortunately sustained a total of 37 casualties, with 10 soldiers fatally wounded and 27 suffered minor injuries. They are receiving medical attention and should be back on their feet soon.”

Wilmot nodded, “Good to hear that no one died.”

Then his attention was directed to another person, “Sir, we’ve confiscated an approximately 50 rifles together with a substantial amount of ammunition from the secessionist fighters. As we initial assumed, the rifle bore an uncanny similarity with our standard-issue firearms. We are investigating the source.”

“Send the firearms to the capital. People over there are more well-versed about the subject than us here.” Wilmot instructed, “By the way, speaking about investigate, what information do we know from the secessionist prisoners? Any valuable intelligence?”

The officer who had been overseeing the capture and detention of the secessionists saluted and reported, “We’ve captured a total of 23 secessionist fighters, sir. They’re currently being held in the barrack’s detention area. We’ve separated them into individual cells for questioning. Preliminary interviews suggest that they are indeed part of a larger network with ties to an external group in Cerdeauxia and Blande. Interrogations are ongoing, and we will keep you updated as we gain more information.”

Wilmot leaned back in his chair. He then shook his head and said after a few moment passed, “We don’t have time for a prolonged interrogation. If we can’t find anything new, prepare to ship the secessionists to the prison island. Let’s not wasted the time when we still had to knock some sense on people in Dalfos too.”

“Understood, sir!”

Wilmot wave his hand, shooing the officer away. “Dismissed. Keep me informed of any developments. Also, told the soldiers to take a rest.”

The officers stood up and exited the meeting roomto carry out their respective duties, leaving Wilmot alone in the meeting room.

In such a quiet atmosphere, a voice pierced the silence, making him jump in his chair. “Are you done with the meeting?”

Wilmot’s eyes widened, and he swiveled his head around to locate the source of the voice.

His heart raced, and his hand instinctively moved toward his sidearm before he realized that it was a familiar voice.

“What the…” Wilmot was both relieved and startled by the surprise.

From the shadows near the meeting room’s entrance, a figure stepped forward.

It was Wheatman, one of the SIN agent he met in the governor’s office few hours back.

“Since when are you here?” he asked.

Wheatman calmly replied, “Since the meeting started.”

“So, you heard everything?!” the general asked, narrowing his eyes as he look at the agent.

Any military meeting should be confidential and no one can eavesdropped. Anybody who does this shall be subjected to a harsh punishments.

Knowing why Wilmot gazed at him that way, Wheatman reassured the general. “Relax, General. Most of the topics you guys were discussing, we already know.”

Although both the army and the intelligence seems like a two separate identity, Wheatman know just how close both organizations has work together.

Wilmot took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then responded, “You could have used a less dramatic approach as a normal person would. Or are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Wheatman’s expression remained composed, “I didn’t mean to startle you, General…Or maybe I’m actually is. Anyway, putting your life aside, I just thought I should tell you on the latest developments on our side.”

As his heart calmed down, Wilmot leaned back in his chair and inquired, “Hoh? The SIN agent want to share intel. What is it?”

“Correction! Not share but I was feeling kind today. We have captured the grain producer.”

The agent proceed by telling the general in detail.

After a lengthy explanation, Agent Wheatman offered, “We will transport them to the capital as soon as possible. If you have anything for the king, I will pass it for you.”

“Great,” Wilmot’s face brightened with hope. The general relieved that he could delegate a task to the agent. “I will prepare the letter for the king and, since you’re heading to the capital, please help me transport those secessionists to the prison island as well.”

Wheatman raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the additional request. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I get the letter but the secessionists as well? This sounds kind of too much,” he protested.

He thought he was being kind by offering help, but now he regretting his decision to be helpful.

Wilmot was undeterred. “Come on! Do you think the grain producers would be released? I’m one hundred percent sure they will end up either dead or on that island.”

Wheatman sighed, realizing he couldn’t back out now. “Fine, fine, fine,” he reluctantly agreed. “Give me the letter tomorrow morning. The SIN will make the necessary arrangements for the transport of the secessionists.”

Updated from