I Was Summoned to Another World, but I'm Still the Weakest

As one approached the capital city of Aranath, the grandeur of its architecture became apparent. The towering spires, adorned with intricate carvings and shimmering gold accents, seemed to reach up towards the heavens themselves. Each spire appeared to be taller than the last, and the sheer magnitude of their height was awe-inspiring.

But the city's beauty was not limited to its impressive structures. The streets bustled with life and energy, filled with a diverse population of humans, elves, dwarves, and other magical beings. Their clothing, crafted from the finest materials and dyed in vibrant hues, added to the already stunning scenery. As they went about their daily lives, the air was filled with the sounds of their languages, each one a beautiful symphony in its own right.

The city's markets were a sight to behold, overflowing with exotic goods and vibrant produce from every corner of the kingdom. The stalls were adorned with intricate tapestries and sparkling gems, each one crafted with meticulous care by the skilled hands of the local artisans. The aromas of spices and herbs wafted through the air, enticing passersby to sample the tantalizing cuisine.

As one gazes out towards the sea, they are met with a picturesque view of the harbor, with ships of various sizes docked at the piers. The sea itself provides a stunning backdrop to the city's already breathtaking beauty, stretching out into the distance in vibrant shades of blue, green, and turquoise.

The crystal-clear waters shimmer under the bright sun, almost appearing to dance with a life of their own. The waves crashing against the shore are gentle yet powerful, creating a soothing background music to the lively atmosphere of the city.

The salty breeze coming off the sea carries with it the faint scent of seaweed and saltwater, adding to the authenticity of the setting. The sound of seagulls fills the air, their cries echoing off the surrounding buildings and adding to the overall ambiance of the port.

Looking out towards the horizon, one can see cargo ships, sailboats, and yachts, all lined up in a picturesque arrangement that seems almost too perfect to be real. The piers themselves are bustling with activity, with dockworkers unloading crates and passengers disembarking from the ships, adding to the liveliness of the port.

The capital city of Aranath was an unparalleled marvel of the nation, a true gem among the land's many treasures. Its beauty and grandeur were unmatched, a testament to the ingenuity, creativity, and perseverance of its people. The streets were lined with towering buildings adorned with intricate carvings and elaborate murals, each telling a story of the city's rich history.

But beneath its stunning facade, the king knew that Aranath was teetering on the brink of collapse. The full might of the army of bismuth had fallen upon the kingdom like a relentless storm, leaving destruction and devastation in its wake. For the past two weeks, the army had been marching upon the kingdom, crushing all resistance in its path and bringing the once-prosperous nation to its knees.

The capital city had become a beacon of hope for the millions of displaced people fleeing the horrors of the war, flooding the streets and alleys in search of shelter from the unrelenting assault. The city's buildings and walls had been reinforced with all manner of defensive fortifications, with the royal army standing firm against the seemingly endless tide of bismuth soldiers.

Yet even with all of their might, the king knew that the city's defenses could only hold out for so long. The looming threat of defeat and the impending doom weighed heavily on the king's mind, his heart heavy with the burden of responsibility for his people's fate.

As the looming threat of defeat and impending doom weighed heavily on the king's mind, he knew that he had to take drastic measures to save his kingdom from the clutches of the enemy. With no other options left, he called forth all the mages of the kingdom to his grand hall, a gathering of unparalleled power and skill.

The 637 mages stood in awe as the king spoke, his voice booming with the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. "Ladies and gentlemen, our kingdom is on the brink of collapse, and we are in dire need of hope in these dark times. Is there anything any of you can do to help change the course of this war? Please, I beg of you to help us."

The mages began to converse amongst themselves, their minds racing with the possibilities of what they could do to save their beloved kingdom. They whispered incantations and waved their hands, their eyes flashing with the intensity of their magic.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the crowd, cutting through the murmurs and whispers like a bolt of lightning. "The hero!!" the voice exclaimed, the excitement and fervor of the crowd growing with each passing moment.

"Indeed, that would help!" another voice shouted, echoing through the grand hall.

"But how long will it take!?" someone yelled, their voice trembling with fear and uncertainty. They questioned whether they could summon a hero quick enough before the fall of the capital.

The crowd went quiet, uncertain of the time it would take. But the king stood up from his throne, his eyes blazing with determination and hope. He saw the summoning of a hero as the final option, a desperate move to turn the tide of the war against the demonic forces that threatened to destroy their kingdom.

"Summon the hero!" the king exclaimed, his voice ringing out like a clarion call to battle. "He shall be our savior, the one who will lead us to victory against our enemies!"

And so the mages began to summon the hero, their magic surging forth like a raging river. The ground shook, and the air crackled with energy as they worked tirelessly in the kings grand hall for days.

As the mages were summoning the hero the king with, his army and guards by his side, donned his armor and strode forth to face the enemy army. The ground trembled beneath his feet as he marched forward, his eyes ablaze with the fire of determination. He would not let his people fall to the invading army of bismuth. so he marched forth, with the ideals of uncertainty with the summon, he had to take action first and couldn't wait for the hero just in case if anything happened at all.

As they approached the Aran River, the king saw millions of displaced people waiting to enter the capital city, their eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. The king knew that he had to protect them, and so he and his army set up a base and began to form an impenetrable defense around the city. For four long days, the king sat in his tent, surrounded by his loyal guards, waiting for the enemy to attack.

For four long days and nights, the king and his loyal guards stood vigilantly, ready to repel any attack that might come their way. The tension was palpable, and every moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity as they waited for the enemy army to strike. But the king's unbreakable will and unwavering resolve never faltered, and he stood tall and strong, like an immovable mountain, determined to protect his people and his kingdom from the forces of evil.

As the fourth day was coming to an end, the army of bismuth came over the horizon, taking camp a mile from the city in the wheat fields on the outskirts of the city.

The clash between the two armies was like thunder and lightning, with the ground shaking beneath their feet and the air crackling with energy. The king's loyal guards fought valiantly, their swords glinting in the sun as they clashed with the enemy forces. The smell of blood and death was everywhere, and the screams of the dying echoed across the battlefield.

For three long weeks, the battle raged on, with both sides refusing to give an inch. The king, with his iron will and steely determination, fought tirelessly alongside his men, his eyes blazing with the fire of a thousand suns. But despite their bravery and heroism, the enemy army seemed to be inexhaustible, with wave after wave of soldiers charging forward to meet them.

The breaking of the first line of defense was like a tidal wave crashing upon the shores of Aranath, sweeping away everything in its path. The king and his men fought like lions, but they were no match for the overwhelming force of the enemy's siege weapons. The sound of battering rams, catapults, and siege towers filled the air, shaking the very foundations of the city.

The king, with a heavy heart, retreated to the castle along with his men, who were exhausted and battered from the long weeks of battle. The castle was the last bastion of hope for Aranath, but the enemy was hot on their heels, thirsty for blood and conquest.

As the king stood at the door of the grand hall, the enemy finally caught up with them. The clash of swords and the sound of screams echoed throughout the castle, as the defenders fought for their lives. The king fought like a lion, but even his strength was no match for the enemy's overwhelming force. In a swift and brutal move, the king was stabbed, and his head was cut off, to be paraded around the kingdom as a trophy of war.

The guards, who fought alongside the king, fell to their knees, their spirits broken. They knew that all was lost, and that their kingdom was doomed to fall. The enemy charged at their defense, but the guards had lost all morale, and they were no match for the enemy's ferocity.

In a desperate attempt to save their kingdom, the wizards of Aranath gathered in a circle, their voices rising in a powerful chant. The air crackled with magic, as they poured all their strength and power into the spell, hoping to summon the hero who would save them from their doom.

But no one came.

The wizards' magic dissipated into the air, and the kingdom of Aranath fell into darkness and despair. The hero they had summoned did not come, and all hope was lost. The once-great kingdom was now a shadow of its former self, a desolate wasteland of death and destruction.