B3 Chapter 32: God Save the King
It took astonishingly little ti for the siege to take its toll on the castle’s defenders.
In the first few hours, there had been a definite air of vigilance about the place. The castle guards marched along the walls with zeal, and while the assorted adventurers and rcenaries clearly lacked the sa sort of organized discipline, they also kept a keen eye on the soldiers that surrounded the castle.
Now, though? The number and enthusiasm of the patrols had dwindled considerably. The guards had settled back into the dreary monotony of routine. Those fighters who had initially been so eager and battle-ready now lazed at the top of the walls, dozing or playing cards to pass the ti. They weren’t trained soldiers, after all, ant to maintain discipline and watchfulness for months on end. They were unprofessional, yet powerful, and used to far more action than this.
Although that wasn’t to say that there was no action to be had. Far from it. Given the Legion’s continuous bombardnt of the castle with stones, explosives, and animal carcasses, there was plenty to do for those with defensive or ranged skills. So of the defenders with particularly long-ranged skills had even tried to destroy the siege weapons from afar, cheering when one was reduced to rubble—only to fall silent as they were rebuilt further away within the hour. They’d more or less given up after a day or so of that.
But even this had beco so continuous that the enemy seed bored rather than actually threatened by the assault. They barely reacted when the boom of one of the more powerful siege weapons went off, firing stone blocks at speeds that left trails of disintegrated dust in their wake.
Of course, such a bombardnt wasn’t ant to actually break through the defenses. It was instead ant to tire the enemy. And considering how they’d gone from repelling every projectile to prioritizing only those with potential to do real harm, he suspected they were accomplishing that aim quite well. It helped that one of the n had co up with the idea to include gravel and caltrop sprays into the firing rotation, specifically to harass and annoy any enemies atop the walls. That particular developnt had chased quite a number of them off.
One thing that hadn’t seen much change, however, was morale regarding rations. Evidently, they had been right. These higher-leveled individuals had far less need for food than one would normally expect. Still, a few of his scouts could read lips well enough to note dissatisfaction on that front as well.
Neither Tiberius nor his n had spent this ti idle, of course. Beyond securing the city and managing its operations, they'd leveled more ground and prepared additional fortifications and n for a real assault.
Several armored turtle formations, as they'd co to be called, had been drilling nonstop. Specialist groups were on standby behind or inside buildings where they couldn't be easily seen. The elves had staked out positions where their arrows would prove most effective, their free ti used to level skills. All the while, n with mining skills toiled away underground, working to slowly and sneakily erode the very foundations of the castle.
That last group was more of a backup plan than anything. Considering the abnormal strength of the castle's enchanted stone and the monuntal nature of the task, Tiberius truly did not expect their efforts to bear fruit for another few weeks at least. But compared to the months it may have taken in their old world? It was still quite an impressive feat. Especially considering the lengths taken to preserve the n's stealth.
Once those tunnels were done, they'd be able to flood inside and overwhelm the enemy from multiple fronts. But in the anti… Tiberius wanted to press them just a little harder.
He watched as the Legionnaires, elven and human, began to take their positions. Absentmindedly, he began to fiddle with the small amulet that now adorned his neck—a mind-bendingly intricate construction of so sort of crystal and a brass-like tal that humd to the touch.
There was one thing that concerned him, even more so than the siege. It was his level. He was still only level four, the sa as he'd been when his class evolved and split from that of his Legionnaires.
Leading Ro in battle had earned him nothing. Nor had the defeat of Marquis Morozov's forces. He'd hoped that taking the city would change that. But perhaps the System didn't consider the job finished yet. Not until the castle and its king had fallen. That was the best explanation Tiberius could think of.
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In the anti, he faced a problem. The Legion had already experienced more than its share of being underestimated due to their unimpressive levels. But now that his was even lower… The risk of such a deficiency calling his ability rule into question beca a real issue. Not among his n, of course, but among the Novarans and perhaps even the elves. Hence the amulet.
The accessory had been traded to him by Grand Mage Claude, on the condition that Tiberius participated in a few experints regarding his unique class. Normally, he would have been hesitant to agree to such a condition. But at this point? He would do what he had to. At least until his level was more reasonable. Besides, the old mage had no reason to betray Tiberius. Not yet.
In the anti, he'd been assured that his level and class were safely obscured from others. Well, so long as they were below level 70 and didn't possess [Clairvoyance]. Which seed perfectly serviceable to Tiberius.
Gaius stepped forward and saluted. “Emperor. The preparations are ready.”
“Good. And the bait?”
He saw a flicker of sothing cross Gaius's expression, but the boy clamped down on it with impressive speed. “He's preparing in the storeroom nearby. We thought it best to keep him hidden as long as possible. Although… I suspect he wouldn’t be pleased to hear himself referred to as such…”
Tiberius nodded in agreent. “See to your n. We’ll begin at the signal.”
He turned away from the young Legatus and headed toward the storeroom in question. Stepping inside, he saw the star of their current operation, tuning a lute in all of his purple-cloaked glory.
“Marcus.” Tiberius addressed the bard as he stepped inside. “We are ready.”
Marcus swept to his feet with a smile that was only a little forced. “Of course, of course, emperor. I suppose you’ll want to venture forth, then?”
He nodded. The fact that the Novaran king hated Marcus was sothing that Tiberius had been aware of for quite a while. However, the recent attempt on the bard’s life had put into perspective just how deep that hatred ran. It was borderline irrational how much this fool of a king was out to get the bard—and that was sothing they could certainly use to their advantage.
The sound of a throat being cleared drew Tiberius’s attention back to the perforr. “Far be it from to question your decisions, emperor, but… Are you certain about this course of action? Not that I doubt your n and their abilities, but…”
“You will be protected. You have my word.” Tiberius promised. The man was understandably apprehensive about the plan. But this was a golden opportunity to draw out more of the Novaran king’s forces from beyond the wall. Already he’d sent multiple other squads to assassinate the bard. So presenting him openly like this was certain to draw an even greater response. Especially if his performance proved as provocative as Tiberius hoped.
Marcus sighed with resignation. “I understand. Well, then, I suppose I’d better hope that Regulus hasn’t slacked off in his training… Though I suppose I should be grateful.” His lips twitched into a sardonic grin. “It’s been a while since I’ve perford for such a large audience.”
With that, they exited the building. Marcus walked forward, erging from the barricades that the Legionnaires had surrounded the castle with. His cloak glittered in the sunlight as he stepped into no man’s land, remaining carefully out of range of the attacks they’d seen thus far. A group of armored turtle Legionnaires advanced just behind him, staying within range to assist should anything go wrong.
“Hail, friends!” Marcus called, his voice carrying across the distance easily. “My na is Marcus Silvanus D’Angelo! Many of you may already know . And those who don’t… Well, I’ll see to it that you don’t forget my na after today.”
The sudden appearance of the bard drew the attention of the defenders. Many straightened and peeked their heads over the wall’s edge to take a look at the strange sight. Tiberius managed to pick out a few guards that disappeared as well, undoubtedly rushing to inform their liege of the developnt.
Marcus unslung his lute and squared his shoulders. Now that he stood before an audience, any trace of the bard’s prior uncertainty had evaporated—though he did seem less pleased to be the center of attention than usual. Instead, he cleared his throat and strumd a few chords.
“This is a piece that I’ve been working on in my spare ti,” he began, the chords weaving together to form a more cohesive tapestry. “It’s relatively simple, compared to my usual works, but, well… I believe in playing to one’s audience. It simply wouldn’t do to create an artistic marvel layered with subtext and taphor, only for it to go over one’s head, now would it? No, I believe this level of subtlety is appropriate for the piece’s intended listener.”
The man closed his eyes and focused on the music. Tiberius felt a shift in the world around him, leaning forward with anticipation despite himself. He’d always suspected that the Legionnaires had a resistance to the bard’s influence, yet even that wasn’t enough to fully counteract whatever he was doing now.
Then, Marcus began to sing.
Gods save the king,
The tyrannical regi!
A wine-drunk fool,
Unfit for rule!
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