The sun dipped low over the Motz Hills, casting long shadows across the rugged terrain where Count Cobry's forces languished, stalled by cunning strongholds.
But miles away, Hilter's ambush unit moved like ghosts, their steps muffled by purpose and secrecy. His carefully chosen force—Josk, the steely-eyed marksman; Stroud, grizzled and unflinching; Fredrick and Arman's knight squads, their armor gleaming faintly; Bale's two light cavalry squads, swift and silent; and Tim with his 800 men, each hefting a heavy sack—had spent two days threading through the hills, evading Cobry's scouts.
They'd hidden in gullies and thickets, their breaths held as they prepared to strike at the heart of the count's power: Geldos City.
As twilight painted the sky in hues of amber and violet, Hilter's unit reached the city's edge. The towering gates of Geldos loomed, their iron-banded wood a symbol of Cobry's iron grip.
A squad of pike cavalry and a company of garrison troops, disguised in the count's colors, approached the drawbridge.
Hilter, his face shadowed beneath a borrowed helm, clutched Cobry's stolen letter, its wax seal glinting in the fading light. The guards atop the wall, lulled by routine, saw nothing amiss. (Image)
"Lower the bridge!" one called, his voice lazy, as the gates creaked open.
Hilter, playing the role of squad leader, leaned forward in his saddle, his voice calm but edged with authority.
"Where's the count's son?" he asked, his eyes scanning the guard's face for suspicion. The man, oblivious, pointed toward the duke's manor at the city's heart.
Before he could say more, the garrison troops Tim's men in disguise surged forward. With brutal efficiency, they bound the guards, stuffing their mouths with blood-soaked rags. The gags muffled their protests, their eyes wide with nausea and uncertainty. (Image)
Hilter dismounted, his boots thudding on the cobblestones as he gathered his lieutenants. His voice was low, urgent, but steady. "Bale, Stroud, Fredrick take the other three gates. Leave a squad at each to hold them tight. Arman, your knights come with me to the duke's manor. Josk, you're with us. Tim…"
He turned to the young fat heir, whose armor gleamed with newfound pride. "Keep your men in check. No raiding, no chaos, not until we've secured the city. One slip, and this all falls apart. Can you handle it?"
Tim squared his shoulders, his voice fervent with determination. "Sir Hilter, I swear I won't let you and Baron Styles down. My men will hold steady, you have my word."
Hilter nodded, a flicker of approval in his stern gaze. "Good. Move out."
The city was eerily quiet, its streets bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. The absence of Cobry's iron rule had left Geldos lax, its defenders softened by complacency. At the duke's manor, a sprawling edifice of stone and ambition, Hilter's group slipped through the shadows.
The manor's guard barely had time to blink before Arman's hand shot out, snapping his neck with a sickening crack. The door swung open, revealing a scene that made Hilter grimace in disgust.
Inside the grand hall, the Gold-ranked illegitimate son of Count Cobry reveled in debauchery. Stark naked, he swayed drunkenly, a wine goblet sloshing in his hand as men and women cavorted around him, their laughter shrill and reckless.
The air reeked of sweat and sour wine, the flickering torchlight casting grotesque shadows on the marble floor.
Hilter's face hardened, his hand tightening on his sword hilt, his power surging with Seraphine magic reaching Gold rank. Josk, beside him, froze, his eyes narrowing as memories of past injustices flooded back.
The drunken son staggered forward, his voice slurred but jovial. "Oi, stop gawkin'! Hand over… my father's letter, yeah? C'mon, strip down, join the fun!" He hiccuped, waving his goblet. "Plenty o' women… or men, if that's… your taste. Don't be shy!"
Hilter's lip curled, his voice icy with disdain, "You shame your blood."
Beside him, Josk's breath hitched, his knuckles whitening around his sword. Without a word, they drew their blades, steel flashing in the torchlight.
The hall erupted in screams, cut short by the swift dance of death. Blood sprayed across the marble, pooling in crimson rivers as bodies crumpled. Hilter struck with precision, felling the men with cold efficiency. But Josk… Josk was a storm. His blade carved through the crowd, heedless of gender, his eyes blazing with a fury that bordered on madness. When the last body fell, the hall was silent, save for the drip of blood and Josk's ragged breathing.
Hilter wiped his sword clean, his movements deliberate, and placed a firm hand on Josk's shoulder.
"Joe," he said, his voice low but heavy with concern, "snap out of it."
Josk blinked, his face paling as he realized the extent of his slaughter. Hilter's grip tightened, his tone stern but not unkind. "You're a marksman, our lord's sharpest blade. Keep your head clear. Hatred clouds your aim, and we can't afford that. Lord trusts you. Don't let him down."
Josk swallowed hard, his voice rough with shame. "I… I'm sorry, Commander. I lost control. It won't happen again. I'll prove myself to Lord Styles."
Hilter studied him for a moment, then nodded. "See that you do." He turned, his boots echoing as he strode from the hall, his noble bearing unshaken by the carnage.
The manor's pristine corridors, lined with tapestries of Cobry's triumphs, felt hollow now, a monument to a fading dynasty.
Arman approached, his armor clanking softly. "Commander," he said, his voice steady but tinged with relief, "the manor's ours. Guards, servants, all surrendered and locked away."
Hilter's eyes swept the corridor, calculating. "Good work. Tell Bale to post a squad of light cavalry at each gate, with another on standby. Tim's to send four squads to reinforce the gates, and the rest of his men come here. Let Stroud, bring his guard squads to defend the manor. Your knights, Arman, rally here. We've more to do. And get a report to Lord Styles—let him know Geldos is falling into place."
Arman saluted, his voice firm. "At once, sir." He dispatched runners, their footsteps fading into the night. (Image)
Stroud arrived soon after, his weathered face etched with determination. Hilter, questioning captured manor supervisors, learned the city's layout—its granaries, stables, and weak points.
"Stroud," Hilter said, his voice calm but urgent, "leave one squad here to hold the manor. Take the other, with a supervisor, to secure the food warehouses and stables. We can't let those slip."
Stroud nodded, his voice gruff "Consider it done. Those supplies won't go anywhere."
Hilter, Fredrick, and Josk moved next, leading Fredrick's knight squad to the army camp. The remaining garrison squad and scant pike cavalry within Geldos fell swiftly, their resistance crumbling under the ambush's momentum.
From there, they stormed the laborer camp, cutting down its guards with ease. Tim's men fanned out, calling to the enslaved workers, men they'd known, suffered with. By dawn, 2,000 laborers stood ready, their eyes kindling with hope.
Fredrick, his voice booming with encouragement, selected 1,000 able-bodied youths,"You're fighters now!" he declared, leading them to the armory.
Pikes were distributed, their weight a promise of purpose. With Stroud's veteran soldiers, Fredrick formed two pike companies. "One to the gates, relieving Tim and Bale's men," he ordered.
"The other, with Stroud, guards the warehouses and armories. Hold fast!"
The city stirred, its citizens unaware of the shift in power. Allen's greatest challenge loomed: the people of Geldos, loyal to Cobry through fear and family ties, seethed with hostility.
The count had housed his soldiers' kin in two new districts, binding the city to his cause. Hilter's stealth had kept their takeover quiet, but a single spark could ignite rebellion.
The laborers, freed and armed, were Allen's gamble, a force to bolster his ranks and sway the city's heart.
As dawn broke, Hilter stood in the manor's courtyard, his face etched with resolve. Josk, still shaken, cleaned his blade nearby, his movements methodical, as if grounding himself.
Tim approached, his voice earnest, "Commander, my men are in place. The gates are secure, and the laborers… they're ready to fight for us."
Hilter's gaze softened,"You've done well. Hold the line."
He turned to the horizon, where the Motz Hills hid Cobry's struggling army. Geldos was theirs, but the count's reckoning was coming.