"I believe our terms are more than generous. In fact, I'd call them exceptional." The lanky envoy stood imperiously atop the siege tower, hands planted on his hips as he surveyed Hilltop Fort's walls with undisguised contempt. "Who's that fellow?" Carl Clawyn asked, leading his warhorse to a post and securing the reins. "An envoy," Tyler Wynlers replied, kneeling to sharpen his longsword against a whetstone. "Some sort of imperial emissary, I hear. He's attempting to persuade Lord Shawn Penlico to surrender the castle, but he won't even crack the gate for a response." He laughed heartily. "So he's just shouting from the siege tower?" Carl asked incredulously. "Isn't he worried they'll turn him into a porcupine?"

  "It would take mere seconds to riddle him with arrows, if the Cynthians were so inclined. But the Lord of Hilltop Fort remains unnervingly still—gates sealed tight, no visible response. I suspect he's waiting for something."

  The afternoon sun hung high as Godma's West Wall forces had swept through most of Kadenford in just a few hours, advancing to the very foot of Hilltop Fort—the stronghold of Baron Penlico. They established their camp two li from the fortress walls, methodically preparing for the final assault. The surrounding villages stood eerily empty, corpses littering the ground; with insufficient time to claim every head, their soldiers had improvised by impaling bodies on sharpened stakes at grotesque angles. Several soldiers continued their grim work stringing up still-struggling villagers from the branches of an enormous banyan tree, wagering on how many bodies a single limb—as thick as a man's waist—could support before breaking.

  "It must be reinforcements," Carl Clawyn reasoned, his expression thoughtful. "Lord Penlico clearly lacks sufficient numbers—evident from how few enemy troops we've encountered thus far. Now he's barricaded himself inside Hilltop Fort rather than deploying his forces—he must be expecting support."

  "Worth noting," Tyler continued as sparks flew from his whetstone, "we've encountered several organized but poorly equipped groups throughout the countryside. During interrogation, they claimed to be members of a local self-defense force rather than regular soldiers, pleading for mercy. What troubles me is how many more such groups might exist."

  "You're concerned they might be gathering inside the castle, properly equipped as infantry?"

  Tyler Wynlers shook his head decisively. "Not the castle—the city itself. More importantly, when we seized Kadenford, we encountered remarkably few of Penlico's actual troops. When we learned Lord Penlico commands the castle while the baron himself is returning from Phyal with reinforcements, I began to suspect a strategy. If I were Shawn Penlico, I'd patiently await reinforcements while concealing troops throughout our rear areas, then coordinate a simultaneous attack from both directions—sacrificing the townspeople without hesitation if necessary. And that castle," he nodded toward Hilltop Fort, "might just be the cheese in the trap."

  Carl Clawyn's expression darkened with concern. "If your assessment proves accurate, our situation becomes precarious. We have merely 3,200 troops in this sector; the main battle rages elsewhere—additional support seems unlikely. Should we find ourselves caught between two forces without adequate defense, our entire West Wall offensive will have been for nothing..."

  "The more rapidly our main force advances, the less pressure we'll face here. If fortune truly favors us and the Cynthian Queen personally accompanies reinforcements to Kadenford, we must delay them as long as humanly possible."

  "What would your approach be?" Carl asked abruptly. "If the Cynthian Queen herself arrived with troops?"

  "I thought you'd anticipate my answer," Tyler paused his sharpening, glancing up momentarily. "Given the opportunity, I would avoid killing her—capture would be my preference. That represents one of the few paths to swiftly concluding this conflict. Too many innocents have already perished beneath our advance. Despite Devalosfang's explicit prohibitions, some among us clearly relish brutality. Such cruelty serves no purpose—it's entirely senseless."

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  "...I share your sentiment," Carl exhaled heavily. "Truly meaningless."

  "This is utterly meaningless!" The envoy on the siege tower gesticulated wildly, his voice rising to a shout. "Your delaying tactics accomplish nothing! If we desired, we could seize your miserable excuse for a fortress within the hour!" He paused to cough dramatically, then spat a glob of phlegm that landed squarely on a soldier's helmet below. "Pathetic castle," he amended contemptuously. Near the crenels, a bored archer with a composite bow gazed up at the over-excited envoy, wondering exactly where he'd have to put an arrow to end this little speech.

  Lord Shawn Penlico, who had inherited his father's lanky frame, corpse-like pallor, unflappable temperament and slightly more abundant hair, stood impassively beneath the wall, absorbing the Godman envoy's demands in complete silence. Approximately two hundred and fifty paces behind him, the earth suddenly bulged upward as a small head emerged from the soil. "My lord, an urgent message!" A Lulin Goblin extended his arm, the letter clutched in his hand as he attempted to extract himself fully from the ground. A knight in a brilliant scarlet cloak unceremoniously snatched the correspondence. "That will be all, non-human." The goblin's eagerness vanished, and he sank sullenly back into the earth.

  "...They've arrived."

  "Who has arrived, my lord?" the scarlet knight inquired.

  "Our reinforcements. My father—and Her Majesty the Queen."

  "The Queen herself?! In person?"

  "Indeed." Penlico returned the letter to his subordinate. "Instruct that goblin to deliver a verbal message to my father: the Godmans have seized Kadenford and now besiege Hilltop Fort. They must make all possible haste—reaching the eastern approach within two quarter-hours. We shall initiate the first strike to disrupt their formations and draw their attention westward, at which point they will launch their assault from the east. Do you comprehend these instructions?"

  The knight nodded while examining the letter, then hesitated. "But my lord, I've already dismissed the goblin."

  "Have you?" Penlico's gaze could have flayed flesh from bone. "Have you indeed, Putzerli? Then I advise you to find that 'boy' within the next ten seconds, and give him my message, word for word, within ten seconds after that. Fail, and you and your entire family will spend the rest of your lives living in the dirt. Is that sufficiently clear?"

  "Wait—" The knight's face drained of color. "How long exactly is that time frame...?"

  "Oh, forgive my imprecision," Penlico's eyes narrowed dangerously. "To clarify: your entire family will be interred in the earth. Have I made myself understood now?"

  The knight nodded frantically before turning to flee. "One more thing," Penlico's command hauled him back like a physical restraint. "Notify our external forces to close the net." The knight nodded blankly. "I wasn't talking about fishermen, you idiot. Burn my words into that thick skull of yours. Now, get out of my sight."

  The scarlet-cloaked knight clutched his helmet desperately as he virtually flew through the gate.

  Lord Penlico, determining the moment had arrived, issued the command to commence hostilities.

  The haughty envoy became the first casualty. No one had actually paid attention to his verbose proclamations—not even the Godman soldiers positioned below the tower. But the danger became clear to everyone when the speech cut off in a wet gurgle, and the envoy's body tumbled from the siege tower like a goose shot from the sky. The Godman encampment erupted into frenzied activity; before any formal orders could be issued, soldiers were already donning armor, seizing weapons, and preparing for imminent conflict. "They never had any intention of negotiating," Devalosfang Dear, captain of the Seventh Task Force, informed Carl and Tyler grimly. "The Cynthians have been deliberately stalling since the beginning. That unfortunate envoy never realized he was merely a sacrificial distraction..." He shook his head solemnly. "Prepare yourselves. We must storm their fortifications immediately. This promises to be an exceptionally bloody engagement."