Chapter 268: The Greedy Mouse Lord (3) The Start of The Siege
The sun rose slowly over Grafen, casting a pale light over the fortified city. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, fear, and anticipation as the defenders stood ready at their posts. The Astellian army, a formidable force with banners fluttering in the morning breeze, assembled in the fields beyond the walls, preparing for their assault. Inside the inner castle, Count Havton lounged in his opulent chambers, surrounded by luxury and excess.
His ample form was draped in fine silks, and he clutched a goblet of wine in one hand. A handful of terrified slaves and maids stood by, ready to attend to his every whim. Havton’s eyes were glazed with a mix of fear and intoxication, trying to drown out the sounds of preparation and war outside.
"More wine!" he bellowed, his voice slurred. A young maid, trembling, stepped forward to refill his goblet. Havton grabbed her wrist, his grip bruising her delicate skin. "You’re lucky to be in my presence, girl. Remember that."
She nodded quickly, pouring the wine with shaking hands. Havton released her and took a deep gulp, savoring the rich taste. The maid quickly retreated, her eyes darting nervously towards the door.
Outside, the Astellian forces began their assault. The sound of war horns blared across the fields, signaling the start of the siege. The defenders on the walls steeled themselves, gripping their weapons tightly.
General Corbin, a grizzled veteran with a reputation for brutality, paced along the battlements, barking orders. "Archers, nock your arrows! Infantry, hold the line! We will not let these bastards breach our walls!"
The Astellian army advanced in tight formation, their shields raised. At the forefront was their commander, a tall, imposing figure. This commander, with his flowing red cloak and fearsome presence. But not just him, there is a captain with a huge glaive moved with the grace and power of a warlock, directing his troops with precision. Marlowe, Count Havton’s chief advisor, watched the scene unfold from a vantage point. His weaselly face twisted with concern. "This guy... he’s unlike any we’ve faced before. His tactics are... innovative."
General Corbin grunted in agreement. "Aye, he’s no ordinary leader. Look at the way he commands his troops. Every movement is calculated. And that glaive-user... it’s like nothing I’ve seen."
The man raised his glaive, and with a sweep of his arm, a wave of magical energy surged forward, crashing into the defenders’ lines. Men were thrown back, screaming, as the energy tore through their ranks. "He fights like a warlock," Marlowe muttered, his eyes wide. "We need to be careful."