Chapter 350: The War of Nobles (2) The Bait Taken
The battle descended into chaos faster than Lucan could have anticipated. What had begun as a carefully orchestrated siege quickly spiraled out of control. Hektor’s army, alongside the forces of Verlan and Astoria, had marched confidently toward Grafen, but now they were faced with a nightmare.
The moment Verlan’s mercenaries had breached the southern gate, the city’s defenses, which had seemed disorganized, suddenly snapped into place with terrifying precision. Living statues carved from stone, with glowing eyes and monstrous strength, had emerged from hidden alcoves within the walls, tearing through the mercenaries like paper. Undead soldiers, risen from the very earth beneath Grafen, surged forward in relentless waves, their hollow eyes glowing with an eerie light. And worst of all were the summoned creatures—monstrous beasts that defied description, leaping from the shadows to wreak havoc on Hektor’s forces.
Lucan’s horse reared back as the first explosion of magic sent a column of fire into the sky. He barely had time to react as a wave of burning debris rained down from one of the magical traps Lyan had set. He could hear the screams of men, Verlan’s forces already in disarray as they realized they had been lured into a death trap.
"Fall back! FALL BACK!" Lucan shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the battle.
His father, Hektor, cursed under his breath as he yanked his horse around, eyes narrowing in fury. "Damn it! We’ve been outplayed! Sound the retreat!"
But it was already too late. The men who had poured into Grafen through the southern gate were cut off, Verlan’s mercenaries slaughtered in droves as the undead tore through their ranks. Those still outside the walls were no better off—arrows and siege magic rained down from Grafen’s ramparts, sending soldiers scrambling for cover. The once-organized attack had collapsed into panic, and in the distance, Lucan could see Astoria’s forces struggling to maintain cohesion as they were ambushed from the western flank.
"Where’s Verlan?" Lucan asked, his voice tight with panic as his horse stumbled over a fallen soldier’s body.
Hektor didn’t look at him, his jaw clenched. "He’s gone. His forces are wiped out."
Lucan’s stomach dropped. They had lost Verlan, and with him, one of their strongest battalions. Now it was just a matter of survival. The ambush had been devastatingly effective, and Hektor’s soldiers—those still alive—were in full retreat.
Suddenly, a blast of energy tore through the sky above them, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. Lucan turned, his heart pounding in his chest, and saw a figure standing atop the walls of Grafen.
It was Lyan Arkanium Evocatore, the Lord of Grafen, his expression calm but menacing as he looked down upon the retreating forces. He stood tall, his long black cloak fluttering in the wind, his hand outstretched as a surge of magical energy pulsed around him. He looked every bit the warlord the rumors had painted him to be—unshakable, in control, and commanding powers beyond their understanding.