Chapter 444: The Take Over (3)
(At least she’s having fun,)
he thought, aware of the dryness creeping into his own throat. He had spent the night in the thick of the siege, illusions and Shadow Servants weaving a tapestry of confusion that paved the way for an almost surgical strike. Now, seeing his companions handle the aftermath, he felt a faint relief. They were all cogs in a precise machine—he set the stage, and they managed the next steps.
Outside, Surena led mounted patrols through the larger thoroughfares, stabilizing key intersections. The thunder of hooves echoed down the wide avenues, the cavalry’s presence drawing awe-struck gazes from the people who peeked out behind boarded windows. Surena’s mountain tribeswomen—renowned for their fierce loyalty and nimble riding—alternated formation with towering winter wolves that padded at the edges of the group. Lyan glimpsed them through a cracked window, the white-gray fur of the wolves glowing against the dusty streets. The sight was surreal, a mix of primal wilderness and regimented discipline. Citizens, still rattled by the night’s violence, stared in muted wonder.
He shifted his focus to the upper levels of the gatehouse, where Alice stood, her silhouette outlined by the bright sky. Her posture was confident, hands on her hips, scanning the newly captured city with a hawk’s gaze. A skinny runner bounded up the steps to deliver a sealed scroll. She read it with a curt nod, then dispatched him with three more sets of orders in quick succession, each one directed at a different post.
"Checkpoints every five blocks," she called, her voice cutting through the brisk morning air without needing to shout. "Roving patrols alternate in three-hour shifts. No gaps." There was a crisp finality to her words, as if a general used to her orders being obeyed instantly.
Lyan watched her for a moment, arms still folded. Her expression was calm, almost detached, yet he knew that behind that exterior was a razor-sharp mind evaluating every detail. She flicked a glance downward, locking eyes with him briefly. He nodded his approval, though he could feel a small twist of fascination: (She doesn’t need a battlefield to win a war, he mused. She is the battlefield.)
Down below, Emilia and Raine moved through the city’s public squares, each square a hive of restless citizens uncertain about their new occupiers. Some cowered behind crates or peered from narrow doorways, but many were drawn by curiosity or hunger to see the new rulers up close. Raine, cheerful even in the aftermath of destruction, carried a torch to light a symbolic brazier in one square, its warm glow dancing in the eyes of the onlookers. Emilia stood beside her, cradling a basket of bread which she handed out piece by piece. The gesture was simple but powerful—food in exchange for trust, or at least acceptance.
"This isn’t vengeance," Emilia said, her voice carrying an empathetic weight that caused several townsfolk to shuffle closer. "This is order. This is how things begin again. You’ve all seen a city fall to rot. Now, it’s time to build anew."
A man, standing near the back with trembling hands, mustered the courage to step forward. "And the soldiers... will they stay?" he asked, his voice quivering between fear and hope. "Are you conquerors or... protectors?"
Raine winked at him, adjusting the torch in her hand so the flame didn’t scorch the fresh wood of a rebuilt stall. "Only if you feed them good soup," she joked, the lightness in her tone easing the tension. "Don’t worry, they’re housebroken. They won’t bite unless you give them reason."
A wave of quiet laughter rippled through the crowd, uncertain but genuine. Even a few children, peeking out from behind their mothers, giggled softly. The tension in the square lessened, replaced by a cautious curiosity.