Chapter 92: The Trap 3
At the mayor’s grand estate, nestled a kilometer away from the town center, the dim glow of lanterns flickered against the white walls. The room, lavishly adorned with silk drapes and intricate gold-trimmed furniture, reeked of power and indulgence.
Behind a heavy mahogany table, a middle-aged man with a protruding potbelly lounged in his high-backed chair. His silk robe was embroidered with elaborate patterns that marked his wealth. His face, flushed with anger, contorted as he suddenly swept a delicate ceramic cup from the table, sending it crashing onto the marble floor.
"What! Only five hundred soldiers are inside that building?" His voice thundered through the room, shaking the very air. "Wasn’t there supposed to be ten thousand?"
The adviser standing before him—a frail yet shrewd old man with a long silver beard—remained composed, his eyes sharp. He clasped his hands behind his back, his fingers curling slightly as he carefully chose his words.
"Mayor," the old man began, his tone steady, "according to our spy, General Alaric intercepted the letter before it could reach the rebels. I suspect they uncovered our plans and adjusted their strategy accordingly."
"Continue."
The adviser inclined his head slightly, his voice calm but firm. "The enemy has divided into three groups. The first, led by General Odin, is currently trapped inside the government building. The second, nearly ten thousand strong, marched under the command of Marlon Norse, and the last will be all the others with Odin’s deputy general leading it.
The mayor’s fingers drummed against the table, his sharp eyes narrowing.
"Marlon’s army is expected to arrive by tomorrow," the old man continued, "which means tonight presents the best opportunity to strike. We should use the same strategy as before."