Coming into sight of Treon felt surreal. Leonard couldn’t precisely point out why, but after so long marching through the Darkwood and the swamp, finally reaching his target made him feel contemplative.
With massive walls surrounding the city and a flourishing, well-guarded port on the Great Slitherer, Treon was considered almost unassailable under conventional doctrine.
Yes, sufficient firepower could break through any ward, but it was a foolish commander who thought his enemies would allow him the time to batter down at their wards for days.
Considering the presence of the Air Force and the Navy still at full force within the city, Leonard didn’t think a direct assault would work. Even should he be able to open a breach through the wards— and for the first time, he felt cautious about it since these protections had the benefit of being maintained by a real Magic Tower, with dozens of Experts and several Masters and the power required to break them would also be enough to obliterate the city—making their way through the streets while fighting back against the local Watch and the Navy’s bombardments would mean an unacceptable loss in his men.
Adding to that the recon teams’ reports, which explained that the Griffin Knights maintained a dedicated schedule that worked randomly and covered almost every inch of the surrounding territory, Leonard felt he needed to take a different approach than usual.
Piece by piece is less satisfying than a big battle, but Damien is already within the city, working to undermine the Count and the Admiral. If I can remove the most significant obstacle—the Air Force—from the table… then a direct assault suddenly becomes viable. And the people inside with a brain should realize that, too.
“Grand Marshal, General Neer is here for you,” one of the guards outside his tent called, and Leonard startled back to the present, leaving his daydreams of smashing through the walls for another moment. He needed to set the game first.
“Let her in.” He said from his comfortable chair. Perks of being the big boss.
A gloved hand opened the flap, letting Neer through. The half-orc looked different these days. She had a settled air of contentment about her. War suited her well, and surprisingly, so did the training and maintenance of the Security Forces.
Calling her back from her duties, even for just a couple of days, had seen some resistance among his War Council, as they had all started to lean on the SF to provide stability to the newly conquered territories—Gerard, in particular, had come to see her as a pillar of their strategy. Apparently, even the most recalcitrant village turned peaceful and quiet once her men were given command. It was enough of a difference between what everyone knew was traditionally required to pacify new lands that the divination division had been ordered to ensure no secret massacre or plotting was taking place among the population.
What they had found was that nothing untoward was going on. After the initial expected freakout, the people calmed down upon receiving the first shipments of grain and materials and then became genuine believers in the Revolution as their standard of life took off. It turned out that a peaceful society, with enough resources to incentivize the production of valuable consumables like potions and clothing, who could sell their entire surplus to their new liege at a fair price, and whose safety was ensured by a competent, well-trained force who didn’t abuse their power, simply started liking their new circumstances enough that thoughts of rebelling fled their minds.
It had reached the point where Leonard was pretty sure Neer had discovered a method to reliably develop a specific Class of guardsmen who provided buffs to social peace.
But despite her enjoyment of the backlines duty, Leonard knew her blood still longed for dangerous missions, so he’d occasionally pull her back to the front.
“Grand Marshal, it is good to see you in good health. From the stunts that trickle down to the countryside, it seems you are always throwing yourself in danger.” Neer greeted, showing a dose of cheek she would have never dared to even just a couple of months ago.
Leonard was delighted. “General Neer, it is good to see you as well. I didn’t want you to get rusty with the cushy job you’ve gotten.”
Such a statement would have made her cringe once upon a time. However, her exposure to the soldier’s life and being away from a slave collar made her take the ribbing without a flinch.
Instead, Neer chuckled, a broad smile stretching her tusked lips. “Cushy, Grand Marshal? I’d invite you to try handling logistics and morale for ten villages at once every given day. But it’s true, I’ve been itching for a mission that requires a bit more direct involvement. My boys are pretty good these days. I barely need to beat them up.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Good,” Leonard said, leaning forward. “I have just the task for you. We need someone to infiltrate Treon. The wards are still not fully operational, which gives us a narrow window, especially with what I have planned. Your objective is to meet with Damien and coordinate the subterfuge within the city. He’ll explain more once you are there, but you will mostly have to act as backup in his dealings with the leaders he’ll meet and have to develop connections of your own to facilitate our takeover. Can you do it?”
“I’d be honored, Grand Marshal. Thank you for this opportunity!” Neer saluted and enthusiastically marched out of the tent without waiting for a reply.
Leonard watched her go, amused by her eagerness. He shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
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A few hours later, as the moon hung high in the sky, Leonard received confirmation from Amelia’s shadows that Neer was inside Treon. It was what he had been waiting for. Finally, it was time to proceed with the second part of his plan.
He sent a soldier to summon Gareth. For this next mission, he needed a daring knight or a crazy bastard, and Gareth was both.
Clad in gleaming armor, he arrived only a few minutes later, seemingly not needing to sleep now that he had achieved the Fourth Blessing.
“I need you to deliver a message to the entire city of Treon, though it is addressed to the Count,” Leonard said, handing Gareth a sealed missive. “You’ll read it from just outside Treon’s walls, using a spell to enhance your voice so the entire city can hear. Make sure to get out before the cannons are ready to fire.”
A loyal man who knew better than to ask unnecessary questions, Gareth bowed and assented, “Understood, Grand Marshal. I won’t let you down.”
Leonard clasped his shoulder. “I know you won’t. Now, go prepare. I want you under the walls by dawn. Use the cover of darkness to get as close as you can and start reading once you have been spotted. Don’t let anything interrupt you.”
And with that, the man was off.
“I should start looking into how quickly my people go along with what I say. Oh well, as long as I have Amelia and Lia to tell me off, I’ll be okay.”
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Through a Jean-refined remote viewing spell, Leonard followed Gareth’s path to the city.
The darkness enveloped him as he rode through the night, his armor barely making a sound thanks to enchantments placed on it. The faintest hint of dawn began to lighten the horizon. The massive walls loomed ominously against the slowly brightening sky as he neared Treon, following the one path the recon teams had spotted to be free of Griffin Knights.
Gareth paused just outside cannon range, seemingly waiting for the right moment. His horse, a well-trained third-tier steed, stood perfectly still, its breath misting in the early morning air. Gareth listened intently, hearing the distant murmur of the city waking up and the occasional clink of a sentry’s armor, waiting for the right moment.
As the first rays of sunlight began to pierce the horizon, Gareth nudged his horse forward, and Leonard noticed the spark of mana that disrupted a noise-dampening spell.
The sound of hooves on the cobblestone road alerted the sentries on the walls, and he could hear shouts as they noticed him. Without hesitation, Gareth cast the spell to amplify his voice, making it resonate through the air like a thunderclap.
“Ronald Luster-Treon, Count of Treon!” He boomed, voice magically reaching every corner of the city. “By order of the Grand Marshal of the Revolution, the Hero of the Light, Sir Leonard Weiss, I demand your immediate surrender!”
Any noise coming from behind the walls ceased immediately. Leonard pulled his view back and saw people craning their heads outside windows, mutely listening to words that none of them would survive saying.
“Your walls and wards will not protect you from the Will of the People. Your Air Force has proven itself cowardly, sitting idle while brave young men perished. Your inaction has led to unnecessary bloodshed and suffering, and you lost the only man capable of organizing a defense. General Locke is dead, slain by the Sky Blade.”
The movements on the wall became frantic as sentries scrambled to ready the cannons. Energy began to gather around the barrels, crackling with barely contained power. Gareth kept his focus, his voice unwavering. “Surrender now, and spare your city the destruction that is to come. Know this: the Revolution fights for the people, for justice, and for a future where all are free. Your reign is over. Surrender, or face the wrathful judgment of the Light.”
With that, Gareth dropped the letter and urged his horse into a gallop. The city’s cannons fired, tearing through the air just inches from him. He obviously felt the heat and shockwave of the explosions as he rode, but he managed to avoid the worst of it, his steed successfully maneuvering around the blasts.
Now that the main part was done, Leonard pushed his sight further into the city, curious to see what the reaction would be. The reports he had received on the Count described him as an entitled, lazy man who couldn’t tolerate a blow to his pride. Especially not one done when the entire city could hear.
Indeed, the people on the streets seemed to realize this, and they began scurrying away, their duties for the day forgotten in the face of a much direr emergency.
The activity on the walls continued to increase, even though their target was long gone, and a quick peek revealed it was mostly for show. Leonard was quite sure in his assessment that once the initial wrath wore off, the Count would be looking for people to blame, and those manning the fortifications failing at stopping the letter from being read would be the first on the chopping block.
It was unfair and unfortunate, but overall, it was a minor sacrifice, mainly because the commander on duty seemed calm enough to either have an idea of how to avoid blame or was such an idiot he didn’t deserve saving.
Deeper into the city, where spells meant to keep prying eyes and ears away were active and clashed irritatingly against his, Leonard observed the Navy base wake up, with men shouting orders and soldiers scrambling to arm their ships. Again, he didn’t expect much to come from this. His army’s camp was too far for the navy to hit, and even should they have developed a new, far-ranging weapon, Jean’s temporary wards would resist anything short of another Champion hitting them.
The castle, on the other hand, was deathly silent. It was as if every man and woman working there had fled, and going by the loud shouting coming from the inner keep, they were right to do so.
Finally, Leonard turned his gaze toward the furthest target. Close to the northern border of Treon’s wall was a large field that was seemingly empty save for a couple of squat buildings, a large ship, and what looked to be stables made for horses twice the average size.
There, the Griffin Knights were putting on their armor, casting protection spells, and preparing their mounts. Leonard even saw several uniformed soldiers march to the ship with chests of what had to be mana crystals.
Satisfied, he cut off the spell. His plan had worked.