On a sweltering morning in early August, the scorching sun was turning the streets into a griddle, and a fully-armed troop cutting through the heart of City of Gath drew everyone’s gaze.
If being out in the sun was considered grilling, then marching in iron-can armor was more like being steamed, albeit on a slow simmer.
Passersby cleared the way for these soldiers, recognizing that these usually standoffish troops had recently secured a remarkable victory over demonic forces. They had fought a fierce battle with malevolent skeleton soldiers and not lost a single man, capturing most of the enemy alive.
Riding the waves of this triumph, an aura of cocky arrogance began to wrap itself around them, and civilians who usually gave them the time of day only out of polite disdain, now sincerely tipped their hats off to them.
The soldiers themselves were stunned by the reception, but quickly adapted to the intoxicating sense of esteem. Some had even taken up the unfortunate habit of demanding protection money from local small-time farmers, who were too afraid to voice their discontent.
This troop’s full-armored appearance had nothing to do with their patrol schedule—their true destination was known only by their captain: the West Gate of City of Gath.
Similar groups, clad in like garb, were also heading towards other gates, paying no mind to the astonished looks from citizens they passed by.
Moments later, the armored unit arrived at the base of the Western Gate, where today’s off-handedly grinning guard captain came forth to meet them. The regular army held much higher status than their patrol squad, and the overly friendly captain noted their less-than-friendly demeanor...
“What brings the regulars to our humble gate today?” The patrol captain asked with a smile plastered on his face.
He didn’t even get a chance to get close when the gleaming edge of a standard-issue longsword was abruptly at his throat.
“We’re relieving you," grunted the armored figure curtly.
A few chuckles came from the patrolmen behind. They could tell this junior officer was trying, and failing, to mimic the black armored royal guards, resembling a pot of talking stew rather than a fearsome soldier.
The patrol captain was metaphorically skewered. He gently pushed the blade away from his neck, still smiling, “Captain, we've received no word of a changeover. May I ask whose orders you're following...”
A swift puncture and retraction of the sword left a bleeding wound on the captain's shoulder.
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“I said, we’re taking over,” the armored man repeated, his expression hidden beneath his helm.
The patrol captain, struck out of thin air, had gone pale from shock and blood loss, wordless.
Up on the wall, the vice-captain hurried down, shouting over his shoulder while catching the collapsing captain, “Didn’t you hear? We’re standing down! Move it!”
Patrolmen scattered like failed beasts defending their territory, tails between their legs. Nobody wanted to get randomly skewered by their own kin.
Convinced something big was about to go down, and a firm believer in 'the less you do, the fewer mistakes you make,' the vice-captain instructed his men to head home and stay there. As for himself, he supported his captain towards the church to seek healing from a priest.
Once in control of the gate, the armored ones swiftly shut it and declared a lockdown over City of Gath, leaving a confused populace unable to leave the city.
At the other three gates, a similar takeover by the regulars had secured basic defensive control over City of Gath.
Meanwhile, armored squads raced through the streets, urging citizens to stay indoors. By noon, the city was completely locked down.
Civilians peeped out from beneath their window sills, trying to decipher the happenings, only catching sight of patrolling soldiers.
Inside the Adventurers’ Guild—spacious and bright—the masterminds behind the day’s events were toasting merrily. The ringleader, raising his goblet, cleared his throat, “Everything we've done today is to cut loose His Lordship’s two new right-hand men. Without them, we stand not only unthreatened but can even advance beyond our current positions.”
“No need for long speeches. If we pull this off, we'll be much obliged to all of you.”
This man was among the former Count Reed's staff. Though 'staff' is a kind term—for under the count’s consequence-free reign, this clique had dipped their hands into many pies.
Humans often struggle to curb their greed. Long ago, the staffers had allied themselves with Seth, waiting to rally behind him once he claimed power, securing a step higher for those with "merit." They aimed to reach further and seize more wealth.
But nobody expected Seth to actually be a Reed by blood, nor that his power grab, though successful, had little to do with them.
They learned the truth only when the judgment was publicly read; while shouting about missing their ride, it was already too late.
Just as they thought to seek explanations, Seth was whisked away to the capital by the guardians of faith, and to add insult to injury, due to the former count's blunders, Seth inherited a viscountcy with a third of his northeast dominion returned to the crown. Their slice of the pie had just shrunk significantly.
The group pondered day and night, feeling utterly swindled. Apart from Seth, the only ones to blame for such a fiasco were his new primary confidants—Guild Chairman Alaric and the literary advisor, the mage Murphy.
Others at the long table raised their glasses, one laughing, “Success is inevitable. We’re much wiser than those fools who followed Ralf.”
Mention of the name long gone but not forgotten triggered a round of laughter, “What a dunce, thought everything had a price tag. Looked down on us, and now I hear our dear Mr. Ralf is running a sundry shop on the frontier!”
"I’ve heard; I actually miss the defiant chap he used to be.”
Sipping his drink, another asked, “I’m not worried about Alaric, but that mage Murphy—do our people stand a chance?”
The Guild Master snorted, pulling out a scrolls list, “I just can't wrap my head around it—how a level twenty mage can cause such upheaval."