With the miner skeleton forces scattered throughout the city to hunt down the remaining soldiers, one group shed their disguises as the reserve troops. Donning the armor they had previously stripped from the captured soldiers, they posed as relief squads heading towards the four city gates from different directions.
The troops guarding those gates remained oblivious to the events unfolding. Following Byron's scheme, these imposter squads, larger than standard relief teams, would exploit the information gap to ruthlessly backstab the poor sods who'd been standing guard all day long.
For the first time, Byron felt he was doing something befitting his demonic nature.
One of the skeleton squads approached the North Gate, their mismatched armor and clumsy movements betraying their inexperience with such attire despite their full combat gear.
Spotting the approaching relief from atop the wall, the famished gate guard called out, "Are you lads here to relieve us?"
Giddy with excitement at being addressed, the skeletons' vacant grins stretched wide as they cheerfully replied in unison, "Aye, we're here to take over the watch!"
Relieved, the exhausted soldiers began stripping off their sweltering armor in preparation for their shift's end.
The guard captain strode up, clapping the lead skeleton on the shoulder. "I take it the operation was a success then, eh lads?"
Utterly clueless, the skeletons could only vaguely agree, "Why, of course it was successful."
Undeterred, the captain probed further, "Splendid! So that bastard Alaric's dead, I reckon? And what of that mage chap? Killed or captured?"
The skeletons exchanged bewildered looks, having no inkling of whom he referenced.
"Aye, I speak of that sorcerer cozy with the Lord's heir - Murphy, was the name."
"Ah, yes, Murphy!" one feigned recognition before whispering to his bony comrades, "Who's Murphy? Rings a bell, but can't place it."
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
"Shut it, you dolt!" another hissed. "Murphy is His Majesty the Demon King's name."
"Oh, right, now I recall! How dare this human besmirch His Majesty's name?" the first growled indignantly before a sword cracked against the back of the captain's skull, dropping him senseless.
The remaining soldiers froze in shock as the leading skeleton charged forth with a bloodcurdling shriek. Scattered like sheepless sheep, the drained sentries scrambled haplessly until bound and herded towards Clyster Street by the relentless skeleton horde.
Similar scenes unfolded at the other gates, the armored skeletal guards easily overwhelming the roasting troops. As the last sliver of sunlight slipped beyond the horizon, the skeletons had secured all four city entrances.
Huddled in a dank, narrow culvert among the residential alleys, the beleaguered reserve captain felt trapped in some farcical theatrical production. Sleepless after learning of the day's operation, he had risen that morning brimming with zealous ambition to achieve great feats. By noon, he impatiently awaited the expected sorcerous surrender outside Clyster Street. Yet now, cowering in the city's fetid runoff, he prayed merely to witness the dawn's light again.
Raucous footsteps approached from above before fading into the distance, miner voices chattering:
"I saw that fatty one run this way..."
"I told you your eyesight was shite, but you never listen."
"I could've sworn my vision was decent when I was alive..."
The captain clutched his head, drowning out their haunting banter as an unsteady figure stumbled towards the culvert entrance, grumbling drunkenly, "Where'd everyone go? Fell asleep for a bit and they all vanished - damn place is haunted!"
As the inebriated man began unfastening his trousers, the captain paled. "Oh god no, not agai-"
His plea fell on deaf ears as a lukewarm stream arced over him.
"*Glugglurp*! *Huuuuurk!* Oh god!"
The drunken man froze mid-flow at the retching echoes, a sense of dread creeping over him. As he leaned in to investigate, several miners appeared asking, "What're you doing?"
"J-just taking a piss..."
"Then quit your hollering and go home!" one barked, noting the civilian's attire held no interest for them.
The man pointed apologetically behind him. "Wasn't me - sounded like it came from the culvert!"
As if on cue, a bedraggled figure crawled forth, spitting out, "I surrender..."
The miners swiftly bound the captain's hands as he shot the drunken man a murderous glare, then hauled him away.
Similar raids swept through the city's districts, common troops and captives stripped of rank then conveyed like cattle to the "Happy Pastures" holding pens outside the walls.
Within those pens, the resigned prisoners gathered opposite the cave entrances, morbidly anticipating which comrades might join them with each new arrival.