Godrick's easy enough to handle. "What's next?" "We wait for Roundtable Hold to make a move. If I can see the problem, they definitely can." Throne smirked, almost pitying the lord.
"They won't let Godrick bleed Fort Haight dry with cannon fodder. They'll force his hand soon enough." "How do you know they'll see it?" "Because Roundtable Hold's got its own schemer. He'll see it." Throne laughed. He wasn't smarter than Sir Gideon Ofnir, but he had two advantages.
First, he was a prophet. He already knew who he was dealing with and what they were capable of. Second, he was hidden. Even Ofnir wouldn't expect the mastermind to be standing right beside Godrick. Melina didn't know any of this. She stayed silent, lost in thought.
The tent flap jerked open. Darian stood there, his armor gleaming. "Lord Darian," Throne greeted, tone flat. He knew this man was trouble. "His Highness wants to see you. Come with me." The knight didn't waste words. He led Throne out but paused mid-step.
"Ever studied military strategy?" He'd tested Throne's strength—already beyond an ordinary knight, on par with his own. Combat skills were one thing, but a sharp mind? That was dangerous. "Family tradition, my lord. My ancestors fought alongside King Godfrey. Shame they were exiled from The Lands Between." Throne's voice carried a bitter edge, as if staying would've made him something greater.
Darian nodded slightly. Tarnished—the name given to the golden ones who'd lost their grace. Their origins were tangled, their timelines scattered, but the most elite among them were Godfrey's descendants. No one knew what they'd done at the border, but everyone knew they'd once been the Erdtree's mightiest army, sweeping across The Lands Between.
The knight accepted the explanation and lifted the tent flap. Inside, the military council was already underway. Godrick hadn't brought Throne here to strategize. This was a show, a gesture. Throne wasn't interested in helping him either. He slipped into a corner to observe.
After so long in The Lands Between, this was his first time attending a demigod's war council. Of all the demigods, it had to be Godrick. Amusing, if nothing else.
A massive map dominated one side of the tent, marked with symbols Throne didn't recognize. The blockade at Summonwater Village was gone. Even the encirclement north of Fort Haight had been lifted. Godrick wasn't trying to trap the Tarnished—he just wanted Fort Haight to explain itself.
A long supply line stretched from Stormveil across most of Limgrave, garrisons scattered along its length. Clearly, it was meant to guard against Tarnished raids. And, coincidentally, the council's focus was that very supply line.
"Your Highness, five garrisons have been wiped out. There's a group of powerful Tarnished causing havoc." A noble's face was pale, almost tearful. "My castle's been attacked. Send reinforcements!" "Calm down. I've already sent Varré. This is just the Tarnished's desperate ploy to divide my forces."
Godrick lounged in a high-backed chair, swirling his wine glass with practiced ease. "Patience, gentlemen. A noble's education demands proficiency in military strategy." His smirk stretched thin. Was this bastard mocking the very nobles he ruled? Throne chuckled inwardly. Whoever claimed Godrick was a fool had clearly underestimated him. The man's cunning was razor-sharp.
The nobles exchanged uneasy glances. Fathers, mothers—their families back home hung in the balance. Anyone foolish enough to lead troops back would find their head adorning Godrick's banner. Anger simmered beneath their polished exteriors. They'd sent troops, grain, even their own men as fodder, and still this bastard refused to lift a finger.
Yet the golden battle axe propped beside Godrick's chair silenced any dissent. "As you command, Your Highness." "I'll dedicate myself to study." The replies came sparse, half-hearted. Godrick's grin widened. He despised that 'Bloody Finger' now, despised Oleg and his righteous posturing.
Without their meddling, he'd have swallowed these arrogant nobles whole within months, turning Limgrave into his personal domain. Still, it wasn't too late. Once their forces were sufficiently weakened, Fort Haight would fall. He was savoring the thought when a messenger burst in, gasping, and dropped to his knees. "Your Highness, disaster!"
"What's the fuss? Soldiers of Godrick's army don't panic." Godrick's eyes narrowed, already plotting to assign this fool the vanguard tomorrow. "Lord Varré's hundred-man squad—ambushed, wiped out!" The wine glass slipped from Godrick's hand. It shattered on the floor as he shot to his feet.
Varré, one of his grafting nobles, commanded a hundred elite soldiers. Annihilated? Had Roundtable Hold arrived? Impossible. Leyndell's intelligence confirmed they were tangled in a marquis's 'family affairs.'
The nobles' smirks stoked his fury. He itched to grab his axe and cleave them all in two. A shred of restraint held him back—doing so would ignite mutiny. "You!" He jabbed a finger at Throne. "Explain this!"
Throne stepped forward, already calculating Roundtable Hold's motives. "Your Highness, it seems the enemy has stationed their main force outside the city. Guerrilla tactics would maximize the Tarnished's strengths." His reasoning was sound. Today's siege had proven the Tarnished's mettle.
A hundred knight-level warriors striking like shadows, harassing supply lines—even the Haligtree Army would falter. "To counter this, we'd need to bolster garrisons or dispatch strongmen, but both options take time." Godrick remained silent. Reinforcements now would weaken the siege. And strongmen? If he'd had enough to crush Malenia, he'd have done it a decade ago.
Throne saw the hesitation and pressed on. "There's another strategy." "Spit it out!" Godrick barked. Throne glanced at Darian, who looked as if he'd been struck by lightning. Who was the real military advisor here?
"May I ask how many days the main camp's food can last?" Throne's question cut to the core. Darian hesitated, but Godrick's glare forced the answer. "Three days at most."
Just as I thought. Throne smiled.
Due to the spread of the dementia sickness, food production in The Lands Between had dropped sharply, and the 'righteous' Godrick couldn't possibly requisition grain on the spot. "Then gather all your strength and capture Fort Haight within three days!" As soon as this was said, the nobles present showed fierce expressions, as if they wanted to skin Throne alive.
Wasn't this asking them to go to their deaths? But this suggestion hit Godrick's heart. He didn't have time to play hide-and-seek with the Tarnished, and he wasn't willing to retreat. That damn fortress stood in front of him; the more it was within reach, the less he could bear to give up. "What if we fail?"
"Your Highness, there is a saying at the border: 'Put one in a position of death, and they will live'." Throne said lightly, then suddenly solemnly: "We can neither drag it out nor retreat. This is the position of death. Besides fighting to the death, what other choice is there?" Put one in a position of death, and they will live? Godrick closed his eyes, not even looking at Darian.
This statement not only fit his intentions, but also matched his reckless style of doing things. A moment later, he opened his eyes, filled with madness. "My mind is made up." Godrick raised his golden battle axe and then slammed it down heavily. Bang—
"Tomorrow morning, the whole army attacks the city! Whoever retreats, dies!"
Woo—
The long horn sound shook the wilderness. The soldiers who had rested for a night got up one after another. Regardless of whether they were willing or not, they stepped with heavy paces, lined up in a huge horizontal formation, and pressed toward the fortress step by step.
Today the black clouds hung low, and it had been drizzling since early morning, turning the battlefield ahead into a mud pit, mixed with yesterday's blood, glowing a dark red. The troops filling the wilderness plunged into the mud pit and then waded forward through the mud. The timing was bad; this was a huge disadvantage for the attacking side.
This would obviously consume more physical strength, but the arrow was on the string and had to be fired. The formation of Godricks Army was the same as yesterday, with noble private soldiers in the front and the main force of Stormveil following behind. However, after yesterday's bloody battle, the noble private soldiers were obviously slacking off. They moved forward sluggishly.
As soon as a few crossbow bolts were shot down from the city wall, they held up their shields and looked like iron turtles. And Godrick obviously didn't have absolute prestige; the people behind didn't dare to use them directly as a supervision team.
Heaven knows how much time it would take to capture the fortress relying on these people, but Godrick had long expected this; he just wanted the noble private soldiers to attract fire. However, when they reached the fortress's firing range, the arrows and magic were sparse, making him frown involuntarily. "What the hell is going on? Has Fort Haight run out of supplies?"
"Your Highness, the fortress is well-supplied." Kenneth Haight, the heir of the Haight family, immediately reported. "Then why is the firepower so weak? Could it be that the Tarnished have fled?" When Godrick spoke, his eyes glanced at Throne. He trusted this Tarnished more and more now. He had brains, understood his own kind, and the suggestions he made were truly flawless.
"I can't make a judgment either; we have to test it out anyway." Throne replied, looking very troubled. That's right, he wasn't a prophet, how could he know? Godrick didn't think much more and roared loudly: "Tell Owen, launch a total attack!" "As you command." Dong dong dong... The war drums became rapid. The private soldiers in the front hurriedly dodged to the sides, revealing an attack channel.
Two puppets lumbered forward, their heavy footsteps shaking the ground. Throne clenched his fists, his mind racing. "Melina," he thought, "you're certain you notified Vyke and the others?" Last night, Melina had infiltrated the city herself. She moved like a shadow now, a ghost among men, slipping through the military camp as if it were air.
"I delivered the message," the girl replied, her voice cool and detached. "But I can't guarantee they believed it." Throne's fists relaxed, his focus steadying. The rhythmic dong-dong of the puppets' footsteps grew louder. He smirked. "Do you really want to know why I dare to stay by Godrick's side?" Melina hesitated. Of course she did.
Godrick had sent his right-hand man out to die, yet he kept a Tarnished like Throne close, watching the battle from safety. She bit back her curiosity. "I don't want to."
"Value," Throne answered, his voice sharp. "When the value I provide outweighs the courage of a brute, Godrick won't risk me on the battlefield. That value comes from wisdom." Melina scoffed. "Then you're amazing."
Throne ignored her jab. Patience, he thought, has made her sarcastic. He turned his attention back to the siege, his mood darkening. Today would drag on endlessly.
The puppets charged. Almost instantly, the fortress walls roared to life. Ballistae, gunpowder barrels, and Glintstone Sorcery erupted in a deafening barrage. The puppets' legs shattered, black fragments scattering like broken glass. The front puppet's left leg exploded, sending it crashing to the ground. It skidded forward, slamming into the city wall with a thunderous thud.
The second puppet disintegrated under the hail of bullets. Above, Stormhawks pierced through the clouds, their wings slicing the sky. They dropped gunpowder barrels with precision. Explosions ripped through the air, blood mist erupting from the walls. The Stormhawks descended, their talons slashing through Tarnished or snatching them up to drop from dizzying heights. The sound of bodies hitting the ground was sickening—splat.
The barrage paused. The puppet's shattered remains slammed into the city wall with a final, bone-rattling bang. The fortress wall groaned, a massive hole punched through its defenses. The puppet's broken body lay across the breach, forming a crude bridge.
"The city's breached! Follow me!" Owen drew his sword, leading a charge of knights. They rode across the puppet's corpse, storming onto the city wall. Elite soldiers followed, pouring through the gap. Using a puppet as a bridge—the tactic was straight out of the Haligtree Army's playbook. Throne's lips twitched. Godrick's learning fast, he thought.
A laugh cut through the chaos. "Hahaha! These lowly Tarnished—I'll hang them one by one, make them my trophies!" Godrick's voice was triumphant. Sieges were like this—one breakthrough, and the defenders' resolve crumbled.
His thin face was filled with the words I am the only one in heaven and earth. His gaze flicked to Throne, a smug grin spreading across his face. "You've done well. Once we take this city, I'll reward you generously. Tell me—what do you want?" Throne kept his expression neutral. Modesty here would only raise suspicion.
"Treasures," Throne said, his voice cutting through the air. "Stronger power. That's what I want." What else would a traitor crave but these two things?
Godrick raised his hand, the ruby on his index finger catching the light. "Power. Treasure. I'll grant you both. In exchange for your loyalty."
"That's a spirit-calling ring," Melina murmured, her tone low. "I didn't expect him to have one."
Throne paused, his mask hiding his expression. Then he smiled—sharp, deliberate. He pressed a fist to his chest in salute. "I'll bring you more Tarnished. Strong ones. Alive." The unspoken agreement hung heavy between them.
Godrick laughed, a deep, satisfied sound. After this battle, he could graft whoever he pleased. His smile widened.
A flicker of distraction crossed Godrick's face. "Huh. Why hasn't Owen signaled the city's capture yet?"
Inside the fortress, Owen moved along the wall with two grafting nobles at his side. The ground was littered with limbs. Few living souls remained. Arrows rained down from the towers, sporadic but persistent.
These things were useful against ordinary soldiers, but they barely scratched the iron-clad knights. Owen shrugged it off. The wall was breached. Defenders usually crumbled after that.