B3 Chapter 32: God Save the King

It took astonishingly little time for the siege to take its toll on the castle’s defenders.

In the first few hours, there had been a definite air of vigilance about the place. The castle guards marched along the walls with zeal, and while the assorted adventurers and mercenaries clearly lacked the same sort of organized discipline, they also kept a keen eye on the soldiers that surrounded the castle.

Now, though? The number and enthusiasm of the patrols had dwindled considerably. The guards had settled back into the dreary monotony of routine. Those fighters who had initially been so eager and battle-ready now lazed at the top of the walls, dozing or playing cards to pass the time. They weren’t trained soldiers, after all, meant to maintain discipline and watchfulness for months on end. They were unprofessional, yet powerful, and used to far more action than this.

Although that wasn’t to say that there was no action to be had. Far from it. Given the Legion’s continuous bombardment of the castle with stones, explosives, and animal carcasses, there was plenty to do for those with defensive or ranged skills. Some of the defenders with particularly long-ranged skills had even tried to destroy the siege weapons from afar, cheering when one was reduced to rubble—only to fall silent as they were rebuilt further away within the hour. They’d more or less given up after a day or so of that.

But even this had become so continuous that the enemy seemed bored rather than actually threatened by the assault. They barely reacted when the boom of one of the more powerful siege weapons went off, firing stone blocks at speeds that left trails of disintegrated dust in their wake.

Of course, such a bombardment wasn’t meant to actually break through the defenses. It was instead meant to tire the enemy. And considering how they’d gone from repelling every projectile to prioritizing only those with potential to do real harm, he suspected they were accomplishing that aim quite well. It helped that one of the men had come up with the idea to include gravel and caltrop sprays into the firing rotation, specifically to harass and annoy any enemies atop the walls. That particular development had chased quite a number of them off.

One thing that hadn’t seen much change, however, was morale regarding rations. Evidently, they had been right. These higher-leveled individuals had far less need for food than one would normally expect. Still, a few of his scouts could read lips well enough to note dissatisfaction on that front as well.

Neither Tiberius nor his men had spent this time idle, of course. Beyond securing the city and managing its operations, they’d leveled more ground and prepared additional fortifications and men for a real assault.

Several armored turtle formations, as they’d come to be called, had been drilling nonstop. Specialist groups were on standby behind or inside buildings where they couldn’t be easily seen. The elves had staked out positions where their arrows would prove most effective, their free time used to level skills. All the while, men with mining skills toiled away underground, working to slowly and sneakily erode the very foundations of the castle.

That last group was more of a backup plan than anything. Considering the abnormal strength of the castle’s enchanted stone and the monumental nature of the task, Tiberius truly did not expect their efforts to bear fruit for another few weeks at least. But compared to the months it may have taken in their old world? It was still quite an impressive feat. Especially considering the lengths taken to preserve the men’s stealth.

Once those tunnels were done, they’d be able to flood inside and overwhelm the enemy from multiple fronts. But in the meantime… Tiberius wanted to press them just a little harder.

He watched as the Legionnaires, elven and human, began to take their positions. Absentmindedly, he began to fiddle with the small amulet that now adorned his neck—a mind-bendingly intricate construction of some sort of crystal and a brass-like metal that hummed to the touch.

There was one thing that concerned him, even more so than the siege. It was his level. He was still only level four, the same as he’d been when his class evolved and split from that of his Legionnaires.

Leading Rome in battle had earned him nothing. Nor had the defeat of Marquis Morozov’s forces. He’d hoped that taking the city would change that. But perhaps the System didn’t consider the job finished yet. Not until the castle and its king had fallen. That was the best explanation Tiberius could think of.

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In the meantime, he faced a problem. The Legion had already experienced more than its share of being underestimated due to their unimpressive levels. But now that his was even lower… The risk of such a deficiency calling his ability rule into question became a real issue. Not among his men, of course, but among the Novarans and perhaps even the elves. Hence the amulet.

The accessory had been traded to him by Grand Mage Claude, on the condition that Tiberius participated in a few experiments regarding his unique class. Normally, he would have been hesitant to agree to such a condition. But at this point? He would do what he had to. At least until his level was more reasonable. Besides, the old mage had no reason to betray Tiberius. Not yet.

In the meantime, he’d been assured that his level and class were safely obscured from others. Well, so long as they were below level 70 and didn’t possess [Clairvoyance]. Which seemed perfectly serviceable to Tiberius.

Gaius stepped forward and saluted. “Emperor. The preparations are ready.”

“Good. And the bait?”

He saw a flicker of something cross Gaius’s expression, but the boy clamped down on it with impressive speed. “He’s preparing in the storeroom nearby. We thought it best to keep him hidden as long as possible. Although… I suspect he wouldn’t be pleased to hear himself referred to as such…”

Tiberius nodded in agreement. “See to your men. We’ll begin at the signal.”

He turned away from the young Legatus and headed toward the storeroom in question. Stepping inside, he saw the star of their current operation, tuning a lute in all of his purple-cloaked glory.

“Marcus.” Tiberius addressed the bard as he stepped inside. “We are ready.”

Marcus swept to his feet with a smile that was only a little forced. “Of course, of course, emperor. I suppose you’ll want me to venture forth, then?”

He nodded. The fact that the Novaran king hated Marcus was something that Tiberius had been aware of for quite a while. However, the recent attempt on the bard’s life had put into perspective just how deep that hatred ran. It was borderline irrational how much this fool of a king was out to get the bard—and that was something they could certainly use to their advantage.

The sound of a throat being cleared drew Tiberius’s attention back to the performer. “Far be it from me to question your decisions, emperor, but… Are you certain about this course of action? Not that I doubt your men and their abilities, but…”

“You will be protected. You have my word.” Tiberius promised. The man was understandably apprehensive about the plan. But this was a golden opportunity to draw out more of the Novaran king’s forces from beyond the wall. Already he’d sent multiple other squads to assassinate the bard. So presenting him openly like this was certain to draw an even greater response. Especially if his performance proved as provocative as Tiberius hoped.

Marcus sighed with resignation. “I understand. Well, then, I suppose I’d better hope that Regulus hasn’t slacked off in his training… Though I suppose I should be grateful.” His lips twitched into a sardonic grin. “It’s been a while since I’ve performed for such a large audience.”

With that, they exited the building. Marcus walked forward, emerging from the barricades that the Legionnaires had surrounded the castle with. His cloak glittered in the sunlight as he stepped into no man’s land, remaining carefully out of range of the attacks they’d seen thus far. A group of armored turtle Legionnaires advanced just behind him, staying within range to assist should anything go wrong.

“Hail, friends!” Marcus called, his voice carrying across the distance easily. “My name is Marcus Silvanus D’Angelo! Many of you may already know me. And those who don’t… Well, I’ll see to it that you don’t forget my name after today.”

The sudden appearance of the bard drew the attention of the defenders. Many straightened and peeked their heads over the wall’s edge to take a look at the strange sight. Tiberius managed to pick out a few guards that disappeared as well, undoubtedly rushing to inform their liege of the development.

Marcus unslung his lute and squared his shoulders. Now that he stood before an audience, any trace of the bard’s prior uncertainty had evaporated—though he did seem less pleased to be the center of attention than usual. Instead, he cleared his throat and strummed a few chords.

“This is a piece that I’ve been working on in my spare time,” he began, the chords weaving together to form a more cohesive tapestry. “It’s relatively simple, compared to my usual works, but, well… I believe in playing to one’s audience. It simply wouldn’t do to create an artistic marvel layered with subtext and metaphor, only for it to go over one’s head, now would it? No, I believe this level of subtlety is appropriate for the piece’s intended listener.”

The man closed his eyes and focused on the music. Tiberius felt a shift in the world around him, leaning forward with anticipation despite himself. He’d always suspected that the Legionnaires had a resistance to the bard’s influence, yet even that wasn’t enough to fully counteract whatever he was doing now.

Then, Marcus began to sing.

Gods save the king,

The tyrannical regime!

A wine-drunk fool,

Unfit for rule!

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