Marcus hurried into Habersville, furtively ducking through the town gates. As he rushed by, one of the Legionnaires responsible for guarding it raised a hand in greeting. “Bard Marcus! Good day.”

“Good day to you, Augustus,” Marcus smiled and returned the gesture, but didn’t slow.

“You’re moving with unusual haste. Urgent business?”

“Urgent indeed,” he wheeled and began walking backwards for a moment to finish speaking. “Apologies that I can’t stay and chat at the moment. Perhaps later!”

With that, he spun back toward the town. As much as he would have loved to speak with the Legionnaire for longer, there were more important things than networking for the moment. Much more important. He couldn’t risk delaying.

Gaius had been rather well-disposed toward his request to retrieve Myra before the Legionnaires made their move, something he was incredibly grateful for. Marcus figured that he owed her at least that much for cluing him in about the developing rebellion plot. However, what he hadn’t quite expected was the sheer speed with which the Legion would move to address the threat.

As of now, Habersville’s guards had yet to act. There had been no actual rebellion yet. But there was no telling when it would happen, and evidently, the evidence he and Eleonora had provided were more than enough for Gaius to take swift and decisive action. It was why the soldiers were already mustering within the camp, just out of sight enough that their adversaries wouldn’t be clued in for a while yet.

As for what form that action would take… Marcus wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps they’d simply take the town as they had before. He had no doubt that they’d have no issue doing so, even with the improved walls they’d built. A siege was also an option, perhaps, simultaneously more brutal and more kind than slaying traitors in the streets. Though that seemed as though it would take far more time than necessary.

Either way, Marcus was worried. He’d heard some rather ominous talk about what might happen to the rebels. Something about Rome’s enemies not having any rights. Considering what that would have meant for Habersville if he hadn’t shown up that first day… It sent chills through him. The people here were treated rather reasonably if he were being honest, even considering their rather aggressive recruitment strategies, and he’d hate to see that change altogether.

Marcus plastered on another performer’s smile and waved to another passerby. This one was a Habersville resident, one he recognized from one of the more amicable pubs that he’d been frequenting. The man acknowledged him with a cheery smile.

“Bard! Good day, man! How’re you doing?”

“Quite well, quite well!” Marcus continued on, masking his impatience behind a veil of perpetual agreeableness. As much as he tried to be approachable and well connected, it was times like this were such an approach showed its downsides.

“Good to hear! Say, it’s been a while—where are you playing tonight?” The man called as he passed.

“Oh we’ll see—the Barrel and Brew, maybe!”

“Ah, a fine place! I’ll make sure to stop by. Hope to see you there! Maybe you can share some more of those Legionnaire stories you mentioned!”

Marcus raised a hand, already leaving the man behind. He really had no idea where he’d be playing tonight, if at all. He’d just called out the first establishment that came to mind. But considering the commotion on the horizon… well, he wasn’t holding out hope that anyone would be in the mood for merrymaking.

As he continued hurrying toward Myra’s place, Marcus noticed that the Legion’s presence in the city was lighter than expected, even for this late hour. Only a handful of soldiers patrolled within Habersville’s walls. Perhaps it was because their numbers had been greatly reduced while their fellows were off on their campaign. It was also possible that they’d reshuffled their men to prioritize forest patrols after the ambush in the woods. In total, he only saw two groups pass him by on his way into the town square.

He traced the path that he remembered to Myra’s house, only to find it empty. Frowning, he turned toward the other place that she might be hiding—the mayor’s mansion. But as rushed as he was, he still made a quick stop at the class stone on the way, touching it to briefly check on his current status.

Information:

Name: Marcus Silvanus D’Angelo

Age: 23

Class: Royal Bard (Rare)

Level: 22

Experience: 367 / 2,200

Stats:

Strength: 5

Dexterity: 30

Constitution: 6

Charisma: 56

Wisdom: 13

Intelligence:11

Titles:

Chronicler of Novara

Dashing Dastard

Traveler of Novara

Harbinger of Rome

Skills:

[Charm] (Uncommon) – Lvl 25

[Silver Tongue] (Epic) – Lvl 4

[Appraisal] (Uncommon) – Lvl 21

[Sleight of Hand] (Common) – Lvl 25

[Inspirational Song] (Rare) – Lvl 6

[Critical Reception] (Rare) – Lvl 8

[Spellcraft] (Uncommon) – Lvl 3

[Glamor] (Uncommon) – Lvl 21

[Dagger Proficiency] (Common) – Lvl 4

[Camping] (Common) – Lvl 2

Dealing with the Legion had earned him some rather enviable gains in this short time—and he wasn’t just referring to hitting level 22. It seemed that his skills were also getting a great workout. Most of his core repertoire had seen at least one level’s worth of improvements. It may not have seemed like much, but considering that even his epic [Silver Tongue] and both his rare skills had improved? That was big news. Those things took forever to level.

The gains made him briefly consider the skills that hadn’t improved. Namely, his [Dagger Proficiency] and [Camping]. Neither was a skill he particularly liked or wanted to use. However, considering his status within the kingdom as a wanted criminal, he’d found it prudent to pick up something that would aid him in traveling and defending himself. The fact that he hadn’t used either enough to level them much was honestly a good thing in his book, as it meant they hadn’t been necessary. And considering his current situation, perhaps it was time to think about replacing them with something better.

Not this instant, though. For now, there were more important things he had to tend to. Breaking contact with the stone, he hurried on toward the mayor’s oversized mansion.

After a brief look at the place, Marcus considered how to go about getting inside. His last interaction with Mayor Blaufort hadn’t exactly left them on the best of terms. Now that his charms had likely worn off, attempting to simply walk in the front door sounded like a simple way to provoke an attack or other negative reaction. Although the man wasn’t permitted to keep guards of his own, the rebellion itself proved that he was more than willing to break whatever rules the Legion had set out for him.

Instead of going through the door, Marcus ducked around the side of the manor, entering via the servants’ access. There were still a few that bustled about the place, though he couldn’t know how many had left since the Legion’s arrival.

It didn’t take long to find one. One of the younger maids, a pale-skinned woman with her black hair tucked into a messy bun, turned aside at his urging. He pulled her into a lesser used passage of the mansion and lowered his voice to a whisper. It was time for all his socialization to bear fruit.

“Agatha! Good to see you, as always. I don’t suppose you could let me know where Myra is?”

The pretty maid gave him a suspicious look. She was, in fact, quite attractive on her own, though not exactly Marcus’s type. Not that it would stop him from laying on the charm.

She folded her arms. “With all due respect, sir… I doubt the lady wants to see you. Why, rumor has it that you hung her out to dry.”

Marcus winced internally. Dang servants and their gossip network. He should have expected as much. “Ah, you must be misinformed. For you see, I’m actually here at Myra’s request.”

The maid’s eyes narrowed. “You are? At this late hour?”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Of course!” Marcus brought his skills to bear. “She asked a favor of me, and I’m here to make good on it. Why, it’s the least I can do.”

The maid scanned his face for evidence of deceit. Not that she would have found any. Marcus was too good at acting to be so easily seen through—although, for the moment, he truly was being honest.

Her frosty demeanor began to melt away, replaced with a more warm and accepting one. “Oh! Well if you two have made up, all the better, I say. Why, the ladies and I think you’d make a fine couple…”

Marcus remained silent as the woman prattled on mindlessly. He had to consciously keep himself from tapping his foot in impatience. Eventually, he interrupted to give her a slight prod. “Yes, yes. So, if you can point me in her direction…”

“Of course, of course! Why, she’s over in guest room two, upstairs and to the left. For some reason, she didn’t want to stay at her own place for the moment…”

Marcus gently took the servant’s hand and kissed the back of it, flashing her a smile. “Wonderful. You’ve been a great help Agatha. As always.”

The woman froze, her next wave of rambling stopped short by the gesture. Marcus left her blushing form behind as he hurried upstairs.

It didn’t take him long to find the room in question. He rapped on the door twice in quick succession. There came a faint rustling from the other side, but no answer otherwise.

“Myra? It’s me,” he called in a low voice designed not to carry. He rather intentionally didn’t lace his words with any skills. As much as they’d made the previous encounter easier, he preferred to avoid such blatant manipulations with people he might interact with long-term. Now that it was clear that he wouldn’t be getting rid of her so easily, he had to be more careful with her. Not that he would ever even consider “settling down” with Myra like the servant had suggested, but well… If he’d be staying in Habersville for a while, then he was sure to see her around more.

The rustling sounded again. Marcus heard footsteps approach before Myra opened the door, her honey brown eyes meeting his own questioningly. “Marcus?”

“Wonderful. You’re here.” He let out a small sigh of relief. “Collect your things, quickly. We need to leave.”

Myra stayed where she was. “You talked to the Legion? Are they going to take care of… this?”

Marcus nodded. “Yes. But things are likely to get worse before they get better, and I believe it would behoove both of us to get out of town before they start. Now, hurry…”

He leaned to the side to glance past Myra and into her room. Atop her bed sat a bulging knapsack, already packed and ready to go. The rest of the furniture in the room looked like it had hardly been touched.

She stepped back inside, grabbing the bundle by one of its straps and slinging it over her shoulder. “Ready when you are. Although I’m surprised. It’s understandable that they’d take issue, but they’ve seemed pretty reasonable so far.”

“Agreed. However…” Marcus hesitated. “I suspect they may be… rethinking that position. Especially in light of these events. I’m not certain, but I can’t shake this ominous feeling about the whole thing… Which is why I’d like to hurry.”

He took her by the elbow and started to draw her downstairs. Myra yanked her arm free with a glare, one that he let slide without comment. Wordlessly, she gestured for him to follow. She turned on her heel and led them a different way than Marcus had taken when entering, one that ensured they didn’t see another soul.

When they emerged from the manor, there was already a commotion in the streets.

“Damn them…” Marcus swore under his breath, and Myra gave him a questioning look. He gestured to a troupe of former guards running along the street, all armed. “It’s already begun. We need to get to the gates now before the guards try to take them, if they haven’t already. As strong as the Legion is, I can’t say that the few in town won’t get overwhelmed by sheer numbers before backup arrives.”

Myra frowned. “Didn’t you say they were prepared for this?”

“Yes. And Gaius will surely finish marshalling their forces quickly. But I don’t know if they had time to warn the Legionnaires on gate duty or if they had orders to just retreat and abandon the positions rather than trying to hold the gates from the inside. It really depends on… well, it depends on what the Legion’s long term plans are with Habersville.”

They began hurrying toward the gate, jogging through back alleys and avoiding the groups of guards rushing about as well as they could. Marcus let Myra take the lead once again, seeing that she was far more familiar with the town than he was—even given the recent reconstruction efforts. He prepared himself for whatever they might find there. Most likely it would either be a pair of dead Legionnaires as the guards seized the gate—though he hadn’t felt anything to indicate that yet. There might also be a pile of dead guards as their rebellion failed. Maybe one of the cohorts would have finished massing and be ready to storm the city.

They rounded a final corner, coming into view of Habersville’s gate. What they found fell entirely outside of any expectation that Marcus had imagined.

The guards had made it there, all right. Quite a number of them had gathered in a defensive line before the closed gate. But they weren’t alone. Behind their formation stood a small gaggle of priests, their hands held to the sky as they chanted. A glow of divine power shimmered around them.

***

Quintus followed after the messenger at a double-time pace, their steps echoing through the empty mineshaft. He’d almost let himself hope that subjugating the town and its populace would be the end of things, that they’d managed to take the town in what was almost record time. But no, there was more to be done. There was always more to be done.

Evidently there remained one pocket of resistance a short way into the mines that refused to surrender. One that they knew of, at least. It was always possible that some straggling miners hid deeper in, though considering what the scouts had reported about their work schedules, Quintus doubted it.

His men would have simply fought and killed these rebels. However, that was proving a bit more difficult than expected. For one, they’d holed up behind some fortifications, making them difficult to approach. Even worse, the narrow passage made for an excellent bottleneck that would work against the Legionnaires, making an assault difficult. Between that and the unknown nature of these opponents, it was a bit more risk than Quintus really wanted his men to take.

And so, he rushed after the messenger to see the situation for himself. It only made sense, as this was the last holdout before he felt the area was safe enough for the Legatus to make his entrance and properly seize the area.

He ducked into the mineshaft, its depths already illuminated by strange smokeless lights hung at regular intervals down its length. It was only a hundred or so strides before they turned off into a small tunnel leading steeply downward, the air growing mustier as they descended. At its end stood a group of armored Legionnaires surrounding an iron-bound wooden door with a small slit set into it. Currently, the slit was closed, covered by a piece of sliding metal.

The men turned and saluted as Quintus jogged to a halt before them. One of them—a centurion—addressed him. “Primus Pilus.”

“Report. What’s the situation?” Quintus asked.

The centurion jerked his chin toward the door. “Three men inside, best we can tell. They refuse to surrender or unbar the door. Say this post needs to stay manned.”

Quintus frowned. “Have they explained why?”

The centurion shook his head. “Not a word. I didn’t think it mattered much. I gave them the choice of surrender or death, and they closed the speaking hatch and haven’t answered since then.

Quintus nodded. The reaction was answer enough, and not entirely unexpected. “How long ago was that?”

“Five minutes, perhaps?” The centurion responded with a rather unprofessional shrug.

Not too long then. Quintus looked over to one of the other Legionnaires, standing by the door with a pry bar already wedged into place. “Why have you not attacked already? You don’t require my permission to break down a door.”

The centurion gave another shrug. “Well… I wanted to have backup. Just in case. It seems as though they could be guarding something, and the position is fairly defensible if they play their cards right. They could even have some kind of trap ready to deal with intruders.”

Quintus understood the man’s caution. He’d thought much the same thing. “We’ll manage. Let’s get started.”

He and the centurion stepped back as the men went to work. They began to pry and work at the door, attempting to peel it off its hinges as others formed up to handle whatever lay inside. Quintus stayed near the back for the moment. It was too cramped for him to make his way to the front lines personally. And besides, it wouldn’t do for him to solve every problem personally. The men could do with some practice themselves.

“You think they’re storing the ore in this room?”

Quintus shook his head at the centurion’s question. “Doubtful. We’ve identified a few locations of ore stockpiles nearer to the surface. This also seems too out of the way to be part of the transport process. Though perhaps there is something else of value being hidden here.”

The centurion’s eyes lit up with undisguised greed. “Really? You think they might have treasures and precious stones inside?”

“I don’t know. But I somehow doubt that’s the case. I am no miner, but I don’t believe that such things would be commonplace enough in an iron mine.”

The centurion laughed. “True enough. Well, I’ll still hold out hope for a pile of gold in there.”

Quintus shared a chuckle with the man as they watched the pair of Legionnaires finish removing the pins from the hinges. The sight made him pause, his humor turning to confusion. Hinges? On this side of the door? That was a design flaw if he’d ever seen one. Had these defenders truly made such a colossal oversight?

Before he could ponder the matter further, the door was gone. The men quickly moved the massive board to one side, adopting fighting stances as they rushed through the narrow opening. Legionnaires surged into the room as shouts of alarm sounded from within.

Quintus peered through the door. Inside, he spotted three enemies, just as the centurion had reported—two men and a woman. Each were dressed in loose-fitting robes and strange floppy hats that put even the bard’s to shame for absurdity. Even stranger, they seemed completely ill-prepared for combat.

The trio stood abruptly from the table they’d been sitting at, scrabbling for staves as the Legion rushed toward them. The older of the robed men paled. “You fools! Imbeciles! You don’t know what you’re—!”

His words turned to gurgles as a sword took him in the neck. The men cut down the woefully unprepared foes without hesitation, not giving them a chance to recover or try any tricks. As they fell bleeding to the ground, Quintus spotted something along the far wall. Some sort of sigils inscribed into the wall, glowing faintly with strange energy.

“Be on guard!” Quintus called. “Witchcraft!”

The men tensed, raising their shields to face the sigils, preparing for an attack or some sort of offensive magic. However, after a tense minute, the symbols simply dimmed and faded. Only the engravings in the stone below remained.

The men waited for another minute out of caution before relaxing. Whatever these three had been up to, it seemed to be no more. Still, the nature of the man’s final insults struck Quintus as a little strange. Cursing was obviously common in combat, of course—but usually it took the form of disparaging remarks about one’s female relatives or allegations of tyranny. He wasn’t quite used to general insults to one’s intelligence, especially not when both parties were sober.

Stepping forward, Quintus followed their forces inside and scanned the area. A smallish table and chairs occupied the center of the space, a deck of what appeared to be playing cards of some kind scattered across its surface. Across one side of the room lay a collection of simple cots and a surplus of what appeared to be rations. Opposite of his own position, along the same wall as the dimmed sigils, stood another door—this one more heavily reinforced than the first.

He walked up to it, looking for some way to peer through, but it was a solid mass of iron and wood. A massive wooden beam about a cubit thick lay horizontally across it, wrapped in steel and braces that looked strong enough to guard a two-block castle gate. There was no slit to speak or see through, not so much as a gap. Nor did there appear to be a handle of any sort with which to open the door.

“Strange,” Quintus muttered to himself as he approached. Once again, the hinges of the door were on the other side. Was it truly an oversight, or actually intentional?

Legionnaires scoured the room behind him as he considered the door. Curiously, he rapped on its surface. He half expected a voice to emanate from the other side, perhaps from some sort of prisoner. No such voice came.

He pressed his ear to the wood. Still no voice. All he heard was the faint scrabbling of something. Many somethings even. The faint and echoing sound of claws scraping against stone.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep