Chapter 281: The False Refuge
"We need to find Lupis immediately before his house guards discover us."
Suddenly, a familiar voice drifted from the grand staircase at the end of the hall.
"You do not need to look very far," Duke Lupis said, stepping down into the dim light. He wore simple linen robes and carried a candelabra. He looked at the fourteen exhausted adults with a calm expression.
"Your Grace," Marcus stepped forward. "Voranthar turned on us. He accused us of the noble assassinations and ordered our execution. We need sanctuary until we can find a way out of the capital."
Lupis offered a small, understanding smile. "I am well aware of the King’s deteriorating sanity. I heard the commotion from the palace. It is precisely why I made preparations."
He gestured for them to follow him toward an iron door concealed behind a heavy tapestry in the study.
"My subterranean vaults are completely insulated from the palace’s magical tracking grid. Voranthar’s mages will not be able to locate your divine signatures while you are down there," Lupis explained while unlocking the heavy iron latch. "You will be entirely safe. We have provisions to last several weeks."
Marcus felt a brief flash of suspicion cross his mind. Why is he so perfectly prepared for this? But the desperate need for safety, and the exhausted expressions of his friends, forced him to ignore the instinct.
They descended the winding stone stairs into a large, well-lit basement. The room lacked the typical dust of an abandoned cellar, appearing thoroughly cleaned and organized. Comfortable cots lined the walls, and a large wooden table sat in the center piled with fresh bread and water.
The moment the last person entered, Lupis stood in the doorway.
"Rest now," Lupis instructed kindly. "I will secure the upper floors and ensure my personal guard maintains absolute silence. We will discuss a permanent extraction plan in the morning."
Lupis closed the heavy iron door behind them. The metallic click of the lock sliding into place echoed through the vault.
Inside the basement, Ethan collapsed onto the nearest cot. Liam and Emma sat at the wooden table, exhausted from fighting the royal knights. Mason and Sophia began checking the perimeter of the room to ensure there were no hidden surveillance runes.
"We made it," Elena whispered, leaning against Marcus.
Upstairs, Duke Lupis walked away from the hidden door and returned to his study. He poured himself a glass of expensive wine and sat behind his desk.
The shadows in the corner of the study shifted. Novus and Hawl stepped out into the candlelight. They casually wiped the blood from their daggers after a successful night of framing the Earthlings.
"They are all locked in the vault," Lupis reported, taking a sip of his wine. He smiled at the two assassins. "The King’s greatest weapons just voluntarily walked into a cage and handed me the key."
"Hehe," Hawl laughed. "At this rate, we might even take care of this war before Iron and the rest of the commanders invade."
"Shh!" Novus silenced Hawl and glanced around.
"What’s wrong?"
"Don’t take his name, otherwise he will appear out of nowhere and destroy Transtead."
A few days later, Iron-Scale marched at the forefront of the first Vanguard army, stopping only when he reached the crest of the hill overlooking the Tarnstead capital.
The towering walls cast long shadows over the surrounding plains, but the defensive perimeter looked completely disorganized. Black smoke billowed from the inner districts, painting the morning sky with ash.
The terrified citizens were already tearing their own home apart.
Gulag walked up beside him and rested her bone club against her shoulder. She looked at the panicked city with a wide, eager smile. Torix crawled along the rocky flank, his six eyes tracking the frantic movements of the Tarnstead archers scrambling across the battlements.
Iron-Scale closed his eyes and reached out through his faith link, connecting his mind directly to the orbital sanctuary.
"Lord Rubedo," Iron-Scale projected through the divine connection. "We have arrived at the capital gates. The city is actively rioting. Voranthar’s military command structure is completely paralyzed."
Up in the sanctuary, Rubedo received the news perfectly. He sat on his throne and stroked Glitch’s dark fur.
"Do not fire the siege weapons," Rubedo commanded through the link. "Let the paranoia do the work for us. March the army right up to the walls and stand perfectly still. Let the citizens realize their king has locked himself inside the palace and abandoned them to the slaughter."
Iron-Scale opened his eyes and nodded. He raised his massive polearm into the air to signal the battalion captains.
One hundred thousand Vanguard soldiers advanced down the hill. They moved in absolute unison, their armored boots shaking the earth as they closed the distance to the city. They did not roar or charge wildly.
The sheer discipline of the marching columns projected an aura of absolute terror.
When the army reached the clearing just outside the range of the Tarnstead archers, Iron-Scale lowered his weapon. The entire Vanguard force halted instantly.
They stood completely motionless in the dirt, forming an impenetrable wall of steel and muscle around the city.
Inside the capital, the psychological pressure shattered the final remnants of order.
The starving citizens looked out from the alleys and saw the monstrous army waiting patiently at their doorstep. They turned and looked at the locked gates of the royal palace, realizing Voranthar had absolutely no intention of protecting them.
"Open the gates!" a desperate man shouted near the outer courtyard, grabbing a pitchfork from a wooden cart. "If we surrender, they might let us live!"
A Tarnstead knight drew his sword to push the civilian back, but the hungry crowd instantly surged forward. The civilians overwhelmed the perimeter guards, dragging the armored men to the cobblestone streets.
The riot morphed into a violent mutiny. Ordinary citizens violently dismantled the barricades and rushed the gatehouse to throw the heavy iron levers.
The massive wooden gates of the Tarnstead capital groaned loudly and slowly swung open.
Iron-Scale watched the citizens willingly expose the interior of the city. He gripped his polearm and looked at Gulag and Torix.
"The perimeter is broken," Iron-Scale announced to his commanders. "Move in and execute the royal guard."
