Milan's words made Arvant stop in his tracks. Those assassins were skilled but they were being discreet and it was the only reason they were alive until now.
Arvant pressed his lips into a thin line. What Milan said was true, and he also knew that, but they couldn't afford to stay here. After all, this place was also a dead end for them. Arvant looked at Dagur and his men charging towards the barony soldiers.
Meanwhile, back in the streets, a cloaked figure leaned slightly forward, his voice hushed yet laced with cold calculation. "It seems they've begun."
His gloved fingers tapped idly against the hilt of his dagger as he spoke, eyes never leaving the square where chaos was about to unfold.
"Once the battle fully starts, that's when we move in and kill the prince and his aide."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the other assassins lurking in the dark. Their fingers twitched over their weapons, ready to strike the moment their prey was most vulnerable.
Back in the square, Jolthar's grip tightened around his sword. He exhaled slowly, centring himself as he took in the unfolding scene.
The soldiers around him moved into position as Cleora raised her voice, her commanding presence drawing every eye.
"Men," she began, her voice unwavering despite the odds stacked against them. "I know this is not an ideal battle. We are outnumbered. We face an army far greater than our own. But we cannot—we will not—allow them to reach our women and children."
The soldiers shifted uneasily, their expressions grim. The reality of the situation was undeniable, but Cleora was not finished.
"We must fight until our very last breath! We will stand our ground until we have no strength left to lift our swords! I will fight alongside you, and together, we will show them that we are not so easily broken!"
A spark ignited in the soldiers' eyes.
"I fight with you and for you!" Cleora's voice rose, her conviction palpable. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ ɴovelfire.net
"You fight not just for yourselves, but for your families—for those waiting beyond, trusting us to protect them! Will you let the enemy reach them?"
It wasn't fancy, but it sure did make the soldiers turn from fear to determination. They watched their baroness shouting at the top of her lungs, and she even said that she would fight alongside.
Even if the enemy soldiers were running towards them, they watched Cleora and listened to her speech, and her presence alone had ignited a fire among them, and her words made them rumble even if they were walking into death.
A deafening roar erupted from the ranks. The despair that had clung to them moments ago was now shattered, replaced by an almost reckless determination.
Then, in one swift motion, Cleora reached down, grasping the fabric of her gown.
With a sharp tug, she lifted the long skirts, knotting them tightly around her waist to allow for movement. Her soldiers watched in stunned silence for only a brief moment before erupting into a frenzied chant of her name.
Their voices echoed across the square, shaking the very air with their newfound fervour.
Jolthar, who had been prepared to face the coming army with his usual cold efficiency, found himself momentarily taken aback.
He blinked, then let out a low whistle as he turned back to see Cleora.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath, watching Cleora stride forward, unafraid.
She reached for a sword, gripping it with practiced ease as she took her place at the frontlines beside Roblan. There was no hesitation in her stance, no second-guessing in her movements. She was ready to fight, to bleed, to die if necessary.
And seeing her made the soldiers determined and hardened their resolve.
Jolthar shook his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned back to face the oncoming horde.
The battle had not even begun, yet the tension was thick enough to be cut with a blade.
From the sidelines, Preeyonka laughed out loud, watching how Cleora made her men move. Her men behind her could only watch in silence. She found all of this to be entertaining.
Arvant and Milan were also surprised as they watched Cleora, but Arvant's gaze never left the streets; he was still looking out for the assassins. He was sure they would attack once the battle reached a frenzy.
The first of Dagur's forces reached the edge of the square.
Ozug, leading the charge, grinned as he lifted his weapon, his eyes gleaming with battle lust. "Hey boy, how about you show that skill of yours to me now!"
Behind him, his soldiers followed, an unstoppable wave of brute strength and sheer numbers.
Watching from a distance, Preeyonka tilted her head, intrigued by the events unfolding before her. She shifted slightly, as if preparing to move, but the subordinate at her side immediately grabbed her arm.
"Captain, please," he pleaded, his voice low. "Do not do anything reckless."
She merely chuckled, her gaze never leaving the battlefield.
"Oh, but where's the fun in that?" She murmured, a dangerous glint in her eyes.
The tension reached its breaking point.
The ground trembled beneath Jolthar's feet, a canvas of impending destruction painted in muted greys and desperate anticipation.
Around him, the armies of Chitterea stretched like a malevolent tapestry—thousands of soldiers with gleaming armour and hungry weapons, their collective breath a low rumble of imminent violence.
Jolthar stood alone, a solitary figure against the massive force. His lean frame belied the power coiled within—a power that whispered of ancient that slumbered just beneath his skin. The voidwrath, his godly power stirred within him, to answer his call, to do his bidding.
Arvant, Dagur, and Preeyonka suddenly snapped towards where Jolthar stood; they felt the abrupt surge of aura; it was so pure and lethal, unlike anything they had seen or sensed before.
Milan watched from a distant ridge, his face etched with a mixture of awe and trepidation. He had seen him fight once, but it was still so hard to believe the extent of Jolthar's power.