NOVEL NEXT Chapter 415: Gathering The Troops
Aurelius sat in the war room, the report trembling slightly in his gloved hand.
His silver mask hid his expression, but his clenched jaw beneath the half mask already revealed all that he was feeling about what he was reading.
The parchment detailed the unthinkable. Two Rank 9s that had slipped past Carthage's net, Gaia and Atreides, had been sighted joining what was essentially Death's army.
The sound of the parchment crumpling quickly filled the quiet room.
Aurelius' hand crushed it into a tight ball and flung it across the room. It struck the wall and fell, a small and pathetic sound that seemed to be mocking the rage building inside of him.
His gaze rose, cold and burning all at once. The generals standing before him flinched as his eyes flicked to them. Not one dared to meet his gaze.
"Gaia. Atreides. And now Death." Aurelius said slowly, every syllable dripping venom. "An army of strays… monsters… and opportunists at his back."
"And what do I have?" His voice thundered, the walls of the room reverberating with it. "A circle of incompetents who cannot even capture one boy and his band of misfits."
The generals shifted uncomfortably, but none answered.
"Ren Ross." Aurelius spat the name like poison. "You failed to catch him. You failed to crush him. And now, I am left to wonder if he is not Carthage's enemy from without, but Death's own spy planted within."
"Or are you all so stupid that you can't see what I'm seeing? The boy destroyed Carthage's trump card, and before the dust could even settle, we have an army on our doorstep."
"So, tell me. Are you blind? Are you weak? Or are you simply incapable?"
The air was thick and suffocating as Aurelius straightened to his full height. He adjusted the silver mask across his face, the light from the war room's braziers reflecting off its surface.
"If not for the war at our gates," he snarled, "I would gut every last one of you and raise their replacements tonight."
His voice dropped lower, quieter, but so much more dangerous. "You are alive only because I cannot yet spare the time to bury you."
The generals bowed deeply, their shoulders trembling.
Aurelius exhaled, before asking, "What is the status of my army?"
There was a few seconds of silence as the generals exchanged glances, before one of them finally found the courage to speak.
His voice was thin, and it trembled just a tiny bit. "Lord Aurelius… the troops are gathered."
"The elite forces stand ready outside the citadel. Most of the army has been moved to the upper layers, as ordered. The civilians of the upper layers… they have been escorted downward, to minimize casualties when the battle begins."
Aurelius paused, then gave a small, approving nod. "Good. Even cattle must be protected, if only to keep them useful."
He turned, walking to the great map table in the center of the room. His finger traced the concentric circles of the ground layer of Carthage, tapping the outer ring.
"Here… at the gates, we will give them a taste of resistance. Just enough to make them believe they have won a victory. We let them have the gate and they would come rushing in."
His finger slid inward. "And when they push deeper, into the first layer, into Carthage itself… that is where the slaughter will begin."
The generals exchanged wary glances. Carthage's upper layers were basically their home ground. Every passage, every choke point, every hidden defense was theirs.
"We will grind their army down." Aurelius continued, his voice like iron striking an anvil. "We will bury their bones in our streets and salt the ground with their blood. They will learn that Carthage is not a city to be taken. It is a fortress. A world unto itself."
Even as he spoke with confidence, his words were not without their edge of unease. His fist clenched tightly over the map.
"The only unknown here… is Gaia. The mother of the earth herself. I do not know how she will shift the terrain, or what new horrors she will call forth from the mountains."
Before he could say more, the doors opened.
Kant, the Warden of Knowledge, entered, his thin frame wrapped in layered robes, eyes dark behind polished lenses. He carried no parchment, nor scroll. He needed none. His mind was a vault of information already.
"The defenses are ready." Kant said simply.
Aurelius inclined his head, a small acknowledgment of respect. "Good. Then it is time."
He turned from the map table and strode toward the doors.
His generals scrambled after him, their armor clattering in dissonant rhythm.
The corridors of the citadel stretched long and high, lined with torches whose flames bent as Aurelius passed, as if cowed into silence by his presence.
Finally, the group emerged onto the grand balcony overlooking the square, and the sight below stole all attention.
Rank upon rank of soldiers stood in perfect formation, their polished armor gleaming beneath the pale glow of the light orbs.
Standards bearing the sigil of Carthage, the three towers within a ring, fluttered proudly in the wind. The elites were there, their presence dangerous, like blades drawn but not yet swung.
Aurelius stepped forward. His voice rose, amplified by sheer force of will, carrying across the entire assembly.
"Soldiers of Carthage!" He thundered. "Before you stands the enemy's shadow. They march upon us with stolen strength, with false courage, with foreign powers that have no place in our world!"
The army roared, their weapons striking shields in answer.
Aurelius raised a clenched fist. "This is our home. This city carved from the heart of the mountain, built by the hands of our ancestors, made strong by their sacrifice. Carthage is more than walls of stone. It is the legacy of blood, of power, of order. And it is ours to protect!"
The soldiers stomped their boots in unison, the sound shaking the balcony beneath him.
"They will break upon our layers like waves upon the cliffs!" Aurelius cried. "And when the storm is over, when the snow is washed red, the world will know. Carthage endures!"
The army roared in thunderous approval, the sound rolling through the streets like an earthquake.
Aurelius stood above them, silver mask gleaming, his heart a forge of cold fire.
The war had begun.