Chapter 193
Jubilant
They once again stood in front of the wall, a massive army far outnumbering theirs spelling doom. But, this time around--as was the case a few times before already--Sylas helped. Not in the 'going alone and committing a genocide' help, but more in being the facilitator stabilizing the line. He kept an eye out on the superhumans of the other side while also helping the army whenever he saw a side give way or stumble.
Even with this, they weren't without severe loses. Over fifteen thousands lay dead by the time the battling was over. The other side surrendered as over half their force met an untimely end, the remainder too demoralized to continue. The difference from when they were facing Sylas alone was that the enemy wasn't something beyond life--it wasn't a 'devil' they could rally their partly courage behind. It was ordinary men, just like them, beating them down.
Though nobody was quite certain how a measly force like theirs could stand up to the task, the reality was so. With the white flag raised and the weapons left on the ground, the Prince's forces encircled the rest and cheered at the impossible victory. Tears swelled within Valen's eyes as he himself was beyond certain they would fail. And yet, victorious they stood--though they did so at the back of thousands of dead, it was still a victory nobody predicted.
Sylas stood off to the side, bloodied again from head to toe, observing the jubilant atmosphere. It did little to stir him, as the joy would be beyond temporary. They had sacrificed effectively half their army for the win, and while it was miraculous by every account, the only way they could continue would be if the Prince could somehow sway the now-prisoners to turn and fight for them.
"The numbers will swell," Asha said as she appeared next to him.
"Really?" Sylas quizzed as he took the bottle of wine she was giving him.
"Of course," she nodded confidently. "They've witnessed the impossible. Even now, whispers surge within their ranks--how did they do it? And you know what's the most repeated answer?"
"What?"
"Gods are on their side!"
"... well, technically."
"I did jack all, though?"
"You cheered."
"I haven't said a word."
"With your heart," she sighed at Sylas' grin.
"Men are averse to fighting the impossible," she added. "And yet, the impossible they fought and won. Such victories go a long way."
"I know," Sylas said. "Stories will spread of a tiny force as tall as a mountain. But that's what worries me."
"..."
"They are not that," he said. "They're just... ordinary soldiers who would have been buried in normal circumstances."
"It doesn't matter," she said. "I'm fairly certain I picked it up from you, but isn't it that all great stories are ushered by legends mostly fictitious?"
"I suppose so," Sylas sighed, taking a sip. "You're working tirelessly."
"Eh? I am?"
"You've got the toughest job of 'em all, actually," he cracked a smile. "Keeping me sane."
"... yeah, no, I'm fairly certain I've failed a long time ago."
"Permission to say something extremely lame?"
"... just one thing?"
"Just one."
"Alright," she nodded. "One lame thing. That's all you get."
"I'd give this all up if it meant being able to be with you," his words surged like an electric current through her.
"... ooh. You were right. That was lame," she quickly buried herself in a mask.
"But then I sway--I'd keep you chained to my misery. Even before you died, I'd just kill myself to reset it."
"You're entering creepy category."
"I sensed it, you know?"
"Listen to your senses, then."
"That's very good advice!"
"Bite me," she snarled at him lightly. "Do you really think being with you is miserable, Sylas?"
"It isn't?"
"Oh, no, it is. I was just wondering whether you thought it too."
"... I taught you too damn well," he sighed. "You're bleeding me dead here, woman."
"Let's go," she grabbed his hand and dragged him forward. "We can't be bystanders with such a beautiful celebration happening," her smile alighted the world for a moment, like a torch cast into the depths of the abyss. It was like sun, Sylas realized, melting away the frost.
The two joined the celebratory atmosphere. In fact, Sylas saw a very rare sight for the first time in his life--Valen, drunk off his ass. The boy was so drunk, in fact, halfway through he crawled out of the wheelchair and onto the table, ripping his shirt off and singing. Though a few of the more stiff folk appeared aghast, most laughed along with the merry Prince.
As far as the enemy forces, some thirty thousand were let go--most because they were injured beyond their camp's ability to help, while the rest were tasked with escorting the injured. The action bought a decent level of good will from the captured as it was an unexpected act.
It was only the dawn after that the general meeting was held between the Prince's camp and the leading men of the opposition--three middle-aged men, two of whom were rather round and miserable, with the last one standing tall and stout. Though he noticed the stench of alcohol and the general languid behavior, he didn't comment. Songs could be heard deep into the night from the encampment, and it was a celebration worth having. Even the hardened General Staun would concede to it.
"Before we begin," General Staun spoke up with a booming voice. "I wish to express my gratitude that you allowed my wounded to be escorted. It was royally honorable of you, Prince."
"Staun! Fool, do not acknowledge him as a Prince!!" one of the round men cursed angrily. "It is treason!"
"What do you mean?" Ryne spoke up suddenly. "Is Prince's very existence treason, then, in your eyes?"
"N-no, of course not! I--"
"Here are the terms," Av spoke up quickly before something happened. He knew the group very well, and how quick it was to derail into pandemonium and chaos if left unattended. And, seeing Sylas lounge back with no intention of as much as sneezing, it was up to him to govern the unruly ones. "Every man from your army will be free to join ours at no further cost. For those who wish to be freed, it will be ten crowns per ordinary soldier, fifty for squad leaders, hundred and fifty for captains, two thousand for you two, and ten thousand for the General. If you acknowledge these terms, stamp the paper with your seal so that we may send the word ahead."
"The payout is heavy," the same round man said. "At least halve the payout for the ordinary soldiers. Ten crows is more than what we invested in them."
"You are not just buying back your investment," Av said. "But their lives."
"Are you insinuating you will execute those we do not pay for or those who do not join you?" General Staun asked, his frown deepening.
"No," Av shook his head. "But they will be sent into labor camps, likely for the majority of their lives."
"Then the terms are acceptable."
"General--"
"Enough," the tall man interrupted. "You already know it, constables. Vast majority of those men will switch sides. And those few who remain loyal... I'll pay out of my coffers if the Crown elects not to. It is more than what you would have offered them had we won."
"They are rebels!" the man exclaimed.
"... can I ask you something, General--Stone, was it?" to everyone's shock, Sylas spoke up. Everyone expected the somber Prophet to sleep through the meeting as he always did.
"Staun," the General replied, his eyes swerving to the side where he saw a shabbily-dressed and unkempt man sitting in a leisurely position. To his shock... he had completely missed the man during the inspection he had upon first entering the tent.
"What would it take for you to come over to our side?" gasps eclipsed the silence of the room, and even Sylas, deaf though he was to the social customs, knew why. Asking an enemy General to defect was one of the most dishonorable things one could do... but asked he still did. The General's face darkened immediately as Sylas' words were a sword cleaving at his honor. "Before everyone in this room starts singing of honor and such, I do have my reasons. That fat boy's words caught my attention--we are rebels, and thus you are allowed to do whatever the hell you want with us. But... what if we weren't?"
"Weren't what?" the General asked, barely holding himself back.
"Rebels."
"To hell with you, demon!!" one of the round men shouted.
"Oh, in due time," Sylas stood up and began walking around the room. "Look at these people. Do they seem like some scatterbrained, random nobodies we picked up in the countryside by sheer luck? One or two, perhaps. But the rest?"
"..." the General frowned. The strange man made a good point--he was already shocked at the quality of army, but doubly so at those leading it. "What are you insinuating?"
"You are clever enough to know that," Sylas smiled lightly. "And clever enough to realize why something like that would happen. The Kingdom is rot, General Stone."
"Staun."
"A thousand eyes vie it, within and without. All waiting for a kindle to burst into fire of conflict--and that conflict will raze this place to the ground."
"Are you implying you won't do the same?"
"Oh, no. Not at all," Sylas shrugged, stopping by the Prince's side. "But when it is all said and done, when the fire is done burning and all that's left of this cancer is ash... who do you want sitting on that metaphorical throne? Some maddened, crazed noble? A bloodthirsty warrior? Or a man learned and smart and charismatic enough to have such an assortment of figures swear loyalty to him before he is even a name, let alone a King?" clasping the boy's shoulders, it was as though he was whispering to the Prince to straighten up and project an image of confidence--despite how much it hurt Valen's head to hear Sylas speak so loudly just above him.
"Your confidence, if nothing else, is marvelous."
"Ah, words won't sway you, I suppose," Sylas chuckled lightly. "But how about this--you and I, we'll duel. And if I win, you join us."
"And if you don't?" anger turned into a wide smile on the General's face. Thrice now, this beggar-looking man had insulted him.
"Hmm... alright--if you, by some godly miracle, manage to win, we'll waive all the terms and free both you and your men immediately. In fact, we'll turn around and walk back north, and you can weave a story of how you beat back the rebel force and gain as much glory as you'd like."
Something was off, General realized. Not only was the man speaking freely in the presence of the Prince and many other notable figures, but he also proposed undoing something that took many sacrifices to achieve. And not only did nobody say anything to oppose him, nobody even had a flicker in their expression.
"Very well," though he had doubts, General Staun was not the man anchored by them. If he was confident in anything more than leading an army, it was in his personal ability. Even if the beggar-looking man was some sort of a hidden expert, so was the General. In his youth, he'd reached a realm that had even the King praise him for his efforts. "Let gods be our witnesses."
"Oof, I'd rather not," Sylas shuddered. "Those guys worship me. It'd be very bad for you if they got the wind of our lil' duel." while the General looked at him confused, the rest of the room tried to stifle a laugh. Such was Sylas, they all knew. The Prophet who had them march from the frosted north down south in the middle of a Cold Snap. Something impossible... and yet, possible.