A warning instinct surged in Caesar's heart as he swiftly rolled forward, his right hand gripping his sword and thrusting it towards the silvery glint in the darkness. Clang! The sound of metal colliding echoed sharply. Caesar's fighting energy surged through his right hand, but to his surprise, the opposing blade remained firm in its wielder's grasp. Failing to disarm the opponent, Caesar lunged forward with his solid frame, colliding into the figure. A startled gasp escaped — it was a woman.
Seizing the opportunity, Caesar's right hand recoiled and clamped around the attacker's neck. The sensation was warm and smooth against his palm, but Caesar did not hesitate; there was no room for chivalry on the battlefield. Just as he was about to take a closer look at his assailant, another shadowy figure leaped at him from the front. Caesar thrust his left hand forward, delivering a powerful punch.
"Ahhh!" A sharp scream pierced through the night.
Moonlight from the doorway spilled into the room, and Caesar's eyes adjusted to the dim light. Two faces emerged before him—one youthful and fresh, the other mature and composed. The older woman's eyes shimmered with tears, her lips trembling as though she were enduring great pain. Caesar's earlier punch had clearly not been light.
He wasn't worried about the older woman retaliating—she seemed harmless enough. But the one whose neck he still held firmly was different. The fact that she had managed to withstand his fighting energy suggested she wasn't ordinary. However, now, after being gripped by the neck for so long, her eyes were rolling back, and she was on the verge of suffocation.
"Who are you people?" Caesar asked coldly, his grip still firm as he turned his sharp gaze to the woman on the floor.
From their attire, Caesar could infer some clues. The woman he held wore a maid's outfit with a blue ribbon tied in her hair, while the one on the floor was dressed in a black gown—dirty and disheveled but clearly made of fine, expensive fabric. It was obvious who was the servant and who was the mistress.
"Cough... Let go of Raffi! You're choking her to death!" the woman on the ground cried out desperately, lunging forward and grabbing Caesar's arm in a wild, panicked struggle. Her actions were unrefined and chaotic, showing her lack of combat training. She had already lost one person she cared for and couldn't bear to lose another.
Caesar stared at her, bewildered by her audacity. In his experience, women he encountered were either barmaids, who wore fake smiles to please customers for tips, or women in the military supply camps, who fawned over soldiers for money. Even Chassie, the woman closest to him, always obeyed him without question. This display of unyielding bravery was entirely new to him.
The young woman in his grasp was turning pale, her eyes bulging, and her breaths growing faint. Caesar, confident in his strength, knew even he wouldn't survive such a prolonged chokehold. Finally, he released her neck.
The older woman scrambled over, cradling the younger one protectively. "Raffi, Raffi, are you alright?" she called out anxiously.
The young woman, face flushed red from suffocation, managed a faint nod before succumbing to a fit of coughs and then losing consciousness. However, her faint breathing reassured the older woman that she was still alive.
Caesar's sharp senses detected something unusual during her coughing fit—a faint resonance that reminded him of the state he and York entered during their fighting energy training. So, she wasn't an ordinary woman after all. Interesting, Caesar thought.
The older woman, relieved that Raffi was still breathing, suddenly remembered Caesar was still there, his imposing figure looming in the dim light. Her body tensed again in fear.
"Who are you people?" Caesar asked once more.
"We... we are just a family from this city. She is my maid," the older woman stammered. She was Grace, a renowned socialite in the capital, and despite her shaken state, her natural poise allowed her to respond convincingly.
"You lie! How could an ordinary maid possess fighting energy?" Caesar's sharp gaze bore into her, his tone cutting.
Grace froze, fear flickering in her eyes. She wasn't accustomed to being questioned so aggressively. From her experience, Caesar didn't seem like a noble—he had the demeanor of a common soldier.
What Grace didn't know was that in Shiloh, fighting energy training was tightly controlled by the nobility. Even within the military, low-ranking officers were often denied access to such techniques. Those who wielded fighting energy were either nobles themselves or their loyal retainers.
Caesar was unaware of the political nuances between Shiloh and Garrel regarding fighting energy. All he knew was that enemies who wielded fighting energy were rare but extremely valuable on the battlefield. York had once told him: If you meet such enemies, don't hesitate—take them down. Their weapons, armor, or even rare trinkets like rings and necklaces could be worth a fortune.
His gaze fell on the young maid's wrist, where a golden bracelet gleamed faintly. Without hesitation, Caesar removed it and tucked it into his pocket. At least this wasn't a complete loss, he mused.
Realizing the older woman wouldn't speak the truth, Caesar decided it was time for harsher methods. Battlefield interrogation wasn't gentle, and Caesar wasn't one to show mercy—regardless of gender or appearance.
Just then, a small voice broke the tense silence.
"Auntie..."
The delicate sound of a child's voice cut through the still night.
At dawn, Phalanx City remained in chaos. The scent of smoke lingered in the air, and scavenging soldiers rummaged through homes and shops.
The city lord's mansion was no exception, filled with shouting and disorder.
"What did you say? The city lord escaped? Why wasn't I told yesterday?" Baron Kashir's furious voice echoed through the halls.
"It's just one city lord. What's the big deal?" Baron Kyle said calmly, dabbing a speck of dust from his sleeve.
"Just one city lord? Do you realize he's the son of a marquis? The loot from capturing him could've been worth half this city!" Kashir growled.
Kyle remained nonchalant. "An unloved son at that. Are you really expecting more?"
After a brief argument, the two barons settled on dividing the spoils. Kashir would gain an extra share of the treasury, but the grain stores would remain evenly split.
Once Kashir left, Kyle turned to his trusted knight Will and his elderly steward.
"Is everything hidden?" Kyle asked coldly.
"Yes, my lord. Three of the five carriages have been recovered. One was filled with gold coins, another with jewels and crafts, and the third with weapons and armor," Will reported.
Kyle's face finally softened. Those riches alone made the siege worthwhile.
"Good," he said with satisfaction.
The sun began to rise over Phalanx City, its light illuminating both the spoils of war and the shadows still lurking in its corners.