Chapter 7: The Palace Under Siege
The run back to the city gates felt agonizingly slow. Lykos, despite his newly discovered urgency, wasn't built for speed, and the two women, though efficient foragers, were not runners. Homerus, surprisingly agile, kept pace, his lyre silent now, reflecting the grim mood.
The warning from the System echoed in Lykos's mind: 15-20 raiders, one hour travel time. That meant he had, at most, fifty minutes to prepare.
Reaching the palace entrance, Lykos found Myron, Kydon, and the two summoned Greek Militia standing guard. The three summoned Greek Laborers were still diligently clearing rubble in the courtyard.
"Myron! Kydon! Everyone, listen!" Lykos gasped, out of breath. "Raiders are coming! From the north, a scout party, about fifteen to twenty of them. They'll be here in under an hour."
A ripple of fear went through the small group. Myron's eyes widened, and Kydon instinctively gripped his spear tighter. The summoned Militia, though outwardly stoic, shifted their weight, their postures becoming more alert.
"Raiders?" Myron stammered. "But… we have no defenses, Prince! The walls are broken!"
"I know!" Lykos snapped, his mind racing through every tower defense and RTS game he'd ever played. He needed to think fast, act faster. "There's no time to repair the walls. We consolidate! We defend the palace!"
He pointed to the main gate of the palace, a massive, rusted iron structure that looked more decorative than defensive. "The gate won't hold long. We need to barricade it. Myron, Kydon, you and the Militia will hold the gate from inside. Use anything you can find to brace it—old furniture, fallen beams, anything heavy."
He then turned to the three summoned Laborers. "Forget the rubble! You three, help Myron and Kydon. Find the heaviest objects you can and pile them against that gate! Quickly!"
The Laborers, efficient and unhesitating, immediately abandoned their tasks and began dragging large stones and splintered timbers towards the main palace gate. Myron and Kydon, though still clearly afraid, followed Lykos's orders, their desperation fueling their movements. The two Militia men took up positions on either side of the gate, their spears ready.
"Elara, Forager, Kalypso, Theron!" Lykos called out to the other recruits who had gathered. "We need projectiles! Find any loose stones, broken pottery shards, anything you can throw from the upper windows of the palace! Homerus, go with them! Inspire them, keep their spirits up!"
Homerus nodded grimly, gripping his lyre. "As you command, Prince." He then accompanied the non-combatants inside the palace, their footsteps echoing through the dusty halls as they scrambled to find anything usable as a projectile.
Lykos grabbed a discarded, splintered plank of wood – the closest thing he could find to a weapon. He had no combat skills, no strength, but he wouldn't hide. He stood near the gate with his men, scanning the horizon, trying to gauge the remaining time. The adrenaline was pumping, sharpening his senses.
The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. The barricade against the palace gate slowly grew, a desperate, makeshift wall of debris. The sounds of hurried footsteps and nervous murmurs filled the courtyard.
"Prince!" Kydon suddenly called out, his voice high with alarm. "Dust cloud! To the north!"
Lykos peered over the crumbling parapet of the palace wall. In the distance, a rising plume of dust confirmed Kydon's warning. Shapes began to emerge from the hazy veil – small, swift figures on horseback, growing larger with terrifying speed. The raiders.
He could make out their crude leather armor, the glint of their bows. This was it. His first real battle. No respawns, no save points. Just survival.
"Get ready!" Lykos shouted, his voice cracking slightly, but firm with resolve. "Hold the line! Don't let them through this gate!"
He looked at his small, terrified force: Myron, a burly citizen, trembling but ready; Kydon, the young hunter, pale but determined; two stoic summoned Militia; and three laborers, now doubling as impromptu builders. Inside, Homerus with the women and Theron would be readying projectiles. It was barely ten effective combatants against almost twenty armed raiders. The odds were terrible.
The thundering of hooves grew louder, echoing off the ancient stones of the city. The raiders, a motley collection of rough-looking men, let out savage yells as they charged, their faces grim under their leather helmets. They were clearly surprised to see any resistance at all from the 'abandoned' city, but their bloodlust propelled them forward.
One of the raiders, a large man with a scar across his face, galloped ahead, drawing a crude bow. He let loose an arrow, which whistled past Lykos's ear and embedded itself with a thud in the wall behind him.
"Stay behind the barricade!" Lykos yelled, pushing Myron further back. He ducked, feeling a pang of fear that was quickly replaced by a cold, calculating anger. They want to take his city, kill his people. Not if he could help it.
The raiders dismounted, abandoning their horses a short distance away, and advanced on foot. They moved with a predatory confidence, expecting little resistance. They didn't know Lykos, the gamer prince, was leading the defense. They didn't know about the Olympian Summoning System, or the forgotten heroes waiting to be summoned.
They just knew they saw a ruined city, ripe for plunder. But Lykos was determined to make them regret that assumption. This wasn't just a mission anymore. It was personal.