It was not an easy task for any of the divided groups to find the hidden and secret paths and routes leading to the ruthless criminals true hiding place. Although arriving at their destination almost simultaneously, each group wasted so much time trying to figure out a moving corner stone, a concealed door, a disguised tunnel leading to the inside of that deserted ominous place eroded by blood and bad luck. Their efforts were in vain, wasting so much of their time and patience as well as their will and endurance, feeling tired and bored at the useless inspection. The leader of this troop, Laurentius, expected the search to be difficult and anticipated this result though not the speed it manifested with. The destroyed symbol of an unjust justice was a tangible maze, a smart and symbolic den regardless of how untrue and cowardice these two adjectives he used to describe the place were. While everyone was busy examining the ruined place, both Diarmuid and Laurentius ascended the stairs of the close canal despite the danger of the act, trying to decipher some code or sign from above yet no one targeted them, as if the place was kept unguarded. Unlike the lancer's face, frustration did not show on the counselor's. Amidst this futility, another person lost his patience completely, as the two men turned their head at the loud repetitive bangs targeting the weakest wall of the abandoned palace. Of course, it was none other than Ilianus, destroying the wall with his giant steal club. It was not that Laurentius did not think of that, but he preferred a surprise attack, a stolen chance, attracting no attention but this was not meant to be. He descended down the barely standing stairs once again alongside the lancer, none looking the other in the face, each focusing on the meaning behind their mission. The wall came half crashing down eventually leaving an opening through it, fit enough for the chosen soldiers to get through, but the booming crash that resulted in this first step of the plan succession almost cost the giant Greek his life. If he did not possess survival instincts, he would have been stabbed to death, but he was saved by jumping back immediately at the glittering of a steel blade, escaping with a shallow scratch that meant nothing to him. The split groups came together at the sound throwing their torches to light the place and barged in without dithering but they stopped dead in their tracks at the familiar faces they encountered, fellow soldiers like themselves. Laurentius knitted his naturally furrowed eyebrows; a treason had taken place among the city's troops. The thugs were expecting the attack and knowing they are not that good or trained for face to face confrontation, they had somehow, by some dirty means like their usual ones, swayed a troop of the city's garrison and maybe more to their lawless side. Germanous was truly blind, and Laurentius was in no place to comment being anchored in the same position this time as his nephew, but this did not weaken his resolve. He realized the cheap trick the rebels wanted to take place since the two fighting troops belonging to the governor had already thrown away their civilians clothing to battle in their armors. They wanted to create chaos and make the two lose track of each other and a taunting voice came assuring the counselor's hunch.
"You pride yourself in training the city's garrison from time to time, you never boast yet your name is always sung along the battles you have fought… however you have never truly gained the loyalty of your men!"
Diarmuid knew to whom the voice belonged; it was Caden, standing like a bat at a bridge tethering two pillars enjoying this unexpected orchestrated counter plan of betrayal. The loyal troops were slightly agitated, the play taking effects. Laurentius raised his head to look at the boy showing off his athletic skills, not an ounce of regret or sadness over being failed or betrayed wrenching his still face.
"You believe comradery is established by wearing the same uniforms and holding the same weapons? Comradery is when you fight along the soldier you know not only his face and back, but his wishes and fears. It is the shared nights around the camp fires, the spilled blood of the enemies on the battlefields, the partnered protection. It is the harmonious clangs of brotherly swords at day and the faithfully shared toasts of wine at night!"
The counselor spoke as his soldiers hummed in agreement like a wrath – promising chimes. Diarmuid had never heard the man speak this much before, choosing always direct short words to reach his point, never failing in doing so. But this abhorring attempt at taunting him and degrading the loyalty of his chosen men clearly drew an unwanted reaction; one of mockery, scorn and taunting which was supposed to be the reaction of the thugs spoken through Caden. These were the words of a man who had known countless wars, fought endless battles, received many injuries while defending and being defended on the bloody fields. These were the words of a true warrior to his core. Even as he retired as a counselor, his duties were another form of war that received the same devoted treatment and undivided attention.
With a twisted angry face, the boy Caden flipped his position and ran across the bridge challenging the warrior – counselor:
"This awaiting massacre of your men will testify the viability of your words!"
The boy disappeared into the dark and the lancer did not hesitate to follow him, but for what reason he himself was not sure. Was it to save him from himself or to end his deluded misery? He rationalized the act with the thought that the boy will probably go running to his leader, and this was a chance the dual wielder could not waste. Unluckily for him though, he was blocked by the treacherous soldiers who did not hesitate to spill the blood of their comrades and friends using his single remaining spear, he fought repelling the attacks and skewering the enemies, one eye trying to keep track on Caden to no avail, the other focused on Oscar in case he needed protection but anyone could tell the boy was doing well on his own like a highly and roughly seasoned fighter. Ilianus bashed the heads of the enemies with his giant merciless bat, even breaking some necks when he had to with his bare hands. His strength was something out of a myth, as if the deities of the Greek had bestowed him with a godly body and brawniness. Laurentius troops managed to break through the hole in the wall, but the scale was not fairly balanced. The numbers were far from matching, but the similar outfits posed no problems. The counselor understood and knew how to ingrain unity and familiarity into his followers, much to the enemies dismay and worry but they did not lose hope and kept fighting like maddened men promised an ethereal unknown. The zealotry they dashed with and the fervid rage they battled with against their once friends and brothers in arms were feverish like a hallucination. It resembled the absolute conviction Caden was speaking with. This was a cult, it was no revolution and no movement seeking a better change.
The battle was a show like no other, weapons opened wounds to drink the gushing blood without remorse, as it was meant to be. Losing all purpose of saving and protecting, swung only to kill and eliminate anyone standing oppose to it. The hooded men still had many other tricks under their sleeves, swords and whips inked in oil to light with fire, sinewy nests falling from above and thrown from the sides to capture the foe who invited himself into their lair of death and torture. Getting rid of the men using these nests, no matter how ridiculous that technique and primitive it sounded, was a primary goal. And Laurentius flew around the hooded men to reach to the ones holding the nests aided by few men, some of which fell prey to that primordial weapon, enraging the composed man who went on with his mission till he succeeded, Diarmuid and some other soldiers protecting his back and the lancer hanging a few to the walls with his crimson blade.
Like Diarmuid, Oscar was fighting tirelessly while looking simultaneously for the thugs leader, desiring to seize and drink the cup of victory by himself, with his own power. None of the two troops lost their faith for a fair amount of time, but the more city's garrison pushed through to reach deeper inside, the more the environment turned difficult to maneuver and attack amidst it.
Then another trap was waiting for them.
The hooded thugs finally showed themselves, peeling their figures from the shadows of the torn building, taking over every advantageous point for far aiming. Their daggers, with arrows added to their armory today, hailed like a wrathful rain. Many soldiers fell, mainly Laurentius's men, the outlaws' aim so accurate and succumbing to no mistakes. The giant Greek tried to drive the acicular rain of death with his bat, but this proved more harmless than useful. Being the two professional lancers present, Oscar and Diarmuid exchanged a quick understanding look, each darting in an opposite side while gathering the lances of the fallen soldiers, the dead and alive, leaving them only their swords, and started skewering the men hiding up above between the pillars and collapsed walls, seizing the right opportunity when they had to reveal part of themselves to deliver their blows adding to the steel rain black shadows falling like burnt meteors. The two's accuracy and outstanding trailing of their weapons no less impressive than the "Justice Pallbearers" aim disrupted the flow of the battle and leveled the scale to the city's troop favor, a little bit though. Diarmuid kept the red lance on his back not wasting it, saving it for the grand confrontation with Caden or his leader, more preferably. He, Diarmuid, without a doubt and no need for testimony from any warrior present there was faster than his kin, his aims chasing the chosen pray like a scythe of death, never mistaking it, his golden eyes blowing with fire amidst the ominous darkness like a wolf on the hunt, which enraged the younger sibling, seething with a jealous face hidden by the night and the heat of battle. Diarmuid no longer kept an eye on the blond boy as it was more efficient for both of them to trail down the enemy from different angles. But he looked for Laurentius, who suddenly disappeared from the main event. The lancer knew he had not escaped but was probably just like him, looking for the leader, trusting his soldiers to finish the mission and win the battle.
Diarmuid did the same, he followed Caden traces, finding himself at large decaying corridors, and at other times forcing himself to slip through narrow passages. The way led up instead of down some sewers contrary to his expectations. Maybe the thugs main chamber was an old abandoned ceiling and through his search, he did not catch a glimpse of the counselor but he could not afford to care right now. He had his stolen pride and the governor's honor to restore, lonely hungry power being the only and most decisive way suiting this task.
An unwanted and untimely thought intruded on his mind, focused on this sole will of fulfilling that task. He remembered his battles alongside the friends he later had to face and kill as he escaped with the princess. The black veiling the battleground reminded him of the countless miserable nights he had to hide under with the royal princess and cosset her. This current ongoing battle, taking place on a foreign land, among the foes who enslaved him, though noble in aim and honorable in goal was no redemption.
How much he wished it could be.
The assassins continued to fall down, dead on the spot and those who were fortunate to get just injured were immediately slew by the garrison's blades. However, the effort of only few lances were not enough, and the balance tipped once more. Laurentius soldiers were not lacking in determination but they were not lacking in brains either. The bribed and bought betraying troops overwhelmed their number unlike what they had estimated. Every dark corner, every inky pillars and hidden cave revealed new foes to fight against. They were not down on stamina either, but time had its toll and it strode slowly, bent on reaching no conclusion any time soon. Now Diarmuid and Laurentius were missing from the scene. However, a new voice, one that was not supposed to be there or informed of the attack, rose like a thunderous promise of hope.
"Do not lose faith men, we have come here to your aid, swearing on our a duty as Roman citizens!"