The Princess' Harem
Chapter 119: The Elysia’s Battle (4)

Chapter 119: The Elysia’s Battle (4)

Far from the smoke and screams of Elysia, in his serene, opulent study, Count Lazarus watched the shifting patterns of light on a polished marble globe. The room was a sanctuary of hushed luxury, insulated from the distant echoes of war.

Dexter, ever present yet almost invisible, stood at his side.

"The reports, Dexter," Lazarus murmured, his voice as smooth and unruffled as the silk tapestries adorning the walls. "What news from the provinces? Are the counties and duchies finally moving to aid their King?"

"As expected, Master," Dexter replied with a low voice, precise drone. "Messages were dispatched. Couriers from the Riverlands, the Summer Plateau, the Green Hills... they were all intercepted."

Lazarus offered a faint smile. "Intercepted? A rather quaint term for such effective work, wouldn’t you say, Dexter?"

"Their bringers were... persuaded to return," Dexter clarified. "Or, in cases of stubbornness, permanently silenced. Their forces from those regions remain within their own borders, ostensibly preparing for defense, but truly paralyzed by fear and lack of unified command."

Lazarus nodded slowly, the corners of his lips lifting in a subtle, satisfied curve. "Excellent. No unexpected reinforcements for Elysia. The siege must proceed as planned. Arin requires no distractions."

He leaned back in his plush chair, his gaze drifting to the window, where the afternoon sun painted the leaves of a distant, perfectly manicured tree in gold. "And Viana Yanis?"

Dexter’s tone remained flat, devoid of emotion. "Princess Viana remains at the forefront of Elysia’s defense. She is organizing countermeasures, rallying her exhausted soldiers, and overseeing the deployment of the newly arrived mercenaries. Her resolve remains unbroken, despite the overwhelming odds."

A different light entered Lazarus’s eyes then, one that held a possessive glint. "Unbroken," he repeated, savoring the word. "Of course. She is uniquely resilient. Dexter, ensure that in the chaos of battle, no harm comes to her. Arin is a brute, focused solely on conquest and revenge. His methods are... unsubtle. But she is not the be harmed. Not even a scratch."

Dexter inclined his head. "Understood, Master. Direct orders have been relayed to our assets within Arin’s vanguard. Her safety is prioritized."

Lazarus brought a hand to his chin, his thumb stroking his neatly shaved beards. "Good. She will be mine. Not by brute force, but by quiet understanding. She will see, eventually, that her vision for Elysia can only be realized through my guidance. Once the dust settles, and she has witnessed the futility of resistance, she will come to me."

He murmured by himself and Dexter only listened with silence. "She will come as my Queen. A partnership of true power. The Yanis bloodline, fused with the intellectual might of the Lazarus name... a dynasty born of true influence. It is simply a matter of when."

Then Lazarus hummed a soft, contented tune, the birdsong outside his window seeming to mirror his inner satisfaction. The fate of Elysia was being decided, but the threads were firmly in his hand.

***

Back in Elysia, the siege intensified as the third day wore on. The main gate creaked ominously. A splintering crash echoed through the capital, a sound that brought a collective gasp of horror from within.

The gate was holding but barely. It would not last much longer.

Viana knew it. She looked out at the endless, menacing army of Arin, then back at the exhausted, bleeding faces of her people.

They had fought with everything they had. They had given all. This was the breaking point. The moment before everything fell apart.

Her eyes scanned the horizon, a desperate, unspoken prayer on her lips for a miracle that would not come. The darkness of the impending defeat loomed, cold and absolute.

Suddenly, a strange, powerful hum vibrated through the very air. It was a sound unlike the clang of steel or the shouts of men.

It was pure, resonant magic, accompanied by a sudden, brilliant flash of emerald green light that burst from the distant eastern forest, far beyond Arin’s encamped lines.

The ground trembled, not with the heavy tread of an army, but with something lighter, yet immensely powerful. From the shadowed depths of the ancient trees, a wave of green and silver erupted. It was an army, but unlike any human force.

The Elves.

Led by Eryndor, his form shimmering with raw power, thousands of elven warriors emerged from the trees. Their movements were swift, impossibly graceful, their bows singing with deadly accuracy, their blades impossibly sharp.

They were clad in supple, nature-toned armor, blending with the verdant magic that accompanied them. But it was not just the elves.

Beside them, great, majestic beasts moved. Giant stags with antlers like ancient trees, their hooves thundering.

Massive, furred creatures with razor claws and eyes that glowed with primeval light, snarling with silent fury. Even towering, ancient treants, their bark-like skin covered in moss and leaves, advanced with slow, earth-shaking steps, their root-like limbs ready to strike.

The elven army, silent and deadly, hit Arin’s left flank like a precision strike. Their arrows, tipped with glowing magic, cut down dozens of enemy soldiers.

The magical beasts roared, disrupting formations, scattering Arin’s men in panicked fear. The treants simply stomped, crushing anything in their path.

Moments later, from the opposite direction, the western forest, another burst of emerald light announced a second elven vanguard. They struck Arin’s right flank with equal ferocity and ethereal grace.

The combined assault from the two unexpected directions threw Arin’s vast army into immediate disarray. Their lines, previously focused entirely on Elysia’s walls, buckled under the dual assault.

Arin’s forces, caught between the walls of Elysia and the sudden, unearthly power of the elven magic, combined with the sheer terror inspired by the beasts, broke into chaos.

The roar of battle shifted. Now, a new sound began to dominate, the screams of Arin’s soldiers as they were caught in the vise.

"Eryndor!" Viana gasped, pure, overwhelming relief washing over her. She watched, mesmerized, as the tide of battle irrevocably shifted.

The elven forces, fueled by a fierce, silent rage, tore through Arin’s flanks, their attacks precise and devastating. Their agility was unmatched, their archers a blur of motion, raining death.

Elven mages, appearing among their ranks, cast spells of blinding light and crushing force, tearing gaping holes in Arin’s formations.

The pressure on Elysia’s walls immediately eased. The breached section of the main gate, which had been moments from collapse, was suddenly less threatened as Arin’s soldiers, now fighting on two fronts, abandoned their assault on the gate.

Elysian defenders, exhausted but revitalized by this incredible turn of events, let out a unified roar and pushed back, driving the invaders down the ladders and away from the walls.

Reyes, wiping blood from his brow, let out a guttural roar of his own. "Push them back! Elysia lives!"

Joel, his face streaming with tears of relief and exhaustion, joined the renewed effort, directing defenders to press the advantage.

Daniel’s mercenaries, opportunistic and effective, reveled in the new dynamic, turning their blades on the now-confused enemy.

The battle, far from over, had entered a new, far more complex phase.

Arin’s army, vast as it was, was now engaged in a brutal, two-front war against an enemy of incredible power and skill.

The day was still filled with screams and the clang of steel, but the screams were now primarily those of Arin’s bewildered and terrified soldiers.

The Elves had come. And their fury, cold and ancient, was unleashed upon the plains.

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