Tower of Damnation (A LitRPG and GameLIT Saga): Book Five: by Tristan H Brown

Author:Tristan H Brown [Brown, Tristan H]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-01-04T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Six hours or so passed until Bradley's right-wing grew restless. They hadn't been briefed on the situation, whether they'd be attacking again at first light or retreating under the moon. It was at their peak of uneasiness that Bradley returned from Thorken's war tent, face more ragged than it had been when he left.

Soldiers, who were busy eating their fill or drinking until their face grew numb, stopped whatever it was they were doing and listened closely.

"We will no longer be laying siege to their fortress," Bradley didn't beat around the bush.

A thousand or so sighs of relief echoed at once. Not only were they afraid of losing their lives meaninglessly, battling minotaurs and giant trolls were things their mother used to use to scare them with at bedtime. They weren't exactly the easiest creatures to fight tooth and nail with.

Bradley's ensuing words stole that relief and replaced it with dread.

"We will be waiting for them to attack us, instead. The Nine Nations has left no path of retreat for our army. No reinforcements. No rations, no weapons, armor, or information. We are here alone, yet we're expected to achieve victory with what little we possess. Without the necessary tools to scale walls or rival their archers, it would be suicide to replicate our earlier attack again."

"Harmony, Zephyr, Oscar, Janus, to my tent, now," Bradley finished his speech with a grunt and then left to his personal quarters, where four men followed him.

His tent was nowhere near as glamorous as Thorken's war tent. There was but a simple bed, a small nightstand, and a foolish hound lying underneath the table. A single candle flickered atop the wooden table, barely illuminating the tent enough for the five men to see one another.

"Sit," Bradley gestured toward the bed, a single chair, and a nightstand he cleared off his fallen tobac. It wasn't exceptional, but it was enough to comfort the officers during the midst of war. Meanwhile, Bradley remained standing, as there was nowhere else to sit other than the floor.

Sauntering toward the barrel at the back of his tent, Bradley noticed the lid not perfectly sealed. When he removed the top, a good quarter of the alcohol was missing, the perpetrator most definitely lying underneath the table, shaking. Without the energy to reprimand the dog, Bradley scooped four flasks of ale and handed them out to the officers.

Whether they drank or not didn't matter, it was common courtesy in the military never to refuse a drink from a superior officer. It showcased trust and camaraderie.

"A wise ruler always seeks advice from his subjects," Bradley quoted. "So, tell me, do you four believe we can win? And if so, how do you propose we do so?"

The tent was shrouded in an air of intensity. No one wished to speak up first, and even if one of the officers wanted to speak, they had no idea what to say or how to say it. Hell, if they thought they could win, how could either one of them know better than Cerberus, the man they deemed nigh-invincible already.

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