Chapter 162: Lyrnessus Attacked! (1)

Lyrnessus.

Lyrnessus, a once flourishing town nestled within the Trojan territory, shimmered like a hidden gem in the heart of a war-torn landscape. Its streets were lined with sprawling markets, adorned with vibrant fabrics, aromatic spices, and the echoes of cheerful chatter. The fertile fields surrounding the town stretched into the horizon, a symbol of its prosperity and peace.

But now, the serenity of Lyrnessus was under threat. The looming shadow of war crept ever closer.

King Euenus sat upon his ornate throne, carved from dark olive wood and gilded with gold. His face, usually calm and dignified, was etched with deep lines of worry, his gaze distant as he contemplated the weight of the message he had just received.

Around him, the noblemen of Lyrnessus gathered, their murmurs low but tense, reflecting the fear that gripped their hearts.

Euenus was known as a close confidant of King Priam, having stood by his side during the hardest of times. It was no surprise that Euenus had supported Priam's decision to defy the Greeks and shield Helen, refusing to bow to the invaders' demands. But now, the price for that decision was at their doorstep.

Suddenly, the heavy doors of the hall swung open with a thunderous crash. A guard, his armor smeared with dirt and his face pale and drenched in sweat, stumbled in. He collapsed onto his knees, panting as if the weight of the news he carried was physically crushing him.

"Y—Your Majesty!" he gasped, his voice trembling, the desperation clear in his tone. "The Greeks... they are here!"

A gasp echoed through the chamber. Noblemen stood in stunned silence, their disbelief palpable. Some clutched the hilts of their swords in reflex, as if expecting the enemy to burst into the hall at any moment.

"Wh... what?!" one noble stammered, his voice shaky.

"Impossible!" shouted another, his hands gripping the edge of the nearest table, knuckles turning white.

"They cannot be here already!" cried a third. "We thought we had more time!"

The hall descended into chaos, with the nobles speaking over one another, panic setting in like wildfire. Fear flickered in their eyes, whispers of defeat spreading through the crowd.

"What should we do, Your Majesty?" one of the eldest noblemen finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper, seeking guidance in their moment of crisis.

Euenus, who had remained silent, slowly rose from his throne. His tall, broad frame cast a shadow across the hall, commanding the attention of every person present. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of unshakable authority.

"Our messenger has already been sent to Troy. King Priam will not abandon us," Euenus declared, his words filled with a steady assurance that washed over the room like a balm. "What we must do now is hold the line. We cannot afford to lose ourselves to panic. Prepare the walls! Ready the archers!

We must stand firm and fight until reinforcement comes. There is no other choice."

As these thoughts churned in his mind, one figure in the enemy's ranks stepped forward, catching Mynes' eye. He was a striking man, his red armor shining under the sun, a symbol of authority and strength. But it wasn't just the armor that sent a chill through Mynes—it was the emblem emblazoned upon it.

The Myrmidons.

Mynes's heart skipped a beat. The Myrmidons were legendary warriors, and they followed none other than Achilles, the King of Phthia. Stories of Achilles had long echoed through the lands, each one more daunting than the last. Some whispered that Achilles was even stronger than Hector, a thought that sent waves of unease through those who dared to imagine facing him.

But the man who stood before Mynes was not Achilles.

The warrior raised his gaze to meet Mynes' from atop the wall. His expression was calm, almost sorrowful, as if he regretted the violence to come.

"I am Patroclus," the man called out. "I speak on behalf of Achilles. In his great generosity, he offers you mercy. Surrender Lyrnessus now, and we swear no harm will come to your people. Open the gates, and bloodshed can be avoided."

There was a pleading edge to Patroclus's words. It was clear that, unlike many of the Greeks thirsting for blood, he did not wish for unnecessary violence. His eyes seemed to beg Mynes to consider his offer, to think of the lives that could be spared.

But Mynes's resolve was firm. He had no illusions about the Greeks. Their promises of mercy were fleeting, fragile words spoken to mask the conquest they sought. He straightened his shoulders, his voice strong as he answered.

"I warn you in return," Mynes declared. "Leave Troy's lands at once, and you might live to see your family again. Stay, and you will not."

His words rang out across the walls, and behind him, the soldiers of Lyrnessus erupted into cheers, their voices fierce with defiance. They were ready to fight. They were ready to defend their home.

Patroclus looked down, shaking his head slowly, regret flashing briefly in his eyes. Without another word, he turned on his heel and retreated back to the Greek lines. Whatever chance for peace had existed was now gone.

"He warned you bastards!" came a mocking voice from the walls above.

Aiden, one of the Heroes of the Empire of Light, grinned.

Beside Aiden stood Jason, Siara, and Gwen, each prepared for the coming storm.

Only Sienna, Courtney, and Aisha had chosen to remain back at the main camp, not really attracted to a random town or maybe they feared what was going to happen to Lyrnessus and didn't want to take any part in it...

The time for diplomacy had passed. The Greeks were at their doorstep, and there was only one thing left to do.

"FIGHT!!!"