Game of Thrones: From a deserter to a high-ranking official

Chapter 82 The Mir and the Siege

On a high ground outside Perfume Bay, near Mil's military camp.

This is the twelfth day of the siege.

"Sir, the fifth centurion has refused to continue the attack. He said it is already evening, and continuing the attack will only make the soldiers more exhausted..." Mitrista's personal guards came up to him and reported the battle situation.

"I see it!" Mitrista put down her binoculars and said impatiently.

In the distance, many siege ladders were pushed down by the Valantis on the city walls, a siege engine was burning fiercely, and some corpses dressed in Myr clothing were thrown from the battlements into the moat.

Meanwhile, Myr's army was retreating... or rather, trying to escape the barrage of arrows and attacks from the Valantis before it completely collapsed.

"Damn those Valantians!" Mitristar gritted his teeth in fury. "They must have planned this defense in advance! Look! Trenchings, chevaux-de-frise, rolling logs and boulders, and endless supplies!"

He angrily threw the binoculars in his hand to the guard beside him.

"It's practically a giant tortoise!"

Yes, Great Turtle, this is now Perfume Bay: the once beautiful and prosperous docks have turned to ashes; and the gardens outside the city walls and the residents' homes are filled with moats, brick ruins and corpses.

The town, fortified like an iron hedgehog by the Valantis, still stood silently in the receding night, the torches on the walls like mocking eyes, looking down at the exhausted Mil army below.

This is the twelfth day! The Mil people still haven't captured the city, and the arduous siege is slowly wearing down the Mil soldiers' morale and strength like a dull knife cutting flesh. Ladders have been knocked down, hastily selected assault teams have scattered under a hail of arrows and rolling logs, and the corpses piled up beneath the walls exude a sweet, rotting stench. A disturbance spreads like a plague through the camp; soldiers sit around weak campfires, their eyes vacant, muttering complaints about hunger, casualties, and meaningless sacrifices.

Today, the fifth centurion's disobedience is not the first instance of an officer defying orders to attack Mitrista. In fact, orders from lower and middle-ranking officers are now being issued with greater deference.

After all, Mitrista said "at all costs," but the soldiers and generals knew that they were the "cost."

But those who are willing to sacrifice their lives for the wealth and glory of a fool are not!

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"Go to sleep after dark! Third team, you'll be the first to patrol tonight!" Dmitri gave the order to the several men in the military tent before leaving the tent and going to another small tent.

"Sir..." a voice came from behind.

"What is it?" Dmitri asked impatiently.

"Hey boss, could you post the menu for tonight's dinner?" A ten-man leader rubbed his hands together a little sheepishly. "Even though the brothers didn't go into battle this afternoon, it was still them who pushed this siege tower to the gate..."

"There's no food!" Dmitry announced the bad news, his expression still grim. "Without food, we're not the first to reach the summit!"

"This... Boss..." the ten-man leader stammered. "Shouldn't you at least give us some gauze and medicine? My rookie under me was shot by an arrow a few days ago, and he seems to have a fever today..."

"No, not at all," Dmitry sighed. "These are scarce resources, prioritized for the vanguard!"

"Boss, what's going on? If we don't treat it in time, the wound will rot until you can see the bone... Without clean cloths and decent medicine, this isn't fighting a war, it's suicide!" The ten-man leader was frantic.

"Twelve days! The brothers have been besieging this godforsaken place for twelve days, starving for twelve days! Where's the food? The supply convoy that was supposed to come from Streldal hasn't even shown a trace! The little bit of moldy rice they give us every day isn't even enough to feed the rats in the camp!"

"Silence! Sergeant!" Dmitri growled, then looked around and brought his four demi-men under his command closer.

"Old Comey, you know my box, right... There are still some cured meat and some medicine in there. Give them to the wounded brothers first, understand?"

"Okay, boss!" Old Comey nodded. "Whatever you say!"

Dmitry then gave them a few instructions and left.

A relatively remote campsite.

"Dmitri, you've arrived?" A centurion with a fresh scar on his face greeted Dmitri as he approached.

Around the campfire sat several men who were also centurions or company commanders, sitting around a pile of damp firewood that burned sparingly. The flickering firelight illuminated their tired, haggard, and resentful faces.

"How's your logistics?" Dmitry asked. "Is there any food left?"

"That's all," said an officer in charge of the light cavalry.

"The horses are only eating grass now, so the saved oats and eggs should be prioritized for the siege troops. But it doesn't matter, since there's no field battle now, only siege warfare..."

"Bullshit!" The centurion with the scar on his face spat into the ground.

"How come I heard that we've spotted Valantean cavalry behind us? It seems to be their Fifth Legion, the Summer Storm, those swift and swift cavalry that fought the Dothraki!"

"What a pathetic battle! We've got the worst luck ever! Damn it, we joined the army for rations, and where are they?! Where's the promised supply?! The food they're giving us now isn't even enough to fill a tooth gap, and that idiot general just keeps pushing us to attack the city, what a load of crap! The brothers are so weak they barely have the strength to lift their shields!"

"Shh... Keep your voice down!" The cavalry officer put his index finger to his lips.

"You really think this is because the battle wasn't fought well? Let me tell you, the root of the problem lies at the top!" He subtly pointed towards the central command tent. "Do you really think our 'brilliant and mighty' General Mitrista rose to his position through military merit?"

He leaned closer to the other two and whispered, "A distant relative of mine who works at the Governor's mansion in Mil secretly told me... our general has absolutely no talent; he got his position as commander-in-chief entirely by... uh, 'warming the bed' for the Governor! Yes, that's right, selling his ass and hooks! The Governor was completely fooled by him, genuinely believing he's some kind of military genius!"

"Nonsense! This..." The scarred centurion was utterly shocked by the news.

Let someone who rose to power by selling their body be our commander? Are you crazy?

Dmitry spoke slowly, his tone tinged with desperate calm: "Whether it's nonsense or not... does it even matter now? Look at these twelve days, besides sending our brothers crashing into the city walls, leading us to our deaths like idiots, what other options did he have? If those rumors are true, then everything makes sense. What else can a fool who rose to power through such... despicable means do besides using soldiers' lives as a sacrifice?"

"Wait a minute!" Dmitry's ears perked up, his body tensing instantly. "What's going on outside?"

In the distance, the camp, which had previously been filled with scattered complaints and anguish, suddenly erupted into a violent and chaotic commotion! It began with a few sharp shouts, followed by a cacophony of voices, interspersed with the clanging of clashing weapons, the sounds of panicked running, and some kind of... faint rumbling sound that made the earth tremble slightly!

Several officers abruptly stood up, their faces instantly replacing the weariness and resentment with shock and instinctive unease. They exchanged glances, all seeing the same fear in each other's eyes—something terrible had happened!

"A mutiny! A mutiny! The Third Thousandth Commander and his men have staged a coup!" Old Komi rushed into the campfire and hurriedly reported to Dmitri.

The news instantly exploded among the officers. The suppressed despair and discussions around the campfire ceased abruptly, replaced by a chilling horror.

Dmitri abruptly stood up, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. The distant clamor was no longer scattered complaints, but had coalesced into a clear, angry roar. The clanging of metal armor, the clashing of weapons, and the chaotic footsteps surged toward the central command tent like a tide!

The centurion with the scar on his face muttered to himself, "The third thousandth officer... he... he really dares to..."

Dmitri's heart pounded, and his blood seemed to rush to his head, only to suddenly turn cold.

"Let's go!" Dmitry growled, no longer hesitating. "We have to go check it out! We can't let our own people fall into chaos first..."

But in reality, Dmitry knew better than anyone that their efforts to prevent their own men from becoming chaotic were not to "protect their commander," but rather...

Instead, consider whose side you should be on next!

They needed to clearly see how many people supported the mutiny wave instigated by the Third Centurion Carlos, and how strong its momentum was. They needed to assess whether Mitristar still had the ability, or was worth protecting.

More importantly, they needed to find a place to survive in this sudden civil war, for themselves and for their brothers.