Chapter Twenty-Six: Taking Action

Three identical, ornate carriages made their way in succession toward the capital square, where the grand military parade was about to commence. Surrounding these three carriages rode the elite of the Royal Guard Cavalry, dressed in immaculate ceremonial uniforms, sabers at their sides, and mounted on tall horses of matching color. At a glance, it was clear these were the personal guards of Emperor Maurice. The carriages themselves were tightly protected, encircled by an entire battalion of infantry.

Given the hour, the route, and the presence of the three royal carriages, it was no difficult feat to deduce that the very dictator of the Maurice Empire—Emperor Maurice himself—was within one of them. For his safety, the emperor always traveled with three identical carriages; he occupied only one, making it impossible to know which. This precaution guarded against assassination attempts by hostile forces, for the emperor’s life was inextricably linked to the fate of the empire. Under his iron-fisted rule, he tolerated no powerful ministers; all authority was centralized in his hands alone.

The advantage of such a system was a nation unified and highly efficient. The flaw, however, was obvious: should anything befall Emperor Maurice, the very foundation of the empire would tremble. This, perhaps, was the empire’s single greatest weakness.

As the citizens lining the streets caught sight of the imperial carriages and erupted in cheers, two beams of sword energy—each over ten meters long—suddenly shot forth from both sides. In an instant, the soldiers and outer guard cavalry on either flank were cleaved cleanly in two.

“Enemy attack! Protect His Majesty!” The desperate cry of a guard officer rang out as more than forty skilled assassins, weapons gleaming, burst forth from the crowds on both sides. Among them were two Grand Paladins of the Church of Light.

Led by these Grand Paladins, the assailants sliced into the ranks of the royal guard with overwhelming force, cutting a bloody path toward the three carriages, now halted and unable to advance. The guards stood little chance against the assassins, for even the weakest among them possessed the prowess of a quasi-senior knight. The Church of Light had staked everything on this assassination; these men had cast aside all concern for their own lives, united by a single goal: to kill Emperor Maurice.

The Church’s costly gamble yielded immediate results. The battalion of royal guards, caught off guard, could mount no effective resistance and were slaughtered almost to a man. Though the guards fought bravely, throwing themselves before the carriages in a desperate bid to shield them, within ten minutes the lead Grand Paladin had broken through to the vehicles. Sword-lights flashed again and again, splitting all three carriages in half.

But the assassins’ eyes, bright with the promise of triumph, found only emptiness within the shattered carriages. The carriages were quite empty—a trap, and nothing more.

By this time, the terrified citizens had scattered, leaving only the surviving guards and the assassins on the bloodstained street. The assassins’ prowess was such that, despite the fierce fighting, they had lost only a single man—the sole result of a point-blank volley from the guards’ muskets. In such a chaotic melee, forming up for a coordinated volley was no easy feat, especially with two Grand Paladins watching for any gathering of defenders: whenever a cluster formed, a flash of sword-light would leave only corpses behind. The battalion, hundreds strong, was thus cut down like straw.

“Mission failed. Withdraw at once!” barked the leading Grand Paladin, seeing their efforts had come to naught.

But would Emperor Maurice, who had laid such a meticulous trap and used hundreds of his own guards as bait, let the elite of the Church of Light escape so easily?

Soon after the assassination attempt, the measured march of troops approached from afar—so swiftly that only prior planning could explain it. Both ends of the street were already blocked by the First Regiment of the Royal Guard. Forced to flee, the assassins leaped onto the rooftops, hoping to escape across the tiles—but with nearly ten thousand guards deployed, every contingency had been foreseen. As soon as the assassins climbed above the street, they saw the rooftops swarming with troops from the Guard Regiment. The entire district was encircled.

Cornered, the Church’s assassins, eyes wild and red, vented their fury on the last surviving royal guards, tearing them limb from limb. But soon they faced the advancing ranks of the Maurice Phalanx, marching in perfect order to the beat of military drums. Even three-pounder cannons were hauled into position at the ends of the street, and behind the infantry formation, cavalry could be glimpsed in formation astride their tall horses.

The fanatical First Regiment of the Maurice Empire’s Royal Guard was intent on waging a formal battle—thousands of soldiers against a handful of assassins! Their overwhelming force brooked no protest.

The Maurice Phalanx was in fact a modified version of the Madrid Square. Eight ranks deep, with pikemen in the center and a width of eight to twelve men, flintlock musketeers were deployed on the flanks, four men wide on each side. This broadening of the firing line enhanced both firepower and maneuverability; musketeers could advance in front of the pikes or withdraw to the wings in close combat. The ratio of pikes to muskets was about two to three. Artillery was positioned in the center or on the wings, cavalry on the flanks or rear. Against such few assassins, cavalry was unnecessary except perhaps to prevent any from escaping.

As the guards closed to within musket range, their lines halted in perfect unison. The assassins, led by the Grand Paladins, charged toward the sector with the fewest defenders.

As they charged, the musketeers stepped forward, leveled their weapons, and fired in perfect volleys—hundreds of shots at once, then another, and another. Outnumbered as they were, the assassins stood no chance. By the time they reached the phalanx, only the two Grand Paladins, protected by their aura, remained standing. The rest of the Church’s elite lay bleeding on the road, slain in their brave but hopeless advance.

The two Grand Paladins gazed at the bodies of their carefully trained assassins, crushed by the regular army, and felt a humiliation unlike any before. Such men should not have died so pointlessly; they did not belong on such a battlefield.