Chapter 10: Means of a Conman
Chapter 10
Means of a Conman
“On your feet, maggot!” the harsh words and the harsh tone sounded like music to Sylas’ ears as he opened up his eyes. There was something transfixing about having a plan in place to potentially end his misery. Though Boy—Valen was rather indirect, Sylas affirmed that the man could, in fact, activate the talisman. That wasn’t strange, however; if even a guard in the castle at the edge of the world could do it, the Prince of a Kingdom could do it as well.
He hastily stood up and went through the motions with Tebek, feeling quite jittery all the while. He couldn’t wait until the Captain left him alone at last and allowed him to roam free. Running away, he first ducked into Tebek’s rather damp and cold quarters, thieving away the talisman—a roughly palm-sized, soft-feeling paper with some sort of crisscrossing lines on it.
Without delay, he shot toward the inner castle and its left wing, feeling so impatient that he nearly jumped out at the ladies and shooed them off. He knew better, however, than to do that and land himself into yet another restart. As soon as they disappeared, however, he scurried over toward the Prince’s tiny library, finding him weeping in the corner.
"Hello, hi, what's up? Skipping all the nonsense—I know you're the sixth Prince of the Kingdom, I know you were exiled here by your Father after your step-mom Queen did some whogivesafuck thingy, I know you likely have split personalities due to your identity crisis, yada yada, nobody gives a shit, okay? Here, look at this talisman," Sylas entirely ignored the young Prince's confounded, befuddled, and gobsmacked expression that spoke of a man reeling beyond any point of reason, handing him the paper-thin talisman. The Prince accepted it almost on an instinctual level. "It activates a magic circle embedded in the walls that's meant to crush them so that the invading Ghoul army can more easily overtake the castle."
“… eh? W-what? You know—what—”
“Ah, I know, I know—sounds absolutely balls, don’t it? I mean, can you imagine? A random guard showing up just claiming that he knows who you are, and he knows of this invasion, pfff, ha ha ha, nutty, nutty! Ha ha ha! Anyway, Prince Valen!”
“Y-yes?!”
“I am… a God!” Sylas proclaimed shamelessly, making his voice as deep as he could.
“You’re—you’re a what?”
"I am a God!" Sylas repeated. "And I have a task for you, child! The task of utmost importance that cannot be ignored! As I said, in few due hours, infernal Ghouls will set foot atop these lands of yours. You—as a Prince of the Kingdom and as a man of good heart must stand up and defend this castle! For that, I have prepared this talisman for you! When the Ghouls are overwhelming the walls and it seems like all hope is lost, activate it to alight the new dawn and give your men a fighting chance! Last until at least the dawn, for then the victory shall be ascertained! I must fly now, child! My godly duties await me! Away with me, and godspeed to you!" not having planned an exist, he could only shamelessly spin around and run away. At that point, he realized that he likely failed; he gave the Prince too large of a time, and too lame of a presentation.
Though the shock was at its maximum at the moment, the young man would calm and recollect and think hard on what had just transpired and easily conclude that, well, Sylas certainly was no God and was likely someone sent by the Queen to mentally torture him.
Sighing and lamenting the excitement that ushered him to do the fast thing rather than the smart thing, he returned to the watchtower and lamely sat atop of it, staring at the abysmally breathtaking sky. It was a shame, really, that such a beautiful sky acted as a canopy for such an ugly night. He waited patiently for the Ghouls to come and for the beaming light and energy of the magic to end him so that he can start the day anew, calmer.
He felt languid, though; he didn’t have a clear plan, a clear way to manipulate the Prince. If he had access to some smoke and mirrors, sure, he could probably pull it off, but as it stood, all he had were tattered clothes and a compound full of stone. Sighing yet again, and in the process considering making it his catchphrase, he heard a strange sound—the reason why it was strange was rather simple, actually: he'd never heard it before, not through any of his 'playthroughs'.
It was a low hum of a horn of sorts, and as soon as it sounded out, Sylas saw lights alight the castle from everywhere. Following the lights were the hurried and panicked shouts of hundreds of souls racing about. Sylas bent over the railing and glanced toward the inner castle where he saw large groups of men dragging along carts of barrels on one end, and then on the other, he saw what looked like a trebuchet.
Before long, the walls along the Sylas’ end filled up with men bearing nervous expressions, and even his watchtower, his personal paradise, had been invaded by two men. Both appeared to be youths, and both were terrified. Sixteen, seventeen at most, Sylas concluded from their innocent expressions and youthful skin. When they saw him, both seemed to exhale in relief—likely because Sylas looked a bit older. Though he’d never seen his face in the mirror, based on his hands and arms and the rest of his body, likely appeared to be in his early thirties.
“What’s the matter, lads?” Sylas asked, not due to any common courtesy or such but, well, sheer confusion.
"Ah, you must be the Night Watchman," one of the young men replied. "Royal Horn was just blown, I don't know if you heard it." Royal Horn? The hell’s that? “The Sixth Prince of the Kingdom is here!” Eh? More and more confusion piled on top of Sylas as he continued to listen. “According to His Highness, he had a revelation—a vision from the God!—that the Ghouls would invade tonight! That’s why he hurried the entire castle into the defensive mode! It… it is our first time, actually, seeing Ghouls. Do… do you have any experience with them?” the young man asked tentatively, clearly hoping for a specific answer.
"Experience? Aye, too much, really," Sylas replied absentmindedly, though his words, which were spoken in a stupor, seemed to kindle the spirits of the two young men until they burned like the fire. On the other hand, Sylas was feeling… strange. Part of him was proud, part of him was anguished, and yet part of him was awed, and yet another enraged.
“T-that’s great! That’s really…” while the two young lads prattled on about how lucky they were to be assigned with him, Sylas wanted to cry.
Was that performance all it really took? A performance so full of holes he may as well have been cosplaying as cheese? If that’s the standard of this world… how isn’t it run by the common-street conmen? After all, Valen wasn’t actually just a librarian—he was a Prince! Presumably one with the highest level of education one could obtain in this corner of the world. And yet, even with that… he actually bought that performance. That awful, terrible, mind-numbingly see-through performance actually got a reaction.
And it wasn’t just a reaction—the man unhooded his identity, likely risking everything in the process, and boldly proclaimed to the entire castle that he’d seen a vision from a God and ordered them to get ready for a battle against the Ghoulish invasion. All predicated on the off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-Broadway performance that would have made even the seven graders shake their heads in disgust.
Sylas… he barely held in his tears. He had so much talent in conning people; he had years of experience, massive tomes of strategies and hoodwinks he’d used over the years to get what he wanted. And he was prepared to use every single bit of them all to squeeze by tonight and try and get others to do his bidding. And yet, not unlike that time he accidentally knocked out Tebek, when he thought all was hopeless… he succeeded. Perhaps, he mused, that was his superpower or something?
Sighing, he stood up and refocused. What’s done is done. The night, however, wasn’t over just yet; even if he’d convinced Valen and even if he’d rallied the castle… there was still a battle to be won. Sylas won’t be able to assist whatsoever—if he wanted to finally escape this night, he’d have to run away and hide and hope for the best. As for what tomorrow brings… he didn’t dare dream. Technically, he can’t ever show his face in front of Valen ever again. Or could I? He mused with a faintly evil grin.
Though it pained him that he was accepted so readily, there certainly were benefits to being seen as a God by a Prince of a Kingdom, even a disowned one. The issue would be Valen asking him to prove his divinity, at which point Sylas would likely just commit suicide to evade the embarrassment, but considering that he so readily bought that awful, godawful, miserable performance… though he had a good head on his shoulders, it didn’t look like there was much in it, in all fairness.
An hour passed in relative silence, with everyone’s nerves stretched tout; strangely, there were no discordant voices, no protests, not even whispers of mockery over how the Prince overreacted. Everyone, from the surface glance of things, genuinely believed that the Ghouls would invade and that they would have to battle for their lives. Unluckily for them, that reality soon came true.
Sylas was the first to spot them—not because he had better eyes than others or anything, but because he'd already seen the exact same sight dozens of times by now that he could pick it up with his eyes closed. Quietly, deadly, the first march appeared from the forest, and the gasps of alarm rung across the walls.
“BOWMEN TO THE FRONT, TO THE FRONT!!”
“GET THE BARRELS UP, HURRY! HURRY!!”
“FAN OUT, FAN OUT! AIM FOR THE NECKS!”
“START LOADING UP THE TREBUCHETS!”
Dozens of shouts like the ones above rung out like bolts of thunder while the realization finally seeped into everyone’s bones.
Though he never let it show, Valen was the most nervous; he didn’t know what took over him when he exposed his identity and ordered the castle’s Warden to enter the siege mode. Ordinarily, he would have never done that, god or no god. But something within him, a tiny whisper of sorts, a distant voice, told him… to listen to that figure, whoever they were.
A good part of him wanted all of this to be true just so him exposing his identity wasn’t in vain, but seeing the sheer numbers of Ghouls as they began to crawl out of the forest made him reconsider. He wished… it was a lie, a prank, a hoodwink. His wishes, though, hardly ever came true, even when he was considered a favored son of the nation, much less now when he was a nobody. Taking a deep breath, he dispelled the stray thoughts. All else besides, tonight… they would go to war, and even if they won, many of the men standing tall on the walls would instead be lying cold on the ground, forever gone. He just had to make sure that the number stays as low as humanly possible.
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