Something Harder Than Rock
They say even if the sky falls, there's a hole to rise through. Unfortunately, that didn't apply to the enemies on the other side of the rock fortress.
The scouts had brought back all sorts of rumors, and the most amusing one was that the people hiding behind those high, sturdy rock walls weren't thinking of uniting their forces—instead, they were eagerly pruning their own branches. In other words, infighting had broken out. Enda, Quifre, Maune. All sons of King Niall's second wife, every one of those names was a person of interest. And Maune was already dead, they said. On top of that, most of the kings who'd remained in the fortress had perished as well. Hilariously enough, the enemy numbers—which should have been around 2,000 to 2,500—had dwindled significantly.
In my position, that meant I'd already won without even fighting. Especially since the Muwa people and everyone else's gazes toward Enda, the enemy leader now holding the rock fortress, burned with fury. I wasn't the invader anymore; I was the savior come to rescue Muwa and the fortress.
The main reason things had turned out this way was that I had Aril and Ned under my command, the Battle of the Kings' Hills had spread across all of Hibernia, and people now saw me as the great king who had achieved what ancient legends like Yogan—or more recently, Niall, who had come closest to the title—never could: the complete unification of Éire, Hibernia itself. In short, I'd crossed into Hibernia at the most miraculous timing.
"Magister militum, troop deployments are complete."
"Good. Very well."
I sat in a large chair with the western side of the tent—draped to block the wind—left open. Gazing at the rock fortress while lost in thought, I noticed the sun had climbed high in the sky, and Caius came to report that preparations were ready. True to its name, the fortress that used nature itself as walls was a terrifying stronghold. You couldn't wage a siege against sheer cliffs. It was a fortress that exploited that simple truth with exquisite perfection.
But the problem was that it was still man-made, and far too old.
"Let's begin. Caius."
"I'll bring you victory! Magister militum!"
[Salute!]
Caius snapped a vigorous salute, spun on his heel, and thrust out his arm. Like racehorses chafing at the starting gate, the aides who'd been fixated on this spot blew their horns in unison, dispatched runners, and shouted to signal the battle's start.
[Bwaaaaaam—!]
"Advance! Forward!"
"Make it loud! Exaggerated gestures! As noisy as possible!"
"Stretch those limbs wide! Shields up—no dropping them, in case a blind arrow flies!"
[Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!]
As the encirclement around the fortress moved in unison, the ground trembled. The surrendered troops serving as auxilia in this campaign were especially fervent, moving with wild abandon. I'd felt it when accepting Hereward, the Dumnonii tribes, and the northern wall tribes: the desire of the defeated to prove themselves could boost individual combat prowess and morale in the short term. Their movement was impressive, like a school of fish swimming in formation, just as they'd shown against us.
[Woooo—]
[Hoooaaa—]
[Aooaaa—]
Warriors roaring like beasts in time with the carnyx horns undulated like flocks of migratory birds. Even facing them directly, it had been disorienting and intimidating, but from afar, it looked even more chaotic and menacing. Against walls, such momentum alone couldn't achieve anything concrete, but the faces atop the battlements made it clear they'd grasped their absolute disadvantage. Some enemies loosed arrows from absurd distances, their faces twisted in fear, confusion, and panic.
This was enough to shake them. All that remained was for Aril, Ned, and Loairre—heading for the secret passages—to do their part.
"They'll pull it off."
"You mean the newcomers, Dominus? To be honest, I'm a bit suspicious. They're barbarians at heart, aren't they? Shouldn't I have gone instead?"
"...Caius, you don't know the way."
The barbarian-hater glanced around as if checking for lurking savages, then whispered conspiratorially.
"We can just follow a guide, right? Once I'm inside, with Fidelis, I'll just...!"
Looking closer, he seemed hooked on swinging Fidelis after that last cavalry charge—like a berserker itching for a fight, practically starving for battle.
"If you're that eager, how about a spar? I'll use Caliburnus, you use Fidelis."
"Pardon? You know how long and heavy Caliburnus is, Dominus. You haven't forgotten I've been crushed under it before? And, if I may be so bold, sparring with you—is—well, how to put it? It's not exactly productive training—"
"Your eyes are insolent."
[Smack!]
"Ow!"
I grabbed Caliburnus from where it leaned beside me and lightly swatted Caius's rear with the flat. Leaving him yelping and sprawled, I refocused on the fortress. Eyes fixed on the rock walls, my mind replayed how ironclad fortresses throughout history had fallen.
The first that came to mind was Shanhaiguan at the end of the Ming Dynasty, early Qing. The "First Pass Under Heaven," a fortress of legendary might—how had it fallen? Weak defenses? Cannons? No. Internal strife.
One could argue Nurhaci and Hong Taiji's decisiveness was swift and bold... but glossing over it like that missed the lesson.
"Fortresses are built by men, defended by men. Battles and wars are fought by men. Don't ever forget that, Caius."
"Ughhh... I swear on Beduerus's one arm, I thought my precious jewels were done for."
Rubbing front and back as he stood, Caius stared at the fortress thoughtfully before responding.
"Men make mistakes. Is that what you mean?"
"On a grand scale, yes."
Looking back, walls never betrayed anyone. Dirt and stone just sat there. What defied expectations was always human hearts and actions. I'd learned this through a hundred battles: the battlefield was a space where uncertainty and chaos breathed in and out.
"Nothing's perfect. No enemy without a gap."
"...But surely the Invictus exists in this world. Dominus."
Mulling my words, Caius turned, his gaze steady with unshakeable faith and conviction.
Invincible, undefeated. "Know thyself and thy enemy, and you'll win a hundred battles" was a myth; the real meaning was no peril in a hundred fights. Yet I'd racked up far more than a hundred victories, great and small. So Caius's near-blind faith wasn't baseless.
Could it continue?
"..."
As if reading my heart, Caliburnus trembled faintly, seeming to affirm it.
"I heard there are three rat holes. Won't they expect at least one?"
Like shaking off the silence, Caius turned back and changed the subject. Sieges always boiled down to feints, and our noisy chaos outside was to draw attention. We'd openly built siege rams with roofs over days of carpentry, rolling them forward slowly—but I had no intention of using them yet. If the secret passage failed, I'd just starve them out for two seasons. Muwa's hearts were already turning to me anyway. This wasn't enemy territory anymore; at worst neutral, at best a province. A siege on allied or my own soil, essentially.
"They probably expect it."
The path Ned used to flee was an ancient cave dug deep long ago. The rock fortress sat on a massive outcrop, but not unbreachable with picks—its origins were lost even to Yogan's descendants. The entrance emerged near a stream from the western walls. Astonishingly, Aril's secret path started nearby too. His unused route was beside the stream's outlet, disguised like solid wall—sand that crumbled after a few taps.
Why build it? In case Ulairds or Laigin madmen besieged them: to smuggle supplies in or people out. Barely big enough for one, and the western cliff—propping the rock—rose in step-like fashion, hard to spot from above.
The last hole was the one Loairre and his brothers had used to sack the fortress before—they'd know it. Their leader was Loairre's half-brother, after all. Blood ties, even if strained. Loairre's heart must be heavy, especially with swords likely crossed already—perhaps facing one of the surviving brothers even now.
But they'd chosen sides. Time to bear the consequences. Especially Enda, Quifre, and the surviving kings—they'd raided Britannia's western coast last summer. No mercy for them.
"But Caius, expecting and actually doing are worlds apart."
"Because it's men doing it."
"Yes, now you're getting it."
Shanhaiguan should never have fallen, propping up the Ming. "First Pass" wasn't bravado. But the world rarely followed predictions. The great Ming general Yuan Chonghuan—who'd held back Nurhaci of the Aisin Gioro from the Eternal City and into the fields, even his son Hong Taiji—didn't die to the enemy. He fell to the emperor he defended. Thus Shanhaiguan crumbled, Ming perished, Qing rose.
This felt eerily like Stilicho and our Roman Empire. The difference? Alaricus, playing Nurhaci, cared more about joining the Empire than toppling it.
[Bwaaaaaam—!]
As we chatted, the high sun dipped westward, painting the world red. Amid the ongoing cacophony of horns, my battlefield gaze—sharp as a palm's lines—caught smoke rising beyond the distant walls.
"Caius, looks like the infiltrators succeeded. Time to shake them harder."
"I'll launch a proper assault, Magister militum."
[Salute!]
His expression shifting, Caius saluted sharply and dashed off. Signals flew, and troops surged toward the walls and cliffs like tides. They hauled ladders to reachable spots and charged blindly. Rams rolled up slopes under raised shields.
[Waaaaaah!!]
Gods' names mingled with mine in a colossal roar. Arrows flew briefly from the walls, then faltered. The faint smoke had turned thick black—visible to all encircling the fortress.
"The first to succeed, the first over the walls—great rewards await."
Back to business, flanked by Marcellus, my household slaves—the heavy cavalry—standing silent, I felt the frontal battlefield's heat intensify.