Shattering Bronze
Whoosh!
I swung the staff with all my might, the air whistling sharply from the force. The invader raised the shield in his left hand. He figured he'd easily block a greenhorn like me before thrusting his sword through my gut. But that was a grave mistake.
Clang!
A deafening crash rang out as his bronze shield shattered. The arm holding it dangled limply at a grotesque angle. For a split second, he wore an expression of utter incomprehension. He never could have imagined this turn of events.
Splat!
This time, I smashed his head. My staff struck his helmet and, regrettably, snapped in two. But my foe staggered, seemingly out cold. A golden opportunity!
"Hah!"
With a fierce shout, I drove my bare fist into the chest of the armored bastard. Boom!
The man rocketed backward like he'd been hit by a cannonball, crashing into the nearby wall and crumbling it in a heap of rubble. Dust billowed everywhere.
"What in the world…."
Even I was dumbfounded by my own feat. What kind of heroic strength was this? A temple scribe who only handled parchment had just sent a murderer flying with a single punch. My shoulders heaved, my arms trembling uncontrollably. The sensation of striking him lingered in my knuckles, sharp and stinging.
But this wasn't the time for excitement. I forced myself to stay calm and think.
This fight had been pure luck. The guy had been busy massacring villagers and let his guard down against me. If he'd fought seriously, the outcome would've been different. With over a hundred like him invading, I'd run into more on the way to the temple. I needed a plan.
"Oh, right."
Slapping my palm with my fist, I approached the collapsed wall and began stripping the fallen invader of his clothes and armor. Time to disguise myself as one of them.
"No way this is really me…. Insane."
His breastplate was dented in the exact shape of my fist. Unbelievable, even on second glance. This wasn't human power.
Swish. Click.
I hurriedly donned his clothes and armor. I ditched the dented breastplate and any complicated pieces. The helmet covering my face should be enough—they wouldn't recognize me.
"Hm?"
Stripping him revealed a strange tattoo on his chest: five rat tails twisted together in a bizarre pattern. I'd seen this before, hadn't I? Where…?
My brow furrowed, but there was no time to ponder. I bolted toward the temple.
"Huff, huff."
Excitement made my breaths come heavy. What a day. This half-day felt far more eventful than the quiet ten years before.
"You bastards! Aaaagh!"
Fights still sporadically erupted on the main street. But it was one-sided slaughter. The invaders were stronger than expected. The corpses littering the ground were all from the village militia.
"Sorry…."
I muttered under my breath and pressed on to the temple. I wanted to help, but jumping in would just get me killed. And I couldn't ignore my duty as a scribe.
Thankfully, my disguise worked—the black-clad men I passed paid me no mind. They roamed the village, focused on their tasks. Not looting treasures, from what I saw. They were searching for something. Several dashed about frantically, just like me.
What the hell was going on in this backwater village?
"Charge!"
"Kill all those old fogeys!"
The temple was locked in a fiercer siege than I'd imagined. The place where I'd worked for ten years worshipped Harpocrates, the god of secrets and silence. For a small village temple, it was impressively large. It also housed many warriors who guarded it.
That made sense, given Harpocrates' nature. Retired soldiers and swordsmen hiding dark pasts often sought refuge here in their later years. It was the god's precept: bury your past in secrecy and silence. Warriors haunted by guilt turned to Harpocrates' temple in old age, fearing divine judgment after death.
In return, they used their skills to protect the temple.
"Waaah! Push them back!"
"Don't retreat!"
Thanks to them, the temple hadn't fallen yet. These old warriors, burdened by sins and trusting only Harpocrates in the afterlife, fought with desperate ferocity. They almost seemed to welcome martyrdom.
The invaders were formidable, but the veterans' lifelong expertise was no joke. Still, age limited their stamina. If the battle dragged on, they'd start crumbling.
I had to hurry.
"Hm…."
How to get inside? As I paced anxiously, a clever idea struck—one only a long-time temple worker would know. An underground passage for hauling food waste and sewage. Temples had to maintain a sacred, auspicious image, so they hid such filth from view. I'd handled that job once, so I knew it well.
"Perfect."
I slipped under a stone bridge by the village stream. A hidden passage lay there. Villagers knew the temple dumped waste this way, but the invaders clearly hadn't thought of it.
I shoved aside the filthy boards blocking the entrance and plunged into the stench-filled tunnel.
Squeak squeak.
Rats scattered in panic. Amid the war above, they'd been feasting on spilled scraps from transport.
"Outta my way, you vermin!"
Screeech!
I scattered the swarm and headed deeper. Soon, stairs appeared. Climb these, open the door, and….
"You rat!"
"You slimy bastard, you made it in after all!"
As I ascended into the temple's interior, spears and swords leveled at me. The retired warriors.
"I told you to block it quick!"
"Never thought he'd slither in this way. Rat-like scum!"
"How'd you even know about this?!"
They'd brought scrap to barricade it. I tossed off my helmet.
"It's me, elders."
They gasped at my face.
"Peleus!"
"What in blazes are you doing here?!"
They greeted me warmly, faces lighting up in surprise.
"Why's the temple scribe wearing enemy gear?"
"Kid! We thought you'd bit it somewhere when we didn't see you!"
They might've been roughnecks in youth, but now they lived quietly at the temple. Seeing them daily had made us close. I loved adventure tales, and they spun yarns of their glory days—I was the perfect audience for nostalgic old-timers. Earned me some favor, I guess.
"You damn geezers. Who's dying? Truth is…."
I shed the armor and explained how I'd snuck in. They erupted in admiration.
"Thought you were just a bookish nerd scribbling away—gotta rethink that!"
"Heh heh heh. Survive today, and drinks are on me. You're a warrior like us! Hell, even if we die, I'll treat you in the afterlife!"
Their cheer lifted my spirits a bit. Then one clapped suddenly, as if remembering something.
"Oh yeah! Peleus! The High Priest was looking for you urgently. Go see him!"
"The High Priest?"
Why me? He'd granted me one huge favor once, but we had no real connection. In ten years, I'd seen him only a handful of times. He lived reclusively. Rumor had it he was a legendary hero in his youth—a living myth. But details were scarce. Supposedly over 200 years old. Everyone wondered why such a figure hid in this nowhere village.
"Hurry, lad! Said it was critical!"
"Got it."
If the High Priest called, I had no choice. As I ran, though, it felt off. My relic-relocation duty was important, but not call-me-now important. The displayed relics were just ornate gold and jewels—priests handled the truly sacred stuff.
"Hm…."
Whatever. I'd find out there.
The temple interior was chaos. Wounded kept streaming in, shrine maidens struggling to treat them.
"Someone hold this man's leg! Gotta amputate!"
"Gaaahhh!"
They'd steeled for death, but pain was pain. I clicked my tongue inwardly, crossing the makeshift infirmary. Familiar faces lay dead here and there. It stung.
"Scribe! What brings you?!"
A young priest guarding the High Priest's door brightened at me. A noble's son from Delphi, we were close. Anxiety etched his face; I gripped his hand reassuringly.
"Don't worry too much. Our god will aid us."
"Scribe…."
I nodded and said the High Priest had summoned me.
"Right this way."
"Thanks."
I knocked and entered. The aged High Priest sat with a heavy expression. I'd seen him few times, always serene and kind. Even he couldn't hide his grim mood today.
Faint incense smoke wafted in the room. Peaceful normally, but ominous now.
"Sit, Scribe."
"High Priest, sorry, but no time. I must fulfill my duty…."
"Forget those trifles."
"Pardon?"
I was stunned. Him calling temple business trifling?
"Sit. Your task is just moving gold trinkets, right? Such wealth hardly matters."
Of course, my relics weren't divinely empowered—mortals like me couldn't touch those. It was about hiding the ornate display pieces.
"Aren't those the temple's treasures? This is no small matter."
I managed much of the temple's accounts as scribe. Money mattered.
"Especially now—they're vital for rebuilding after this…."
As I ranted, he cut in with a gentle smile.
"Ever diligent in your duties. Our god has a good eye for people."
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
It sounded like Harpocrates, our god, knew me personally. I worked for him but wasn't devout. This was just my job. Gods were distant myths.
"Before explaining, one question, Scribe."
"Ask away."
I was annoyed. I needed to dash out for my mission—why this riddle now? But he was legendary, wiser than me. Must be important.
"Ugh…."
I grumbled but listened.
"Scribe Peleus. Do you think yourself ordinary?"