Chapter 117: Alpine Fortress

September 11, 221 AD, Genava (Alpine Fortress), Gallia.

On the outskirts of Genava, the Syndicate’s torsion grenade-throwers continued to fire.

The siege engines had maintained their barrage since the moment Valerius arrived.

Whenever the torsion ropes frayed or the timber arms cracked under the immense tension, another fully assembled unit rolled forward to take its place, ensuring not a single minute of the firing sequence was lost.

Commander Valerius had divided his engineering corps into four distinct shifts, each strictly responsible for maintaining the explosive barrage around the clock.

This persistence left the civilian population and the garrison of Genava sleepless, tormented by the endless blasting of chemical clay against their walls.

Inside the praetorium, Magistrate Flavius, who had sought military aid from the neighboring Helvetii mountain tribes, was staring at a courier report in profound disappointment.

The highland chieftains had sent a mere eighty men to observe the battle from the safety of the ridges, explicitly refusing to commit their warriors to the Roman defense.

It was a bitter pill for Flavius to swallow...

While the Helvetii tribes were not outright enemies of the Roman garrison, they certainly were not loyal friends.

The Romans occupied the wealthy, permanent fortress of Genava, while the Helvetii were semi-nomadic highlanders, relying on their mobility through the treacherous, snowy passes to survive the brutal winters.

This was the exact reason the highlanders were unwilling to bleed for a Roman fortress, even though they fully recognized the Syndicate was a foreign power rewriting the map of Gaul.

Furthermore, even if the Forge Master conquered the entirety of the Alpine passes, what did it truly matter to the Helvetii?

Even if Genava burned to the ground, it would not affect the highlanders’ rugged way of life, simply because there was no military force on earth capable of chasing them through the deepest, unmapped expanses of the Alps.

Even at the absolute peak of the Roman Empire’s strength, the Senate had never been able to fully control the highlanders.

Managing the semi-nomadic tribes required investing at least a hundred thousand legionaries to occupy every single mountain goat path.

Without such an absurd, impossible deployment, any half-hearted Roman punitive expedition simply found themselves freezing to death in empty valleys while their supply lines mysteriously vanished in the night.

The highlanders knew exactly where their true strength lay: Absolute, untethered mobility.

With that mobility, they felt no existential threat from the Syndicate...

Magistrate Flavius, who understood this reality after a few minutes of silent contemplation, couldn’t help but let out a long sigh.

He had already inspected the southern masonry with the garrison captain, and he knew the walls would not survive another forty-eight hours.

Asking for help from the other permanent, settled Gallic tribes in the lowlands was entirely out of the question; those tribes possessed ancient, bloody feuds with Rome and were currently celebrating the Syndicate’s massive victories.

With profound disappointment, Flavius convened the patrician council to deliberate their final, desperate options.

On the other side of the crumbling city wall...

The parapets, although still miraculously standing, looked like they had been chewed on by a mythical beast, blackened by chemical burns and missing massive chunks of masonry.

This degradation should have been a cause for massive celebration among the Syndicate siege engineers.

However, the reality on the ground was quite the contrary...

The expressions on the faces of the *Custodes* infantrymen were deeply somber.

Every single soldier’s face bore an unmistakable air of profound frustration, glaring at the fortress as if the very stones owed them a debt of silver.

Nonetheless, despite their notoriously sour mood, the infantry diligently held their shield-walls and perimeter guards, refraining from outright complaining in front of their officers.

The primary reason for their miserable disposition was the environment.

It had been four days of absolute hell.

Living in the exposed siege trenches during the volatile Alpine spring was agonizing.

They could not get a single hour of proper sleep due to the endless, earth-shaking concussions of their own grenade-throwers, compounded by the freezing night winds that pierced even their heavy wool.

Additionally, they couldn’t escape the sweltering heat during the day, as the sun reflected mercilessly off the remaining snowbanks, cooking them inside their steel breastplates.

Several veteran soldiers had actually collapsed from severe dehydration and drastic weight loss.

Yet, despite these torments, every morning, they had to resume their grueling guard rotations in that exact same miserable climate.

This environmental fatigue extended all the way up to the highest-ranking officer, Commander Valerius.

The commander had grown utterly sick of the repetitive, grinding attrition of the past few days.

His intense annoyance was only amplified by his growing anxiety regarding Silas, who had missed his scheduled arrival window.

Although Valerius had absolute faith that Silas could navigate the mountains, he had no idea what was taking the scarred *Umbrae* leader so incredibly long to flank the city.

Even though traditional Roman sieges were expected to persist for months or even years, the Forge Master’s invention of artillery had spoiled Valerius, and he found himself yearning for the wall-shattering roar of the *Grapeshot Bombards*.

*Crack. Crack.*

Valerius was pulled from his frustrated thoughts by two distinct arbalest shots echoing from the high ridges directly behind the Syndicate camp.

Hi face broke into a relieved grin.

He immediately stepped out of his canvas command pavilion and looked eagerly up at the rocky cliffs.

Sure enough, Silas, flanked by two hundred shadow-cloaked *Umbrae* operatives, was descending the steep goat paths.

"Finally..."

Valerius muttered to himself.

Silas was equally relieved to finally reach the siege lines after enduring days of freezing rock-climbing.

As expected, with the arrival of the specialized operatives, the pressure on the city multiplied.

The *Umbrae* immediately deployed their own portable, hand-thrown chemical charges against the weaker western postern gates.

The city wall, which looked like it might miraculously hold on for two more days, suddenly appeared catastrophically fragile as the total explosive firepower essentially doubled in an instant.

Inside the cracking fortress...

Magistrate Flavius, who was just about to open the emergency council session as the remaining patricians took their seats, was startled by the sudden increase in the intensity of the bombardment.

His face turned deathly pale. He had an awful, sinking feeling in his gut.

Looking around the table, the younger patricians shared the exact same terrified expression, their eyes bloodshot and hollow from four days of sleep deprivation.

Before anyone could even speak, rapid footsteps echoed in the hall.

A Roman scout, his armor deeply dented and his face masked in panic, barged past the guards and delivered the news to the council chiefs.

"Magistrate, it’s over!" the scout screamed, his voice cracking hysterically. "A second rebel army has arrived on the cliffs! The number of their explosive engines has doubled, and they are breaching the western gate as we speak!"

Hearing this devastating news, the arrogant patricians, who had desperately clung to the delusion of a Roman relief force until this very second, finally felt their spirits shatter.

They slumped into their chairs, closing their eyes in utter defeat.

"It is done," Flavius muttered to himself, already seeing the flames consuming his beloved city in his mind’s eye.

His voice was lifeless.

On the other side of the crumbling wall...

"By the gods, it’s a miracle you didn’t freeze to death. No wonder it took you so long to navigate the western pass," Valerius exclaimed, handing Silas a canteen of water as he finally understood the sheer scale of the rockfalls the *Umbrae* had dealt with.

"Yes, if I hadn’t been forced to halt and blast through two localized avalanches, I would have arrived the exact same day you did," Silas replied.

"However, my time up there was not entirely wasted," Silas continued. "By using our explosives to clear the avalanches, the Ministry of Infrastructure can immediately move in and begin laying the concrete foundations for the mountain roads. The Forge Master loves building his highways, after all. Not that I’m complaining."

This casual observation by Silas deeply satisfied Commander Valerius.

He knew that once the concrete roads were successfully paved through the Alps, the true terror of the Syndicate could finally be unleashed on the Italian peninsula.

"I hope Aulus paves that path before winter," Valerius grunted, a hungry light returning to his dark eyes. "I cannot wait to drag the bombards up here and finish these sieges in a matter of hours, rather than freezing in the mud for a week."

However, Silas frowned beneath his hood. "Even if they pour the concrete flawlessly, the incline of these passes is simply too steep for the suspension wagons to haul three-ton bronze cannons. The bombards are useless in this vertical terrain. They will have to remain in the flatlands."

Hearing this blunt reality, Valerius wasn’t overly depressed.

Deep down, he already knew the artillery was restricted to the plains; he simply had a stubborn, infantryman’s urge to complain about it now and then...

While the two commanders debated logistics, the roar of the grenade-throwers abruptly ceased.

The sudden silence startled both men.

The report they received from the trench captain was unexpected.

"Commanders, it appears the patricians have broken," the captain stated, pointing toward the shattered parapet. "They just raised a white banner of parley over the main gate. I ordered the engineers to halt the bombardment pending your orders."

Valerius and Silas stepped up to the edge of the trench.

A white sheet was indeed hanging limply from the burning timber of the gatehouse.

"So, the aristocrats finally found their breaking point," Valerius said to himself, a satisfied smile touching his lips.

However, Valerius had fought Romans long enough to know the depths of their desperate treachery.

To ensure this wasn’t a feint designed to lure his officers into an archery kill-zone, he turned to the trench captain. "Deploy the light infantry. Sweep the entire perimeter of the city. Ensure there are no hidden cavalry units waiting in the tree line for us to drop our guard."

A few hours later, the light infantry returned, confirming the perimeter was clear of threats...

Despite the confirmation, Silas remained suspicious of patrician honor.

He personally approached the shattered gate under the cover of steel shields and met with a terrified Roman emissary.

After a brief exchange, Silas confirmed Magistrate Flavius and the council were offering their unconditional surrender to the Syndicate.

Following Silas’s negotiation, the portcullis of the city was slowly raised.

However, neither commander was foolish enough to march the entire army into a potential meat grinder.

To be absolutely foolproof, Silas sent only a single platoon of *Custodes* through the gates first, tasked with securing the blind corners and neutralizing any hidden traps.

Fortunately, the patrician council had fully capitulated.

When they surrendered, Flavius and the elites willingly submitted themselves directly into the custody of the Syndicate vanguard, offering their own lives to ensure the Forge Master did not authorize a massacre of the civilian populace out of retaliation.

With the unconditional surrender of the leadership secured, Valerius and Silas finally confirmed the bloody siege was over.

The main body of the *Custodes* marched through the shattered gates, seizing control of the primary defense points and locking down the vast Roman grain reserves.

The leaders, though humiliated and furious to see peasants seizing their ancestral wealth, were powerless to stop it.

After witnessing the horror of the explosive weaponry, not a single patrician dared to utter a word of protest.

They remained silent, allowing the Syndicate to assume total control, praying only that they would survive the coming winter without being crucified.

With this, the siege that was expected to drag on for weeks ended abruptly with the arrival of Silas and the *Umbrae*.