In Another World, All Milfs Will Be Mine-Chapter 128: [ - - ] - Abandon Auravale

The news of the monster raid hit Auravale like a chaos.

The frantic ringing of the alarm bells was no longer a warning; it was a death knell echoing off the stone walls of the city.

Inside the Lord’s Castle, the illusion of order shattered instantly.

The barracks were a scene of panicked, sweaty chaos. Soldiers sprinted through the corridors, colliding with servants who dropped trays of food to huddle in corners, praying to gods who seemed to have abandoned them.

The air was thick with the scent of fear—sharp, acrid, and overwhelming—mixed with the metallic tang of unpolished steel and old leather.

Men scrambled to strap on armour that hadn’t seen battle in years. Fingers fumbled with buckles. Helmets were jammed onto heads with trembling hands.

"Where are my greaves?!" a young recruit screamed, tearing through a chest. "I can’t find my greaves!"

"Forget the greaves, you idiot!" a veteran shouted back, tightening his belt until the leather creaked. "Just find something sharp! If those things get through the wall, your shins are the least of your problems!"

In the corner, a group of soldiers were sharpening their blades with frantic, jerky motions. Their conversation was a mix of terror and the crude, desperate lust of men facing the end.

"We’re dead," a spearman muttered, his face pale. "I heard the reports. Thousands of them. Rotting ones. Big ones. We’re going to be meat."

"It’s that bastard Caelum’s fault," another soldier spat, grinding his whetstone hard against his sword. "He spent the defense budget on silk and perfume for his boy-toy. Look at this rust! This sword couldn’t cut butter, let alone a Grave Stalker!"

"If I’m going to die," a third soldier growled, looking up with a dark, hungry glint in his eyes, "I wish I hadn’t wasted my time guarding this rock. I should have taken what I wanted."

He looked toward the ceiling, imagining the royal chambers above.

"Lady Aliana," he whispered, licking his lips. "Just once. That’s all I wanted. To drag that haughty, stuck-up bitch off her high horse and fuck the arrogance right out of her. I bet she screams like a banshee."

"Screw the daughter," a heavy-set guard grunted, checking the straps on his shield. "She’s too bony. Give me the mother. Lady Seraphine."

He cupped his hands in the air, weighing invisible fruit.

"Did you see her at the feast? Those tits... gods. Just one squeeze. I’d let a goblin eat my legs if I could just bury my face in those heavy, soft milkers for five minutes before I go."

"Dream on," the veteran snapped. "The only thing you’re going to feel is a zombie’s teeth. Now move! To the walls!"

The squad surged out of the barracks, their lust and fear fuelling a desperate, angry energy as they ran toward their doom.

~~~~~

Lord Caelum Dargan paced back and forth, his fine silk robes swishing around his ankles. His face was a mask of disbelief and panic, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of the heavy oak table.

Around him, his ministers—fat men who were experts in tax evasion and grain storage but useless in a crisis—were losing their minds.

"A raid?!" The Minister of Coin squeaked, clutching a ledger to his chest as if it could deflect arrows. "There hasn’t been a monster raid in a decade! How? Why now?"

"Is it the Zarth savages?" the Tax Collector demanded, sweating profusely. "Did the treaty fail?"

"Silence!" Captain Valerius roared.

The Captain stood at the head of the table, still in his full plate armour. He looked exhausted, grim, and furious. He slammed a heavy gauntlet onto the map spread out before them.

"It is not Zarth," Valerius stated, his voice hard. "Scouts report a massive surge of mana from the Endless Forest. The beasts are frenzied. They are moving north. Towards us."

He pointed to the southern edge of the map.

"We have confirmed sightings. Goblins. Hundreds of them. Grave Stalkers—the undead are marching in daylight. Bone Skeletons. Orcs. And things we don’t even have names for."

Caelum stopped pacing. He stared at the map. "Numbers, Captain. Give me numbers."

Valerius hesitated. He looked at the gathered nobles, then at his Lord.

"The initial count is... bad, My Lord."

"How bad?"

"Two to three thousand Grave Stalkers," Valerius listed, his voice devoid of hope. "Three to four hundred Goblins as fodder. Eight hundred Bone Skeletons. Fifty Orcs. And at least three hundred Rot-Wolves and Plague-Bears."

The room went dead silent.

Caelum’s knees buckled. He grabbed a chair to steady himself. "Four... four thousand? Against what? What do we have?"

"We have fifty-one fully trained soldiers," Valerius said flatly. "And twenty new recruits who don’t know which end of the spear is the pointy one. The walls are mounted with cannons, but we lack the powder for a sustained siege."

"Fifty men," Caelum whispered. "Fifty men against four thousand monsters."

"We need help," the Minister of Food cried. "The Guilds! The Merchant Guilds have private armies! The Golden Scales! The Iron Caravan! They have hundreds of mercenaries!"

"I already sent runners," Valerius said.

Just then, the heavy doors burst open. A young soldier, covered in sweat and dirt, stumbled in. He fell to one knee, gasping for breath.

"Report!" Valerius barked. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

"Sir!" the soldier wheezed. "Iron Caravan... they can’t help."

"What?!" Caelum shrieked. "Why not?"

"Master Drax... he took their best men. Almost their entire elite force. They left two days ago to escort a ’Special Delivery’ to the Capital. They are miles away by now. They won’t be back for at least two days."

Caelum cursed. "Damn him! Damn Drax!"

Another soldier ran in, nearly colliding with the first. "Message from the Golden Scales, my Lord!"

"Speak!"

"Master Gamon... he has left the city, sir. He took his personal guard—fifty men—and headed north for the Capital this morning. He claimed he had urgent business with the King’s treasurer."

"He ran," Valerius realized, his face twisting in disgust. "The fat rat smelled the smoke and ran."

"And the Temple?" Caelum asked desperately. "High Priest Remus? He has the Iron Saints! He has Paladins!"

A third soldier appeared in the doorway, looking terrified. "My Lord... the Temple doors are sealed. They have declared a ’Holy Rite of Isolation’. They will not open the gates. They claim the gods have commanded them to pray for salvation, not fight for it."

Caelum stared at the soldier. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

No allies. No army. No hope.

"We are doomed," Caelum whispered.

The nobles in the room erupted into panic. Some started crying. Others began shouting accusations.

"It’s your fault!"

"We need to flee!"

"Open the gates and let us leave!"

Caelum ignored them. He looked around the room wildly, searching for an anchor. His eyes landed on the corner of the room.

Standing there, calm and collected, was Steward Malcom.

Malcom wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t sweating. He was standing by a small side table, meticulously preparing a cup of tea. He poured the hot water with a steady hand, the steam rising in the cool air. He looked bored.

Caelum ran to him. He grabbed Malcom’s arm, his fingers digging into the fine silk of the Steward’s sleeve.

"Malcom!" Caelum cried, his voice high and pathetic. tears streaming down his face. "What do I do? Tell me what to do! They’re coming! They’re going to kill us all!"

The sight was grotesque. The Lord of the City, a grown man, weeping and clinging to his young lover like a frightened child.

Valerius watched with open contempt. He gripped the hilt of his sword, fighting the urge to end the Dargan line right there.

Malcom looked down at the sobbing Lord. He didn’t offer comfort. He didn’t hug him. He simply took a sip of his tea.

"Calm yourself, my love," Malcom whispered, his voice smooth and cold. "Panic ruins your complexion."

"We have no army!" Caelum wailed. "We have no allies! The monsters will be at the gates in half an hour!"

Malcom set the tea down. He brushed a speck of dust from Caelum’s shoulder.

"Then the solution is simple," Malcom said, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips.

"If you cannot fight," Malcom whispered. "Then you must run."

Caelum blinked. "Run? But... my city? My people?"

"Are they worth dying for?" Malcom asked softly. "Think, Caelum. If you stay, you die. If you run... you live to rule another day. You can return with the King’s army. You can reclaim the ruins. But you can’t reclaim your life."

He leaned in close, his voice a seductive poison.

"Take the gold. Take the treasury. Leave the peasants to slow them down. We can take the secret tunnel. We can be miles away before the first wall falls."

Caelum looked at Malcom. He looked at Valerius, who was watching him with judgment. He looked at the map, covered in red markers of death.

Fear won.

"Yes," Caelum breathed. "Yes. You’re right. We must survive. For the good of the Kingdom."

He turned to Valerius. "Captain! Hold the walls! Buy us time! I... I am leaving."

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