As the conversations and plans were finished in the Palace, Hector had left to oversee the defenses being set up. He allowed his heritage to surface enough for large grey wings to sprout from his back. The wings of powerful muscle, taut sinew, and strong leather made it easy for him to traverse the rooftops and walls of the city. He didn't bother flying, instead using the strength of his wings and a burst of magic to launch himself great heights and vast distances in short order.
Periodically, he would jump down and speak with the men on the ground, checking in with how things were. Being able to see things from both the top and the bottom always gave a better perspective on the situation, and the reality he came to was cold.
The last time he had been in Einfaust was before he left for Moshu almost a hundred years ago. Back then it was the bustling capital of a whole empire which stretched across the entire peninsula. It wasn't particularly large relative to the empires of Guerra, but it was powerful and able to survive the onslaught of the demonic Bel Empire for almost three centuries. It seemed that with the Bel gone, the empire lost it's cohesion and collapsed. The Nobility who were depended on to keep the empire safe abandoned it, fracturing into the collection of kingdoms it now was.
For the city it was even worse. It had floundered and withered quickly. Worse, it seems that in the decline the Last Emperor, the current king's father, had tried to reverse the decline through terror and control. That only made things worse. The Kingdom had been gutted, and it's power all but stripped.
It was so bad, that even after the current king overthrew his father no one wanted to return. If the Steward was being honest and not just trying to sell a sob story, then it sounded like they were only just now able to get their feet back underneath themselves financially. Militarily there were a shell, only the good will of the Mickies, the Knights of Michael, kept the place standing.
Hector didn't let his disappointment show, and really, it wasn't his problem. They knew he wouldn't die for them and that if things were really unsalvageable he'd cut an run. Besides, even if they were wiped out, he'd already gotten the first payment and that was already more than enough to make this a profitable venture. He might be one of the strongest men alive, but he was still one man. No one would judge too much if they didn't survive, and who would tell that he technically failed anyway?
He arrived at the wall and began giving out orders, refining positions, reinforcing barricades and the like. Much of it would likely be pointless, but it would make them think chances were better. They weren't the worst army he'd seen. Well disciplined, well led, and the Mickies were plentiful as well. They wouldn't turn down a chance to fight demons. It lead to an army that was not as terrible as he expected, but the number was what worried him. If he heard correctly, there were some four-thousand soldiers, and another thousand Mickies. For a kingdom of this size, ten-thousand should be the minimum. If the other lords and their retinues arrived to the city before the battle, they may hit seven-thousand, but that was a big if.
As he looked out to the horizon, watching the sun slowly fall, he could smell it on the wind. Blood and Ash. His lips curled back a fraction, unable to suppress his excitement any further. The battle would be here soon and he would be able to have his fun.
