Athena in Tower Defense Game! [LitRPG]

At last, everyone had gathered!

Under the leadership of Duke Babron, a large crowd surged into the palace like a mighty wave, their presence strikingly prominent under the sunlight. At the forefront strode Babron himself, his tall, imposing figure and resolute expression exerting an invisible pressure on all who beheld him. Every step he took was firm and purposeful, laden with unwavering resolve.

Inside, where a fierce battle had been raging with no clear victor, the appearance of this unexpected group was akin to a stone cast into a calm lake, instantly shattering the atmosphere of intense combat. Every gaze was inevitably drawn towards them.

Even Athena, who had been watching the infighting with detached amusement, shifted her attention.

Some within the crowd noticed the emperor being carried by his guards. Whispers began to spread, their focus falling on the gaping wound in the emperor’s abdomen.

Those who had believed the emperor had abandoned them now found their faith wavering. What they were witnessing starkly contradicted what Babron had told them.

Their prince was valiantly leading the charge against the monstrous invaders, while their old emperor had already perished.

With just one glance at the army Babron had brought, the prince knew what scheme he was concocting. Fortunately, despite a few mishaps with the barrier, the story was still unfolding as the prince had planned.

“Attack the monsters with all your might! Do not allow them to harm Duke Babron or the people!” The prince’s voice was both commanding and impassioned.

Yet, beneath that powerful exterior, there was a tremor—a hint of sorrow that could not be ignored. “My father has fallen in battle. I shall now take up his mantle and protect you all!”

When he spoke of Duke Babron, his tone grew notably heavier. As for Babron’s son, though the prince had imprisoned him in the palace’s secret dungeons, it wasn’t beyond possibility that Babron had bribed someone to set him free.

Those who had been hesitating now felt a wave of guilt wash over them.

The prince’s display of grief was heart-wrenching, but Babron’s performance surpassed even that, his sorrow so deep that he turned his head away, silent.

Even Babron’s son, standing beside him, appeared suddenly overcome with anguish and disbelief.

“Father! Why would you do this? You! How could you ally with those foul creatures?” His voice trembled with fury, each word spat as though it had been shattered before emerging.

Sensing something amiss, the prince rushed forward to stop him, but his body suddenly grew stiff, veins bulging beneath his skin.

And then, he saw it—a layer of white debris falling from his face, fluttering to the ground.

With a trembling hand, he touched his cheek, only to realise that his face had fractured into countless shards, like a broken mask, pieces of it falling away.

It wasn’t just his face. Parts of his body were also disintegrating, shedding in pieces.

“Father, you conspired with monsters in your pursuit of immortality, refused to activate the defense towers, sabotaged them, and even went so far as to take possession of my cousin’s body!”

“You are no longer fit to be emperor!” With that, the "Babron's son" tore off his human skin mask, revealing the face beneath—it was the prince himself.

The true prince, his soul, in his body.

The figure that had the old emperor's soul, now stripped of his disguise, had the appearance of Babron’s son.

Those present were completely stunned, their minds struggling to process the revelation.

At this moment, the old emperor understood. The problem wasn’t with the defense towers—it was with him. He had not possessed his own son’s body as he had thought but instead that of Babron’s son.

The Emperor and Babron were equally ruthless; neither had any qualms about using their sons for their own gain.

Only the old emperor knew the location of the defense towers, a secret passed down through generations to prevent any ill intent. The towers were impenetrable to monsters and would even injure them if they came too close.

The soul-swapping technique was most effective when used on a direct blood relative; otherwise, the backlash would be severe, and a long period of adjustment was required. Few survived this process, and eventually, only the prince had.

The old emperor had no fear of failure. If the ritual went awry, he was prepared to take everyone down with him. Yet, to his dismay, the ritual had succeeded.

Under pressure from the Babron family, he had taken Babron’s sister as his queen, giving him the blood connection needed for the ritual. Babron’s son had undergone the same conditioning as the prince, making him the perfect vessel for the old emperor’s soul.

Now, as the old emperor opened his mouth to speak, he found himself unable to utter a sound.

Instead, it was the prince’s voice, who survived the ordeal, filled with righteous indignation, that resounded through the hall, cementing the narrative in everyone’s mind. The pieces of truth fell into place: their emperor had made a vile pact with monsters, willing to sacrifice his people for immortality. He had stolen Babron’s son’s body and attempted to kill the prince to maintain his power.

Thankfully, Duke Babron had saved the prince, who, in his anguish, had stepped forward to accuse his father, sacrificing his familial ties for the greater good. His bravery would be sung for generations.

The old emperor could feel the life slipping from his newly claimed body, his hard-won second chance at life fading away.

The defense towers had always been controlled by the ruling monarch, their location known only to the emperor of the day. While they could be activated by any being of the light, only the emperor could shut them down. This fact sealed the old emperor’s guilt.

Yet, because of the failed soul swap, the towers no longer recognised him. They had initiated self-destruct mode.

But the towers could be restored if handed over to the true emperor. And now, they only recognised one ruler—the prince.

The old emperor had so many plans left unfinished. His resentment was palpable, but now he couldn’t even command those who once followed him. His soul, like his body, was disintegrating.

He was merely a secondary player in this grand tragedy, his role to appear at the crucial moment and then quietly exit, having helped the protagonist bring the drama to its climactic end.

And one of the main actors in this grand play was undoubtedly his son, grown beyond recognition.