With a sharp crack, the spear shaft embedded in the city wall suddenly snapped. The lancer who had been climbing let out only a short, sharp cry before slamming into the hard-packed snow below, knocked unconscious on the spot. Just two more steps and he would have made it to the top—but falling from over seven meters, being knocked out was perfectly normal.
"That's the forty-seventh one to fall off..." Dolles shook his head with a bitter smile. A plan was a plan, but nobody could have predicted that the city gates would be unable to open. In the original design, once the wall was seized and the gates thrown open, the Flying Tiger Legion would immediately launch an assault on the Vicia Trade Association's army in the western district, destroying or forcing the surrender of the enemy's main force with lightning speed. Feridiga Royal Capital would then fall into the
But who could have imagined that the Vicia Trade Association had forged such massive iron gates, blocking the Flying Tiger Legion's path into the city?
Since they had planned to enter through the city gates, nobody had brought any alternative climbing equipment. There were only three rope ladders hanging on the wall. The problem was that these ladders belonged to the guard battalion. Lorist had brought two thousand guards this time, but only about a thousand had made it up so far, with the other thousand still lined up in a long queue below. Under these circumstances, there was no way to ask the guards to give up their rope ladders.
Even Tiger Ross was at a loss without climbing equipment. He had originally planned to hang a few long ropes for the soldiers to scale the wall, but the winter moisture on the wall's surface had frozen into a thin layer of ice—cold and slippery, making it impossible to climb a nine-meter wall with just a rope. In the end, the three of them worked out a plan: Marlek would have the soldiers gather all the ropes from the sleds and weave them into rope ladders, Dolles would maintain order, and Tiger Ross would direct the Silver-rank experts in the Flying Tiger Legion to drive the lancers' lances into the wall to build makeshift climbing ladders, getting reinforcements up first. The Vicia Trade Association's army was reportedly already on its way, and every man they could get to the top counted.
Unfortunately, the spear shafts that the Silver-rank experts had forcibly driven into the wall with their combat force couldn't always hold. A single lancer with full equipment weighed at least over a hundred kilograms. The cup-thick spear shafts could hold at first, but after about twenty men had climbed up, they would start to give way and snap. Five or six hundred lancers had made it to the top, but over forty had fallen from the wall due to breaking shafts...
What was most infuriating was that while they down below were still racking their brains trying to get more soldiers up to reinforce the wall, the shouts coming from above were... requesting that the Boulder Legion's sword-and-shield soldiers go up first, the longbowmen first, and that the lancers hold off for now...
Tiger Ross was furious. What the hell was this? If they let the Boulder Legion go first, what face would the Flying Tiger Legion have left? Without a second word, he climbed up the wall himself. The Flying Tiger Legion soldiers below didn't care what was being shouted from above—they climbed as they would, and fell as they had to...
"How many of our steel crossbows have been sent up?" Dolles asked.
"Sir, thirty-seven steel crossbows just taken off the sleds have already been hung on ropes and hauled up. They're still disassembling more below the wall..." The legion clerk beside him, clutching a folder and scribbling something with a charcoal pencil, reported in a trembling voice.
"Good. Have the archer crews that have already reached the wall mount the steel crossbows on the ramparts immediately and help His Highness repel the enemy's attack first," Dolles said.
"B-but sir, everything we sent up to the wall was steel crossbows—the bolts are still being brought up and haven't reached the base of the wall yet. Right now the wall has steel crossbows but no bolts..." the clerk replied.
Damn it, this was a total mess. The situation was giving him a splitting headache. Everything happening now was beyond expectation, making it impossible to get a handle on things. Looking out, the entire area beyond the north wall was nothing but heads—endless masses of black that stretched beyond sight. Yet each time, only a dozen or twenty soldiers could scale the wall. Reinforcements were coming up far too slowly.
"Pass my orders," Dolles commanded. "Have the waiting troops clear a path and let the sleds carrying crossbow bolts reach the base of the wall first. Secure the bolt supply and support. Meanwhile, gather the twenty bolts that came bundled on the sleds already delivered to the wall and send them up first—let the steel crossbows already in position start doing their work. Additionally, have the Twelfth Battalion of the legion fell timber and build scaling ladders. The speed of getting men up the wall right now is far too slow..."
Before he finished speaking, another spear shaft snapped at the edge of the wall, and a climbing soldier came plummeting down with a scream.
"Oh right—I recall the bolt shafts on the steel crossbows are iron, aren't they? You, go grab a bundle and have the people climbing up use the bolts as rungs for a makeshift ladder. That should be sturdier than spear shafts." Dolles grabbed a nearby guard soldier at random and sent him to fetch crossbow bolts.
Malek returned with a bitter smile. "The ropes tied to the sleds aren't very long. I doubt a rope ladder woven from connected pieces like that would hold up well. And weaving a rope ladder over nine meters long would take at least two hours. Too slow."
"Sir, why don't we just pile up a snow ramp to get on the wall? After all, with this many people waiting down below, everyone grabbing a big snow brick would be enough to build up to the ramparts. And there's snow everywhere—making snow bricks would be quick..." the clerk beside him said.
That would indeed be quick—under an hour and they could...
Screams erupted from the top of the wall. Dorres and Malek looked up in horror to see flashes of sword light rippling across the ramparts, followed by wave after wave of agonized cries.
"No—how did the enemy get up on the wall? I'll go check first. Dorres, get the men organized and start building that snow ramp..." Malek broke into a sprint toward the wall.
...
"It's over..." Jost could only raise his green longbow to shield his chest, though he harbored no hope that it would stop the Sword Saint's incoming strike.
A hideous grin spread across the charging Sword Saint's face. If he killed this Golden marksman who was causing so much trouble, routing the few hundred enemies on the wall and reclaiming it would be child's play...
A spear sheathed in golden sword qi stabbed at an angle toward the Sword Saint's right ribs. If the Sword Saint insisted on killing Jost, he would inevitably suffer a grievous wound from the spear. With no choice, the Sword Saint yanked his blade back to parry, shearing the incoming spearhead cleanly in two with a sharp clang.
Having barely escaped death, Jost scrambled back over ten meters, drawing his bow and nocking an arrow aimed at the Sword Saint. He saw that Tiger Ross—the very man who had just saved his life—was already locked in fierce combat with the Sword Saint who had stormed the wall, both of them roaring as they clashed. Though Tiger Ross was at a clear disadvantage, it would be some time before the Sword Saint could bring him down. And with Jost having pulled back to a safe distance, his green longbow trained on the enemy remained a threat the Sword Saint could not afford to ignore—he had to hold something in reserve to guard against a sudden shot.
Among the Norton Family's current sixteen Golden Knights, Tiger Ross was universally acknowledged as the strongest in combat.
The Sword Saint from the Wesia Trading Company Legion had likely only been promoted a year or two ago. His swordsmanship was swift and vicious, but it had not yet reached the level of fluid mastery. When Tiger Ross had rushed onto the wall and seen the Sword Saint lunging at Jost, he had immediately seized a spear and struck a slanting blow to save Jost's life, then drawn his sword to join the fight. In the initial exchange he came off slightly worse, taking two small cuts to the body. But as the fight dragged on, he quickly grew accustomed to the Sword Saint's techniques, and with Jost drawing his bow from behind to keep the enemy occupied, the Sword Saint actually found himself gradually being driven onto the back foot.
By now, the stone staircase on the left side had fallen, and the heavy-armored spearmen of the Wesia Trading Company Legion were pouring up without pause. Fortunately, the left wall was exactly where the lance cavalry had ascended. Although a tower stood between the two positions, five or six hundred lance cavalrymen—seeing their guards cut down and the staircase lost—immediately charged through the tower to mount a rescue. The section of wall before the staircase became a slaughter ground, bodies flying, blood spattering, and the fallen strewn everywhere. Which side could send reinforcements faster would decide the outcome.
Tiger Ross and the Sword Saint from the Wesia Trading Company Legion were engaged in a fierce battle atop the North City Gate, over twenty meters from the left stone staircase leading up the wall. Inside the Sword Saint's mind, however, curses were endlessly flowing. He had charged onto the wall with the sole purpose of killing Jost, to eliminate the threat posed by the divine archer. He hadn't expected Tiger Ross to intervene out of nowhere—not only saving the archer's life but also proving a match for him in combat. Meanwhile, the archer had pulled back to a safe distance, bow drawn, arrow nocked, fixing him with a predatory gaze. This prevented him from utilizing his swordsmanship to its full potential, forcing him into a defensive stance against a mere Golden Knight, while waiting for reinforcements from the heavy-armored spearmen behind him, not knowing how long that would take...
After finally repelling the charge of the heavy-armored spearmen, Lorist was covered in blood. He leaned against the battered barricade, gasping for breath. Of the Wesia Trading Company Legion's fifth Heavy-Armored Spearman Battalion that had attacked, fewer than two hundred lucky survivors—drained of all color and fight—had retreated. Over eight hundred heavy-armored spearmen had been reduced to bloody slush and corpses on the ground. Lorist himself was unscathed, but he had expended a great deal of strength. Of the more than two hundred household guards accompanying him, only fifty-odd remained standing; the rest were dead or wounded, including Deputy Commander Walich, who had taken a hit to his left arm.
The Wesia Trading Company Legion's structure consisted of forty-five thousand men, divided into four corps and one five-thousand-strong logistics garrison group. Upon receiving the alarm of the enemy attack, they had dispatched one Heavy-Armored Spearman Corps to retake the North City Gate. Lorist estimated they had likely sent two other corps to the eastern and western gates as well—after all, Radi, Elr, and Sword Saint Hughes were attacking along the walls in those directions. Before identifying the nature of the attacking enemy, the Wesia Trading Company had to be cautious. That meant they probably still had one corps and the logistics garrison battalion stationed in the West City District as a reserve.
It was all because of that damned iron gate! Lorist smiled bitterly. What should have been a smooth surprise attack had turned into this frustrating situation. The enemy had sent a Heavy-Armored Spearman Corps to retake the North City Gate and its walls. Aside from four battalions sent to attack the two stone staircases on the left and right, he was facing six battalions directly. Though he had defeated that fifth Heavy-Armored Spearman Battalion, there were still five more battalions—five thousand enemies—to go. If the limited space of the street hadn't forced the enemy to commit their forces one battalion at a time, unable to deploy their full numbers, his small force would have been wiped out long ago...
The uppermost iron bolt hadn't budged at all; it must not have been touched by the fire. This truly cut off their escape route.
Lorist could still guarantee his own safe withdrawal, but what about these guards who had followed him? Were they simply to be abandoned? In that moment, a swirl of conflicting emotions surged through Lorist, leaving him unable to decide what to do.
The defeat of the fifth Heavy-Armored Spearman Battalion had confirmed the Wesia Trading Company Legion's assessment of Lorist's identity and capabilities as a Sword Saint. The three hundred-man battle formations now launching the next assault were tighter in formation, more cautious in their approach, and more synchronized in their steps. Behind them, seven more identical hundred-man formations were slowly advancing, step by step...
Malek climbed onto the wall. He instantly grasped the situation, but instead of rushing to aid Tiger Ross and Jost, he drew his sword and charged toward the heavy-armored spearmen surging up the left staircase. With his addition, the lancers who had been defending were like tigers with wings. They quickly slaughtered the hundred-odd enemies who had reached the wall and then secured the top of the staircase.
Only then did Malek walk, unhurried, toward the still-fierce battle between Tiger Ross and the Wesia Trading Company's Sword Saint. The longsword in his hand shimmered with an unstable golden sword radiance. The Sword Saint panicked. This was now effectively three Golden Knights besieging him. Setting aside the Golden Knight he was currently locked with—a highly skilled swordsman who could fight him to a draw—the Golden Knight archer in the distance posed the greatest threat. Now another Golden Knight had arrived. If he didn't retreat now, he never would...
The Sword Saint's longsword clashed hard against Tiger Ross's heavy blade, which flashed with golden sword radiance, and he used the impact to slide sideways. Sure enough, the instant his entire body was exposed, the resonant twang of a bowstring was heard. Three cold stars were already before his eyes. Impressive Sword Saint! He threw his upper body backward in an instant, and the three whistling arrows grazed his chest as they passed.
The Sword Saint's heart eased. He had long noticed that Jost was gripping three arrows when he drew his bow. Now that all three were spent, the sharpshooter had lost his threat — it would take time to nock and draw again, and he only needed a few brief moments to retreat unscathed...
He straightened up — *pfft*, the sound of something piercing worn leather. The Sword Saint froze. Staring at the feathered arrow shaft buried in his chest, his eyes widened in disbelief. "H-how is this... it's... it's four... four arrows..."
"Holy shit, Jost, why'd you steal the kill right out from under me!" Tiger Ross said with a miserable face.
Jost collapsed onto the snowy rampart, utterly spent. Holding his bow at full draw and aiming for so long had drained him completely — he didn't even have the strength to speak.
Malek swept his longsword, severing the arrow-struck Sword Saint's head from his body. Then he raised his sword and bellowed at the steel crossbows and soldiers who had been hauled up onto the left wall: "Get those steel crossbows over here, now!"
...