Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 512 93: The End (Part 1)

The stronghold on the Southern Highlands, once belonging to the Paratu People, was now eerily silent.

The barbarians learned well, lighting no lamps, building no fires, rendering the attackers unable to discern the wall's layout. Yet they had set fires on the open ground outside the ditch, leaving nowhere to hide.

The Paratu People were determined to recapture the Southern Highlands, and the Herders knew this just as well.

Under the cover of nightfall, a dark undercurrent surged.

A meteor streaked across the sky with a long tail, vanishing in an instant.

"Kill!" A cry of despair from a man echoed from somewhere.

The war drums thundered, the clarions stabbing at everyone's eardrums.

A group of humans leapt from the dark, carrying crude ladders, roaring as they charged at the stronghold: "Uukhai!"

The Northern Highlands fortress flickered red, sporadic gunfire sounding.

But the muskets' range was insufficient to reach from the Northern to the Southern Highlands; the troops there could only bolster their comrades' morale.

Amidst the deafening cries of battle and the drum and horn sounds, the fortress, like a beast lurking in the shadows, remained utterly still.

In the moment the Paratu People crossed the firelight, the beast revealed its vicious fangs.

A series of bowstrings thrummed on the wall, and the Paratu in the lead were consecutively shot down.

The fires were swiftly extinguished, turning everyone in the dark into vague shadows.

Paratu soldiers with shaved heads and red bands tied around their left arms leapt over the bodies of their comrades, shouting as they rushed toward the ditch.

The battle had begun, yet Winters held his position.

He lay on the slope, cocking his head to listen to noises from another battle.

The military police and flagbearer Xial, Heinrich guarding behind Winters, followed by soldiers of two hundred-man cohorts, and farther back, Andre and Mason's troops.

Jeska's battalion was lying in wait two hundred meters from the southeast corner of the fortress, a step further and they would be exposed.

According to the original plan, the Death Camp would feign an attack on the northeast corner first.

Only after the barbarians had their attention diverted would it be Jeska's battalion's turn to act.

The shouts of battle gradually faded—this was normal.

Because once face-to-face combat began, everyone clenched their teeth, pressed their lips together, and not even the shortest curse could be uttered.

Replacing the battle cries were the dull thuds of bludgeons on flesh and the screams of agony.

Winters rubbed the hilt of his sword with his thumb, still nervous, excited, and frightened, but he had learned patience.

Aside from the musketeers, everyone under his command had swapped to single-handed swords and shields, donning all the armor they could find.

The long pikes were of no use in a night battle, and the halberds were no different.

Lieutenant Colonel Jeska approached, bending at the waist.

Winters turned his head and saluted briefly.

The lieutenant colonel gently patted Winters' shoulder and whispered, "Do you see where the cannon is?"

"No... it's fine, it's right there anyway."

In name, the raid on the Southern Highlands fortress was to be commanded by Colonel Laszlo.

However, Colonel Laszlo was currently little more than a walking corpse, and so the battle plan was actually drafted by Lieutenant Colonel Jeska and Lieutenant Colonel Robert.

Both lieutenant colonels agreed that taking the Southern Highlands fortress was an impossible task.

Even if they held it tonight, the Herders could retake it the next day. They could not afford a war of attrition with the forces at hand.

But a change in perspective was possible: the threat of the Southern Highlands fortress lay not in the fortress itself, but in the cannons on the highlands.

Upon capturing the fortress, the White Lion would immediately move the cannons up the highlands and bombard the "Floating Bridge" across the Paratu main camp.

Just during dusk's trials, they sank two pontoons. That was a threat the Paratu could not tolerate.

Conversely, as long as the cannon could be destroyed, it wouldn't matter if the highland fortress fell into barbarian hands.

Right now, what the Paratu needed most was time; just two more days, and the bridge could reach the opposite bank of the river.

The foremost bridge piles were now less than fifty meters from the East Bank; it really was just a little bit more to go.

Someone below the hillside waved a torch, then vanished in the blink of an eye.

This was the prearranged signal; Winters and Lieutenant Colonel Jeska exchanged one last look.

"Move!" Winters commanded in a low voice.

He removed his shield, crouching as low as possible as he approached the ditch.

Xial, carrying five backup weapons, and Heinrich, rolling up the military flag, followed closely behind Winters.

Winters' move was a silent signal; his soldiers emerged in single file from their hiding spots.

In contrast to the Death Camp, Montaigne's troops blew no horns, beat no drums, and shouted no battle cries; they simply strode forward, crouching low.

Over a hundred infantry spread out in two loose lines on the hillside, their footsteps rustling softly.

Still, the wall remained silent.

The quieter it was, the more tightly Winters' nerves wound.

With less than ten meters to the fire, they could no longer conceal their figures.

"Wet blanket!" Winters ordered softly, not looking back as he reached out his hand.

Xial unfurled the wet blanket and, ignoring Winters' request, stepped forward swiftly to smother the fire.

Sounds like nails on a chalkboard came from the wall as bows were drawn.

"Shield up!" Winters dashed to pull Xial behind him, yelling with a spell to amplify his voice, "Watch out for arrows!"

Before the words fell, arrows poured down like rain.

Winters raised his shield to protect his faceplate; three sharp pings resounded, and three arrows were deflected by his shield and breastplate.

It felt like being hit by stones three times, causing no serious harm.

The nearby fires had already been snuffed out.

Winters let out a fierce shout: "Charge!"

No longer needing to skulk, Heinrich unfurled the military flag, and the piercing sound of the charge horn resounded.

"Uukhai!" The Montaigne troops picked up their pace, yelling as they stormed the wall.