Below the slope, shouts echoed everywhere, and the surrounding woods were filled with soldiers. The situation looked grim.
"King Grant must have anticipated this. All we need to do is hold our ground."
Charles Grant said, and Louis Yu nodded.
On the outer perimeter stood a long row of wooden spikes driven into the ground, secured with ropes and mud. On either side, Charles Grant had previously ordered additional slanted spikes to be set up. The main gate was less than five meters wide, and the slope stretched about a hundred meters, steep and uneven—making any assault difficult.
Behind the wooden barricade was a raised platform wide enough for three people to stand side by side. It stretched for a long distance, accommodating up to 300 soldiers. At Charles Grant's command, many archers were already stationed on the platform, bows in hand.
In the distance, Thomas Tang's face was dark with anger as he shouted.
"The reason our eleven northern tribes are so scattered is because we cannot unite. Under the Grant Family's rule, things have only gotten worse. If we turn our blades against each other now, more blood will be shed, and in the end, only the Grant Family will benefit. Charles Grant, think carefully—Grant Family never forgives those who have betrayed them."
"Save your breath, Thomas Tang. My brother was killed by men you sent—how do you expect me to settle that debt?"
Charles Grant shouted back.
"Charles, it was just an accident. We only wanted to keep the news from reaching Grant City, so we tried to capture Quentin Grant, but he fought back fiercely, and things went wrong. Now Grant Domain has decided to send soldiers and supplies—we finally have the strength to stand against the Grant Family."
The front end of the frame was covered with lightweight animal bones, wrapped in hides, so it could withstand a certain amount of attack. Hard bone spikes were hammered in all over to fasten it, making the structure quite sturdy.
It was getting closer and closer; the frame had already reached halfway up the mountain. The maximum range of their bows couldn't reach that far, and even if the arrows did, their force would be weakened.
One by one, soldiers brought firewood up onto the frame, lighting pots of fire in turtle shells. Then they smeared flammable grease onto the arrowheads.
As soon as the frame got close enough, they would immediately fire flaming arrows.
Now, the soldiers at the bottom, shields raised, were coming up one after another. Charles noticed that one of the frames was moving much slower than the others, but he didn’t think much of it. He watched the three advancing frames intently. Shield-bearers had surrounded the frames, and more archers appeared behind them.
Arrows tipped with flames were already nocked and ready.
"Fire!"
Charles shouted, and instantly, flaming arrows rained down, aiming for the frames. The hides covering the first two frames caught fire almost immediately.
Shouts rose from below as some of the attacking soldiers were struck by arrows.
But the frames kept moving forward. Soldiers flanked them, charging up the sides. Archers mixed in among them, firing upward—soldiers kept falling back, arrows lodged in their bodies.
"Aim for those charging soldiers!"
Louis Yu shouted, firing arrows from the watchtower himself. Charles was shocked—he sensed something was wrong. The area before the gate was a flat stretch; one frame's skeleton was exposed. Wounded soldiers were dragged aside and quickly replaced.
The rear frame was still slow, and its burning rate surprised Charles. Fresh plants inside produced thick smoke, obscuring vision. Their soldiers were dwindling, despite constant reinforcements. Charles shouted desperately.
Several soldiers handed thick wooden sticks to those on the platform. One frame reached the gate, and soldiers used the sticks to brace it as attackers began to climb.
Soldiers on either side of the platform readied wooden clubs for the enemy. The third frame rolled up to the main gate, its surface bulging under the hides. Charles panicked, shouting as smoke blocked his view.
"Pile everything behind the gate—quickly! Stones! There are stones hidden in that frame!"
There was no time for Charles to think. All able villagers and soldiers gathered, then—bang!—a violent jolt shook him.
A stone was suspended inside the frame. Soldiers pushed together, smashing it against the gate. The rope-secured gate would be easily broken.
"Louis!"
Charles cried out as an arrow struck Louis Yu above the chest. He grabbed Louis, ordering soldiers to carry him down from the watchtower.
Chaos reigned. Enemies climbed up the frames, clashing with defenders on the platform—outnumbering them.
Charles screamed himself hoarse as the gate was battered again and again. Soldiers piled stones, wood—anything—behind it. With a final crash, the ropes snapped and the gate burst open.
Arrows shot through the gap in the broken gate, felling those still moving debris.
"Everyone off the frames—prepare to meet the enemy!"
Charles shouted, drew his sharp bone sword, and slid down the watchtower. Another crash—the gate was open.
Chaos erupted as enemies poured into the fortress. Charles rushed forward. Despite having only one arm, he stabbed his bone sword into an enemy's throat and retreated. The gate was wide open.
The village defenses were burning. More enemies surged in. Charles ordered everyone to retreat and rebuild defenses inside the village.
All three frames and the village walls were ablaze.
Subsequent enemies couldn't get through the gate, buying Charles valuable time.
"Wipe out the enemies inside the village!"
Led by Charles's screams, he charged ahead. Soon, the enemies inside the village fell. The blazing fire blocked the gate, but it wouldn't last long—by tomorrow, the enemy would break through. The last rays of the setting sun stained the sky red.
Charles stood quietly in front of a house, watching the crackling flames consume the village walls. Groans filled the air—many soldiers were wounded. Their numbers had dwindled; at least a thousand were incapacitated.
Those still able to fight used the village layout to build defenses. Their only chance was to shoot arrows as the enemy entered, whittling down their numbers.
"Don't panic, everyone. Don't panic."
Charles shouted, climbing onto a rooftop and surveying the crying crowd.
"We will win. Everyone able to move—take up arms. Tomorrow's dawn will be our final battle. We must survive. Drought and cold have tormented us, but we endured. Now, fight with me—we must survive."
Charles shouted, and gradually, everyone who could move—men, women, and children—rose to action.