Book 3, Chapter 88

An Ambush In The Night

The city walls were lit up so brightly it seemed like day. A group of fully-armed soldiers were guarding each of the ballistae.

The night wind suddenly grew stronger, blowing till the fire at the top of the city walls flickered on and off. The bats in the sky started flying lower and lower, some even entering the camp. A few points of light in Richard’s consciousness were close to their intended positions.

“It’s time.” Richard sent the order calmly, spurring on his warhorse as he guided his followers to make a beeline towards Camp Bluesquare!

The sound of horses galloping was exceptionally loud in the quiet night. The sentinels atop the walls leaned forward and looked outside in bewilderment; the light cavalry was supposed to return to camp after their shift now, why were they running so hastily when there was no alarm? The soldiers on duty behind the wall chuckled and cursed, some vulgar words leading to hoots of laughter.

Groups of warriors stood up in order the moment Richard charged forth, jogging towards the camp. Outside of a few commands, nobody made any sounds in the entire process. The clerics and priests were on either side of the army, hastily blessing every squadron that passed them.

The sentinels atop the city walls were still scanning the surroundings. They finally saw a few fuzzy silhouettes on horseback at the boundaries of their sight; while there were less than ten, these people were not the light cavalry.

The sentinels were startled, even dazed. A veteran who had lived through many sieges could not believe that only these few were planning to attack, immediately realising that there had to be more enemies in the shadows. He charged to the tower bell without telling any of his comrades, pulling at the rope with all his might. The powerful chime of the bell resounded throughout the camp!

The broodmother’s drones were already nearby, quickly closing in on the camp’s walls. At six metres tall, these structures may pose an obstruction to regular warriors but they were no different from flat land to powerhouses.

Richard spurred his horse on, covering the last stretch in the blink of an eye. He quickly entered the range of the archers, but less than half of those atop the wall could even manage to find their bows, draw, and shoot in time. Only a dozen or so arrows flew out in the first volley, barely adequate whether in terms of power or accuracy. Not one hit Richard’s party or their horses, not even disturbing their charge.

A faint figure suddenly appeared next to Richard, moving much faster than his horse. It had already darted to the walls in an instant, walking up to the top in one go. Sword lights flashed, and all the archers who had reached their positions in a hurry cried out as they were pushed off the walls!

This was saint swordsman Rolf!

However, a Faelor saint was not a Norland saint. Once besieged by enemy troops, they were likely to die in regret. Norland’s saints were level 18, comparable to country guardians in Faelor. On top of that, which saint in Norland did not have at least a few runes on them? Only they had the power to take on tens of thousands of troops alone.

While Rolf was conducting a massacre atop the city walls, Richard had covered the last hundred metres. A pull of the reins evoked a lengthy neigh from his warhorse as it changed directions, now moving diagonally to the front gates.

On horseback, Richard brandished the Twin of Destiny to shoot out five fireballs in succession. Each spell landed in a precise position, exactly fifteen metres away from the last. With the boost from the staff, even these regular fireballs were quite powerful. Waves of fire covered the entire guard tower in an instant, with even Rolf drowned within!

This volley had covered an enormous area, but Richard knew its effects were limited. Rolf was protected by his saint-level energy, and Kellac had cast a magic resistance spell on him before the assault. The damage from the spells was minuscule; even the guards of Camp Bluesquare had experienced enough battles to react appropriately. They dropped to the ground the moment they saw the fireballs being launched, protecting their vulnerable heads. Thus, when the wave of heat passed, only those who were too close to the impacts had suffered any real damage.

However, this salvo had only been meant to gain time for the troops behind him. While the warriors at the top of the walls were busy, 200 throwers had already charged within twenty metres of the city!

“Rolf! Get away from the top!” Richard’s voice rang out, amplified with magic.

The saint’s sword was flashing around like the wind, every move sending blood flying as he killed to his heart’s content. All the ordinary soldiers atop the wall were forced to lie on their stomachs by the fireball, and now they were hastily trying to crawl up. For someone who took pride in his speed and technique, with the War Construct spell supporting him as well, they were basically sitting ducks.

A dozen men had died under his sword in an instant. Hence, a hint of hesitation appeared in his eyes when he heard Richard’s warning. He didn’t leave immediately, instead cutting off the head of another soldier with the back of his hand. He thought Richard was likely just going to bombard the top of the wall again, but with two divine spells on him even grade 6 spells he could resist at least one wave of.

Even as he was hesitating, a feeling of extreme danger suddenly assaulted him. His expression changed instantly, his ears trembling as he heard an extremely sharp whistle rapidly growing closer. He didn’t think for another moment, yelling as he flipped off the wall and into the camp.

*CRASH!* While still in the air, Rolf heard loud clunks on the wall. Everything suddenly went completely quiet, even the miserable cries silenced. The top of the walls had grown deathly still.

*Thud!* A booming sound finally broke the silence as the wooden guard tower abruptly collapsed.

The saint swordsman felt his throat go dry. What kind of attack could cause such a thing? This was a ruthless massacre!

Hurried sounds of flapping rang out in the sky and a huge bat flitted across the wall. “Stay close to the walls,” Richard’s voice sounded once more.

This time, he listened. Rolf pressed close to the city gate, ignoring the more than a hundred enemy warriors that were charging him at the same time. Another sharp whistle left his heart thumping in fear, the flying axes landing right amongst the troops defending behind the city gates. These bone axes that were the same size as hatchets had incredible power, even splitting some unlucky warriors apart. The closest axe had landed only five metres away from the city gates, the sharp wind causing Rolf’s hair to fly!

He suddenly felt his scalp go numb. The hundred bloodthirsty warriors had been in front of him a moment ago, but now less than half of them could still stand after a wave.

Io rushed beneath the city as well, fluidly dismounting from his horse. He crossed his hands in front of his chest the moment he found his bearings, assuming a pious stance as though he were in a shrine and starting to chant prayers. His singing voice rang with incantation after incantation, divine spells buffing the humanoids who were charging over.

The first batch of warriors had heavy steel lances in their hands. They threw these weapons towards the camp walls with a shout, embedding them deep into the structure leaving only a short section poking out. The lances thrown by two rows of warriors formed two rows of stairs that one could take to the top of the walls.

Gangdor, fully armoured and axe in hand, yelled as he rushed towards the walls. He charged over the top of the walls with the help of these new footholds, jumping into the camp on the other side. The ground shook slightly; he had landed on two feet. His signature bloodthirsty yell then resonated throughout the night sky!

Following Gangdor were five rows of humanoids with one-handed axes. With their level 9 strength, they faced no difficulty in using the footholds to get past the city walls that were only six metres tall.

The rest of the warriors behind the gates were killed in a few breaths, following which the gate to Camp Bluesquare was slowly pushed open.

All this had happened blazingly fast. While the alarm bell’s chime was still resonating in the sky, the gates of the camp had already been broken through by Richard’s thunderous methods. The warriors in the camp had only now darted out of their barracks, not even gathered into their formations.

Deep inside the camp, a powerful aura suddenly soared as a rough roar rang out, “Who is it that seeks death?!”

This roar alone was proof enough that this was a saint! A tall, sturdy man bathed in fire immediately rushed towards the city walls with big strides. He wielded a large steel spear, the speartip similarly blazing with fiery energy. He fixed his eyes on Rolf who was atop the walls hundreds of metres away, eyes narrowing as he bellowed once more, “You shameless thing, what are you doing there with ordinary warriors? Get your ass over here and let me cut you up, you spineless bastard!”

Rolf’s face flashed with anger. This saint was stable at level 17, but he remained unafraid as he stepped out of the masses, dragging his sword on the floor. The tip produced numerous sparks.

The two saints rapidly drew close, but moments before they were about to clash Rolf suddenly showed a malicious grin. He took an exquisite scroll out of his pocket, quietly reading something out. The scroll suddenly produced an eye-catching lustre that enveloped the swordsman in his entirety.

The burly spearman was shocked, placing all his attention on Rolf. Temporarily blinded by the unexpected glimmer, he took two steps backwards and placed his lance across his body. The flames around him flickered as his energy radiated outwards; Rolf did not rival him, for the swordsman to act so assured evidently meant he was relying on this scroll.

The powerful light disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving Rolf enveloped in shining armour that radiated a divine might. The sword in his hands had disappeared, replaced by a giant two-handed sword completely made of dark gold light. The blade had countless divine characters flowing across it.

The grin still on his face, Rolf flicked his wrists. The giant blade was quick as lightning, slashing downwards.

The opposing saint quickly retreated, the steel spear in his hand quickly meeting the attack. Sword and spear clanged, letting sparks fly loose. The burly man’s arms trembled, the power of this giant sword was so immense it was strange. This was definitely not a strength that Rolf could possess. The man was unable to repel it completely, forced back a few steps before he could regain his foothold.

The burly man seemed overwhelmed. He then shot a glance at the giant sword in Rolf’s hands, suddenly shouting in alarm, “A divine weapon!”

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