Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 149

Chapter 149: Turning point(2) Chapter 149: Turning point(2) Gairos stood atop the crumbling remnants of the city wall of Confluendi, his gaze fixed on the advancing army.

Arrows whistled through the air,Gairos saw some of the arrows hitting targets.

Soon however, the enemy’s volleys came too in relentless waves, making it nearly impossible for his men to return fire without exposing themselves to the hail of deadly projectiles.

Gairos clenched his jaw, frustration simmering beneath the surface as he surveyed the wall where few of his men had already fallen.

He turned to face his soldiers, and what he saw tightened his gut: fear etched across their faces, their eyes wide and uncertain.  “Look at me!” he commanded, his voice firm yet steady.

He stepped closer, locking eyes with each soldier.

“This is our city!

Our home!

We will not let them take it from us without a fight!” Drawing his sword with a smooth motion, Gairos raised the blade high, the sun glinting off its polished surface.

“We will defend it to our last drop!Don’t you have families behind you?What sort of men would you claim to be if you run against those that plan to rape your women and kill your sons?” he shouted, his voice carrying over the din, a battle cry meant to rally their spirits.  A few soldiers, emboldened by his declaration, raised their weapons high, echoing his sentiments.

“For Confluendi!” one shouted, his voice cracking but resolute, and another joined in, fists clenched tight around their swords.

The chant grew, a chant of defiance against the encroaching tide, a reminder that even in fear, they would stand united.

“Hold the line!

And may the Gods be with us !” Gairos commanded, his voice steady and resolute.

The time for fear had passed.

Now, it was time to fight.

The enemy soldiers finally surged through the breach.

The initial momentum of their advance began to falter as they passed through the shattered remnants of Confluendi’s wall.

They could see the stakes rising from the ground, sharpened and deadly, jutting up like the teeth of a great beast ready to swallow them whole.

The stakes promptly made to leave a few gaps through which one or two men could pass through, Gairos decided to make his stand here.

These narrow openings, as he had predicted forced the attackers to funnel into the defenders’ waiting line, making them more vulnerable, slowing their charge as they struggled to maintain order amid the tumult.

The defenders gritted their teeth, shield walls forming with unwavering determination.

Gairos bellowed commands, urging his men forward.

The soldiers with shields moved to the front, locking their bodies together to create a solid barrier, arms raised defensively.  “Hold the line!” Gairos shouted, his voice echoing through the din of battle.

As the enemy clashed with the defenders, two masses of wood clashed with each other .

Shields slammed against shields, grunts of exertion mingled with the cries of those who fell to the ground.

The defenders, brave and resolute, pointed their spears outward, using the sharp tips to keep the enemy at bay, thrusting with precision to ward off the advancing tide when they immediately passed through the stakes..

The enemy struggled to form up, chaos reigning as they found themselves entangled in the spikes.

The sharpened stakes, cunningly positioned, tore at their ranks, preventing them from organizing into an effective formation.

Many soldiers stumbled, some falling to the ground as their comrades pushed forward in a frantic bid for victory.

The result was a jumbled mass of warriors, some yelling for order, while others fought blindly, desperation fueling their attacks.

Amidst the tumult, a fierce melee erupted.

The defenders, knowing their backs were against the wall, fought with a tenacity borne from the will to protect their home.

The soldiers pressed forward, shields clashing, bodies colliding in a chaotic dance of survival.

Each thrust of their spears was met with a corresponding strike from the enemy.

The smell of sweat, blood, and smoke filled the air as the tide of battle ebbed and flowed.

Men shouted and roared, their voices mingling into a cacophony of chaos.

Gairos fought alongside them, his sword flashing as he cut down an enemy soldier who had managed to slip through the shields.  “Push them back!

For Confluendi!” he yelled, feeling the fervor of his words igniting the spirit of his soldiers.

They surged forward, using their shields to create a wall, driving their spears deep into the enemy ranks, forcing the invaders to fight tooth and nail just to gain ground.

The defenders worked in concert, thrusting and parrying, moving as one cohesive unit against the horde before them.  ——— “Go!

Go!

Go!” An officer’s voice cut through the din, sharp and urgent, as he blew his whistle.

Five rows of men, ladders in hand, surged toward the wall.

“You heard the commander-50 silverii to the first man on the wall!” he shouted, stoking the greed of Alpheo’s elite soldiers.

It worked.

The promise of riches ignited a fire in their hearts, and they scrambled up the ladders with the ferocity of wolves on the hunt, as if the glittering coins were already in their grasp.

On the wall, the defenders of Confluendi were already trembling.

Before the breach, the prospect of holding the walls had seemed daunting.

Now, with hundreds of enemy soldiers storming up the ladders like a flood, fear turned to terror.

Gairos had no choice but to divide his forces, stretching them thin.

Half of his men were posted at the breach, while the rest-scattered along the walls-faced the relentless tide.

If the city had a second wall, Gairos would have ordered an immediate retreat.

But Confluendi had no such luxury.

The only fallback was the keep, but it wasn’t large enough to shelter the soldiers and their families.

Ordering a retreat now would mean abandoning wives, children, and loved ones to the invaders-a death sentence.

And for a commander, that would have been amazing if his end goal was to end up with his head rotting on a pike.  The defenders fought desperately.

As the attackers neared the top, stones were hoisted and hurled down with all the strength they could muster.

The heavy rocks crashed onto the soldiers below, shattering bones and cracking skulls.

The air was thick with the sickening thuds of bodies crumpling under the weight of the stones.

Screams mixed with the sound of clashing steel, but the men on the ladders kept coming, driven by greed and ambition.

For every thirty defenders on the wall, there were a hundred attackers clawing their way up.

The garrison was woefully outmatched, their weapons poor-rusted swords, crude clubs, anything they could find, the best soldiers were put ahead of the breachs so they wall were defender by the second-rate warrior of an already weak army.

The soldiers had to do what they coudl with the knowledge that : if just one enemy soldier set foot on top of that wall, the city was as good as lost.

And so they fought like cornered animals, throwing everything they had at the attackers, knowing that defeat meant death not just for them, but for everyone they loved.

Despite their fear, their exhaustion, and the seemingly endless wave of attackers, the defenders held the line.

“MOVE IT, KID!” a grizzled soldier bellowed, hurling a jagged stone down toward the attackers.

His eyes darted to the trembling boy beside him, struggling to lift his own rock.

The boy’s arms wavered under the weight, and when he finally let it fly, it sailed harmlessly past the advancing enemies.

Frustration flared in the veteran’s voice.

“Throw it properly, damn it!” But before he could shout again, a sudden, sharp pain silenced him.

A sword pierced his neck, sliding through flesh as if it were nothing more than soft clay.

The soldier gasped, clutching the wound as blood poured from between his fingers, staining the stone beneath him.

His vision blurred as he dropped to his knees, and in his final moments, he saw what had delivered the killing blow.

Soon an hand grabbed the stonewall and threw himself forward finally falling inside the wall .

Soon , a figure in full armor stood above the dead.

The attacker was clad in chainmail that shimmered in the dim light, with a gleaming breastplate over his chest, iron plates guarding his legs and arms.

A dented but menacing helmet sat atop his head, though it left his face exposed..

He wasn’t just any soldier; this man had the look of one who had tasted victory and wanted more.

The boy stood frozen, wide-eyed as the armored man yanked his sword free from the dying soldier’s throat.

Blood sprayed across the stones as the soldier crumpled, his body twitching in its final moments.

Suddendly the armored soldier deflected a wild swing coming from his right from a rusted sword with a sharp snap of his small wooden shield.

The old blade clanged uselessly against the shield’s rough surface, sending a jarring shock through the attacker’s arm.

Without missing a beat, he countered, his sword flashing .

The blade found its mark, slicing cleanly through the stomach of the unarmored defender that had tried his luck.

For a heartbeat, the man staggered backward, his face twisting into a mask of horror.

His hands fumbled to hold his stomach together, but it was no use.

His viscera spilled out, falling to the blood-soaked stone with a sickening splat.

He collapsed, gasping for air, his eyes wide with disbelief as his life ebbed away.

Nearby, the young boy who had failed to lift his stone stood frozen, his legs trembling as the scene unfolded before him.

His body betrayed him, and warm urine soaked his trousers.

The armored man turned his gaze to the boy.

He raised his sword, and before the boy could even scream, the blade came down with a brutal force.

It cleaved through his collarbone, cutting deep into flesh and bone, and the boy crumpled under the weight of the blow.

His breath came out in a wet gasp, but before he could even register the pain, a rough boot slammed into his chest, sending his broken body tumbling off the wall.

A garrison soldier, breathing heavily and soaked in sweat, spotted an opening as an attacking man in full armor advanced past him.

With a determined thrust, he gripped his spear tightly and aimed for the vulnerable spot on the man’s upper back, just outside the protection of his gleaming chestplate.

The spear struck with a sharp metallic clink but failed to pierce the chainmail, the tip skidding off harmlessly.

The armored soldier cursed in pain as the spear struck his back, the force of the blow jolting through his body despite the chainmail absorbing the worst of it.

Anger flared in his eyes .

With a snarl, he spun around and smashed his shield upward with brutal force, bashing it into the garrison soldier’s chin.

The impact snapped the defender’s head back violently, teeth clacking together, blood spraying from his mouth as he staggered, dazed by the blow.

Then not giving him a moment to recover, followed through with a savage thrust of his sword.

The blade pierced clean through the garrison soldier’s stomach, slipping past the tattered leather and into flesh.

The garrison soldier gasped, eyes wide with shock, as blood gushed from the wound.

His hands instinctively clutched at the sword, trying to pull it free, but the attacker twisted the blade before yanking it out.

The garrison man crumpled to the ground in a heap, his life draining away in seconds with his killer not even giving him any attention as he turned for the next fight , knowing that he had conquered the wall.