Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 150

Chapter 150: Fall of a city Chapter 150: Fall of a city Alpheo’s army surged onto the wall from every direction with relentless force, their elite soldiers, clad in armor, scaling the ladders with the frenzy of men already smelling victory.

They did not need to worry about stones or arrows hitting them, as they had already cleaned the wall from any enemy, further allowing the rest of their comrades to safely access the top of the wall.

Without any dangers, the men below quickly got above with the speed of a dog in heat, already hearing the call of their soon-to-be gold.

The defenders had fought hard, throwing stones, stabbing with spears, and doing everything they could have done to repel the invaders.

But the sight of wave after wave of heavily armored men pouring onto the wall broke their already weak spirit.  A loud crack echoed across the battlements as one of the garrison soldiers fell, his body falling from the wall with a scream.

Another was cut down, his blood spraying against the stone.

One by one, the defenders crumbled.

The sheer weight of Alpheo’s forces overwhelmed them, and panic spread like wildfire through the garrison.

“They’re everywhere!” a soldier screamed, eyes wide as he turned to flee.

The sight of more attackers reaching the wall was too much for the exhausted and terrified defenders.

Chaos erupted.

The garrison, once holding a thin, desperate line, broke completely.

Men threw down their weapons, retreating from the wall in a disorganized rush.

Some stumbled over each other in their haste to escape, while others, barely able to breathe through their fear, simply bolted without looking back, not giving a care for their comrades or what they were protecting.

————– The fighting at the breach was fierce, but neither side was giving ground easily.

The defending soldiers of Confluendi, spears leveled and shields locked together, held their line with a grim strenght .

The stakes set in front of the breach forced the attackers to funnel into narrow gaps, where they were met by a wall of shields and pointed spears, nullyfing any advantage their numbers could have.

The initial charge of Leomar’s infantry, full of vigor and bloodlust, had slowed upon meeting the well-organized defense.

The attackers tried to push through, thrusting with their spears, but the defenders managed to keep them at bay, showing a wall that Leomar’s levy could not overcome.

Maybe if in their place was Alpheo’s army, their equipment could have allowed them to break the status quo, however, they were in a different place, wrapping up the enemy resistance on the wall.  So despite the fierce attempts to break through, neither side suffered heavy losses.

The formations held strong, denying the opportunity for any decisive, large-scale clashes.

After the initial surge of energy and rage propelled by greed, the attackers found themselves struggling to gain ground.

Their initial enthusiasm dulled as the brutal reality of the defenders’ formation and the narrow breach sank in.

Slowly, the rhythm of battle shifted from frantic charges to a grinding standoff, with both sides delivering blows but neither gaining a clear advantage.

Gairos, standing behind his men at the breach, surveyed the battlefield .

As the initial surge of the attacking forces had slowed, his own soldiers continued to hold their line.

The stakes and narrow gaps had worked as intended, forcing the attackers into bottlenecks where they couldn’t bring their full numbers to bear, a common tactics that generals with less numbers always tried to employ.  He allowed himself a moment to think, a flicker of hope stirring in his chest.

Maybe, just maybe, they could actually hold.

The enemy’s enthusiasm had waned.

What had begun as a furious charge had turned into a grinding, indecisive clash.

The attackers couldn’t muster enough force to break through in a single, devastating push.

Then everything took a turn for the worse, with a soldier near Gairos being the deliver of the new.

“ENEMY!

They’re coming from the right!”  The panic in his voice cut through the clamor of battle.

Gairos snapped his head around, his heart pounding in his chest.

His eyes widened as he saw them-hundreds of men charging toward the breach.

They were a terrifying sight, a wall of gleaming steel and iron surging forward,they were not the levy they were fighting but true and well-equipped warriors.

Their weapons were not swords or lances but brutal instruments that only a proper army could have -hammers, maces, and axes raised high, ready to crush and break whatever stood in their path.

For a moment, Gairos felt a cold wave of dread wash over him.

These were no ordinary soldiers-they were the elite, he had seen before while scouting from the walls.

The ground seemed to tremble beneath their approach, the heavy clank of their armor echoing across the battlefield.

“Get ready!

Brace yourselves!” Gairos shouted, his voice hoarse but commanding.

His mind raced, knowing that if these men reached the line without resistance, they would tear through the defenders like paper.

He pointed to a group of soldiers nearby, gripping their spears tightly, their eyes wide with fear.

“You, with me!

We meet them head-on!” Gairos barked, his tone brooking no hesitation as he grabbed some men and pushed them forward , with him leading from the front.

The soldiers, faces pale and tense, moved forming a ragged line alongside him.

Their shields came up, spears pointed forward, trembling hands gripping the shafts.  As the enemy closed in, he drew his sword and raised it high.

“Hold the line!

For your homes, your families-push them back!” And then, with a thunderous crash, the two forces met.

The sharp clang of metal on metal, the sickening thud of hammers smashing into shields, the cries of pain and fury filled the air.

Gairos swung his sword fiercely, blocking a blow from a mace .

All around him, chaos erupted, soldiers grappling in desperate combat.

Gairos knew there could be only one reason for which they were being flanked: the walls had fallen .

He cursed under his breath, fury mixing with disbelief at how quickly his soldiers folded.

The defenders stationed there must have crumbled in mere moments, leaving the breach dangerously exposed.

He clenched his jaw, anger simmering.

There was no time to dwell on it.  Gairos himself led the fight with the madness of a dying man, his sword swinging down on an enemy’s shield, but the strike did little more than make a dull thud.

His soldiers thrust their spears and slashed with swords, but the armor of Alpheo’s men turned the blows aside, leaving only dents and scratches.

The elite soldiers moved like an unstoppable tide, their hammers, maces, and axes cleaving through shields and smashing through helmets with terrifying ease.

One of the defenders, wielding a battered sword, lunged forward at an approaching enemy.

His strike glanced off the side of a heavily armored opponent, useless to say the blade failed to even cause the slightest of damage, leaving only a faint scratch on the chestplate.

Before the defender could recover, the enemy backslapped the soldier using his armored glove before finishing him off with a swing of his mace.

The blow connected with the man’s skull, crumpling the man to the ground with a -thud- as blood poured from the blow.

Another garrison soldier thrust his spear forward, aiming for the faceplate.

The point failed to hit the aimed point between the eyes , just grazing the enemy’s cheek, the man in armor barely flinched.

Snarling in anger, he bashed his shield into the defender’s face, shattering his nose.

The soldier stumbled back, dazed, only to feel the sudden impact of an axe cleaving into his side.

He collapsed, gurgling his last breath as blood soaked the ground.

Gairos’s dazing lasted little as he dove to dodge an hammer’s swing that came dangerously close, then watched in horror as a soldier next to him took a blow to the chest.

The impact sent the man sprawling, his body crumpling like paper.

Another defender screamed as an axe split his shield in two before burying itself in his shoulder.

Blood sprayed the air as more of his men fell under the relentless assault.

The defenders’ weapons were almost useless-swords bounced off the heavy armor, spears glanced off as if striking stone.

The fight was over in less than five minutes.

Gairos felt a sinking pit in his stomach as his soldiers, seeing their comrades slaughtered so easily, began to panic.

The lines broke, and in moments, they were fleeing, casting down their weapons in desperation as they scrambled to escape the overwhelming enemy.

Gairos stood there, blood splattering his armor, manly coming from his soldiers, breath ragged, watching helplessly as the defenders scattered.

The flank had collapsed.

Gairos stumbled through the chaos, desperately shouting for his men to hold the line, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of battle and the cries of the wounded.

He tried to round up the remaining defenders, grabbing soldiers by the shoulders, pulling them back into formation.

“Hold your ground!” he yelled, his voice hoarse and strained.

“We can still push them back!

Fight, damn you!” But it was already too late.

The garrison had begun to break, and panic spread like wildfire.

Soldiers were fleeing, throwing down their weapons as they ran for their lives.

Gairos could feel the momentum slipping away, could see it in the eyes of the men who remained-eyes wide with fear, darting toward the gaps in the line as they searched for escape.

The rout had begun, and there was no stopping it.

“Stand and fight!” he bellowed with tears forming in his eyes , his heart sinking as he saw his command dissolve before him, ignoring completely the battlefield around him.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed from the corner of his vision.

Before he could react, an axe came down on him.

The heavy blade bit deep into the side of his head, splitting his helmet and burying itself into his face.

A sharp, searing pain tore through him, but only for an instant.

His legs buckled, and the world spun around him as he crumpled to the ground, his lifeless body hitting the earth with a dull thud.

Gairos lay still, his hand twitching one final time before the grip of death claimed him.

Yet even with the death of the only man who held the city together, the battle was still going, becoming more and more like a massacre than a clash.

The victorious soldiers surged forward, their weapons dripping with blood as they pursued the fleeing defenders.

Battle cries filled the air, mingling with the terrified shouts of the routed garrison.  One soldier, his face smeared with sweat and dirt, brought his axe down on the back of a retreating man, the blade cleaving through armor and flesh in a single stroke.

Another soldier, wielding a heavy mace, swung it in a wide arc, smashing it into the side of a running man, the sickening crack of bones echoing above the chaos.

No mercy was given; every fleeing soldier was a target.

The rout spread like wildfire.

Soldiers who had been defending the breach saw their comrades fall , saw the flanking forces collapsing, causing panic to overtake them.

Spears and shields were cast aside, swords dropped in haste as men turned and fled, abandoning their posts.

Shouts of “Run!” and “They’re breaking through!” rippled through the ranks, and the defenders, once holding the line with grim determination, now scrambled for their lives.

Some tripped over the bodies of their fallen comrades, desperately clawing at the ground to rise again, only to be cut down by the relentless attackers.

Alpheo and Leomar’s men showed no hesitation, driving their weapons into backs, sides, and legs, sending the remaining soldiers crashing to the earth in bloody heaps.

The breach was no longer a battlefield-it had become a slaughter.

Defenders who had held firm only moments before now scattered in every direction, their will broken.

And as the wave of armored men advanced, the last hope of resistance crumbled into dust, leaving the city open to its conquerors and ripe for the sack that would follow.