thefictionvixens Chapter 109 Every Bush and Tree Seems Like an Enemy
Chapter 109 Every Bush and Tree Seems Like an Enemy
Chapter 109 Every Bush and Tree Seems Like an Enemy
The gates of Westeros were typically made of wood and reinforced with iron bars.
Wildfires, however, will find a way to spread out of any crack or crevice.
It can seep into every crevice of the wood, burning the structure of the door from the inside, and it can also adhere to iron bars, heating them red-hot with high temperatures.
But it also obeys gravity.
After being splashed onto the city gate, it will slowly flow down.
Therefore, the upper part of the gate is much more complete than the lower part.
Several twisted iron bars lay across the doorway, deformed from the heat, crookedly wedged there, barely serving as an obstacle.
Fortunately, the defending troops abandoned the area completely after the first city wall was breached, so the allied forces did not have to worry about spears suddenly emerging from the killing hole or a can of boiling oil being smashed over their heads.
A generous reward will always attract brave men.
A slender soldier took a deep breath and squeezed sideways through the gap in the iron bars.
The clothes brushed against the still-warm iron bar, and a wisp of smoke immediately rose from it.
He ignored it, took the sledgehammer handed to him from behind, and touched the hinges and the door.
Once, twice.
The scrapped iron parts shattered instantly.
The dilapidated city gate was pulled open, revealing the scene behind it.
The stone path was burned to pieces, the roots of shrubs were twisted and stuck in the mud, and gray embers were mixed in with the turned soil.
For thousands of years, countless young boys and girls have probably played and frolicked here.
They chased each other among the flower walls and whispered secrets under the shade of the trees.
But now, the plant maze has been completely reduced to scorched earth, and the air is filled with a pungent, burnt smell.
The remaining city gates were also opened from the inside by the allied forces, and the outer defenses of Gaoting were completely destroyed.
All three thousand defenders were crammed inside the second city wall.
The second wall is only a little over ten meters high, which is considered low compared to those absurdly magnificent castles.
The pavilion was built on a hill, and each wall was higher and thicker than the one before it. The distance of more than 100 meters between the two walls was a gentle slope that rose upwards.
This means that when shooting arrows from the second city wall, there is a drop of twenty meters between the wall and the outer wall at the foot of the mountain.
They were still at a disadvantage in a shootout.
Advancing forward still depends on the flesh and blood of the infantry.
That's roughly the current situation.
Joffrey sat in his headquarters on the north bank of the Mandeb River, looking at the battle reports delivered by messengers.
Some victories are won with swords and spears, while others are won with pen and paper and crows.
So he had a lot of false information spread.
The army outside the city has been completely annihilated. Renly has abandoned you and has no intention of providing any assistance.
He is now trapped in the West and unable to help himself; I heard he has already died in Lannesport.
Then release a few prisoners who are well-fed and well-treated, and let them say that King Joffrey is benevolent and loves his people.
If you surrender voluntarily, we might spare your lives.
Those who stubbornly resist will meet the same fate as that city gate.
Of course, someone has to play the bad cop.
Count Riverley shouted all day long, saying that if they waited any longer, he would burn the whole city to ashes with wildfire.
Moreover, Sir Barristan has captured the remaining forces of Stormlands, clashed with them, and won a great victory.
You're finished!
Stormlands, the edge of the Royal Forest.
As dawn approached, the morning mist clung to the ground, swallowing the distant treetops into a blurry gray shadow.
Sir Dermot crouched behind the bushes, using the tip of his sword to part the branches in front of him. Dew dripped from the tips of the leaves, landing on the back of his hand, icy cold.
Behind them, more than two hundred people lay prone in the grass, their soft breathing audible.
I don't know if it's from the cold or from fear.
The sentry emerged from the fog, his chest heaving.
"Sir, the grain convoy has arrived. There are three hundred men, but more than two hundred of them are laborers."
Someone whispered behind him, "Less than a hundred guards? This is a real fat sheep!"
Dermot weighed the matter repeatedly in his mind.
Lanli took all the main force with him, leaving only 10,000 men to maneuver around Stormlands.
But after so long, the lords have been unable to elect a strong commander, and the enemy is the infamous Barristan.
As a result, they were chased and fought their way out.
The army was utterly destroyed, and everyone retreated back to their castles.
However, this group of people got separated and, not wanting to become prisoners, hid in the Royal Forest and started a business as bandits.
A person can't die from holding in their pee; they always have to find a way to survive.
"My lord." The crowd was still waiting for his orders.
Dermot stood up, his knee cracking with a sound.
He glanced back at his brothers.
Their eyes were bloodshot, filled with hunger and the fierce determination of someone cornered.
"Wait until the convoy enters the woods, then await my command."
The fog is getting thicker.
The rumble of wheels rolling over the muddy road suggested an abundance of supplies.
A horse-drawn cart came into view, piled high with sacks.
The driver was an old man, his neck hunched, his face blank. Two soldiers carrying spears walked beside him, yawning, the spear tips pointing crookedly at the sky.
The convoy stretched out for over a hundred paces.
The escorting soldiers were scattered sparsely on both sides of the convoy, their armor in disarray, some without even helmets.
There was only one fully armed knight among them, but his robe had no coat of arms.
I suppose he's just like me, a hired knight who sells his life for money.
The first few cars drove past Dermot, their wheels splashing black water as they rolled over mud puddles.
He can smell food.
Bread, corned beef, and a hint of wine.
The middle section of the convoy entered the ambush zone.
Dermot stood up and drew his sword.
"Pour it on!"
More than two hundred people burst out of the bushes, their shouts tearing through the morning mist.
Dermot ran in a position that was neither too far forward nor too far back; he had done this job many times and was quite experienced.
By the time they arrived, the battle was already in complete chaos.
He spotted a soldier carrying a spear who was fighting with one of his men.
So Dermot went behind him, gripped his sword with both hands, and slashed down fiercely.
The sword blade sliced through the thin cloth, making a crisp sound.
The feel is off.
It didn't hit the flesh smoothly at all; instead, it felt like—
The fabric fluttered away, revealing the fine chainmail underneath.
This seemingly dull-witted soldier quickly swept Dermot's men to the ground and then pierced their chests with a spear.
He turned around, a fierce glint in his eyes.
The laborers did not scatter and flee as usual. As if they had rehearsed countless times, they opened their cloth bags, took out crossbows, and skillfully and calmly nocked them amidst the chaos of battle.
Arrows pierced the air, accompanied by screams of agony.
Dermot turned and ran.
"Retreat! Retreat now!" he shouted hoarsely.
This is not a grain transport team.
This is a trap.
Suddenly, Dermot was struck hard on the back. The excruciating pain caused him to stagger and fall to the ground. His sword flew out of his hand and landed in the mud a few steps away.
A boot stepped on his back.
Dermot turned his head and saw the knight without insignia remove his helmet, revealing a fiery red beard. "Hey, an old acquaintance," Red Roland said.