146: Siege

Chapter 145: Siege

Arthur's prophecy had indeed come true.

As night fell, the Undead arrived.

Their advance was utterly disorderly.

Under the moonlight, one could only see bodies emerging from the darkness, stumbling along, their broken forms mechanically moving forward.

They swarmed out from the north, gathering towards the city gate, muttering to themselves, their dry, fleshless fingers incessantly rubbing their weapons.

Empty banners, a dirty white with no patterns, swayed above their heads.

Vanka stood on the city wall, gripping the sword Arthur had given her.

The impact of Arthur's selfless act, his willingness to die to awaken a deity, had not yet completely faded.

Facing such a massive army of Undead, she felt no fear in her heart.

On the contrary, she yearned for battle, eager to send these monsters back to their graves, to make them pay.

Because it was these very creatures that had forced Arthur to make such a desperate choice.

Their numbers were impossible to estimate.

Row upon row of ceaseless corpses, forming uneven ranks, slowly encroached upon the ruins, crushing the broken vegetation underfoot.

It was then that Vanka realized why Mist Town was shrouded in despair.

She began to understand that the specters the convoy had encountered earlier were merely a small fraction of this vast enemy force.

The horde of specters before her was larger than any group she had ever seen, living or dead.

It seemed endless, stretching from left to right across a vast area, a continuous procession of shambling corpses and skeletons.

In the pitch-black night, this horde of specters looked like a swarm of pale-backed insects, advancing methodically in near-silence.

Jessica was already standing on the city wall, looking down at the activity by the city gate.

Beside him stood more than twenty armored soldiers, and the large man known as "Dumbass."

He had somehow convinced the big man to join the fight.

Every inch of Mist Town's city wall was occupied by defenders, all nervously staring into the darkness.

Vanka stood thirty yards to the left of the city wall, flanked by Mountain People holding weapons.

To her left was Moonbrook, and to her right was Derek, with his dark circles and chapped lips.

Neither of them wore armor, holding only short swords.

Moonbrook and Derek were not considered combatants.

Moonbrook was an herbalist apprentice, and Derek was a scholar.

Their main responsibility was to rescue the wounded on the battlefield and transport them to the field hospital below the city wall.

Rowan and Kaelan, also Mountain People, would assist them in their work.

Among the Mountain People, only Flora was a true combatant.

At this moment, she stood nearby, her fists clenched, and Vanka could see the same anger on her face as in herself.

"They're here," Derek said, wiping his sweaty hands on his clothes.

"I hope everything goes well for Saint Arthur," Moonbrook added.

Vanka stared intently at the approaching enemy.

She hadn't seen Arthur in a while.

Not since he said he would enter a deity's dream through death.

She hadn't seen him since.

Not since he placed his sword in her hand.

She hadn't seen him since.

Thinking of this, a hint of loss stirred in Vanka's heart.

Arthur had always treated her as a mere child.

Believing she couldn't comprehend the complexity of what he—a follower of Mother Earth—was doing.

So, she intended to prove him wrong.

Initially, when she proposed to Jessica and the others that she participate in defending the city wall, everyone thought she was joking.

It wasn't until she cleanly severed two training dummies with her sword that Jessica changed his mind.

"I'll prove it to you," Vanka's voice held a trace of annoyance. "If you can die to protect this place, then so can I."

These past days, besides learning to read, she, like everyone else in the Pioneer Group, had been diligently practicing combat skills.

Sariya taught her swordsmanship.

The Tiefling warrior was a tough character, merciless and even harsh in her teaching, but Vanka felt it was all worth it.

The first wave of Undead had reached the foot of the city wall.

They crawled forward at their own inherent pace, steady, neither speeding up nor slowing down.

When they reached the edge of the ditch, these creatures plunged down without hesitation.

Then they began to climb, using the bodies of other Undead to clamber out of the ditch.

Upon reaching the wooden wall, their bony, rattling hands stretched upwards, clawing firmly onto the wood, dragging their gaunt bodies as they struggled to climb.

A horn sounded from Jessica's command post.

The soldiers immediately leaned over the edge of the city wall and began to hurl stones at the attackers.

Where they aimed, the climbing Undead had their skulls and muscles shattered, falling back to the ground with faint, sharp screams.

Soon, more and more stones rained down from the city wall, crushing the bones of the Undead and tearing their dry flesh.

Then they hit the mud below with a "thud."

Many specters were repelled by this storm of stones, but some still stubbornly climbed upwards.

Even as their companions around them were smashed to pieces, they showed no signs of retreat.

Not a single attacker slowed down—they advanced relentlessly, step by step, crawling ever upwards.

A second horn sounded from the gatehouse.

The boiling oil in the cauldrons, still burning, was poured down from the edge of the city wall, the hot, viscous liquid cascading down and slamming onto the climbers.

If it were a mortal army, they would have been swept away by this torrent, screaming in agony.

But the specters continued to advance, even though they were soaked in oil and slippery, they still scrambled to climb, intent on reaching the city wall.

The soldiers pouring oil retreated from the city wall's edge after completing their task.

Archers took their place.

Each had a long arrow nocked on their bow, the arrowhead wrapped in a piece of wet cloth soaked in a flammable mixture, flames burning brightly on it.

The archers leaned over the edge of the city wall, aiming their arrows at the oiled areas.

They fired in unison, the arrows streaking through the darkness like sparks leaping from a bonfire.

As the arrows struck, vivid flames erupted with a series of crackling explosions.

Even the emotionless specters let out shrill screams.

Their piercing, high-pitched wails made the defenders' teeth ache.

The burning corpses scattered in disarray; some fell directly to the ground, while others stumbled away from the city wall, spreading more flames and chaos.

By this time, Mist Town's city wall was completely surrounded.

More oil fires ignited, casting shadows illuminated by the flames onto the city wall.

Thick black smoke began to billow upwards, obscuring everyone's vision, and a acrid, choking smell permeated the air.

Even so, more specters crawled laboriously through the twisted fragments of bone on the ground.

They showed no regard for the deaths of their companions, their minds focused only on the city wall and the living beings upon it.

A third horn echoed across the defenses, and the archers withdrew.

Soldiers armed with halberds, swords, and axes replaced them, taking positions at the edge of the city wall.

These soldiers were met by a few specters—who had somehow managed to climb to the top of the city wall through the rain of stones and fire.

As the foremost climbers were cut down, the parapet echoed with the dense clang of a blacksmith's anvil.

The Undead tumbled through the air, ultimately falling into the increasingly thick pile of corpses below.

The fire, though it weakened the first assault, failed to stop them completely.