A Desperate Atmosphere

Just as Harald was frowning and racking his brains for a way out, a slightly thin figure wearing Sauron Army's uniform but with distinct Goldspur features silently approached him.

"Great Chieftain, Corps Commander the Asgeir Legion," the newcomer bowed respectfully.

Harald turned his head and his expression softened slightly. "Leon, you've come."

This man is Leon, the former garrison commander of Old Osric Fortress.

During the sack of Heinrich XI for three years, he was forced to surrender to the Sauron vanguard when he ran out of ammunition and food and had no hope of reinforcements.

Unlike most of the surrendered generals who were left idle, Harald had just inherited the leadership and was in dire need of talent, valued his abilities and familiarity with the defenses of Broomflower. He treated him with great courtesy, not only sparing his life but also granting him considerable status and trust.

This act of kindness led Leon to wholeheartedly pledge allegiance to Sauron, becoming an important advisor to Harald. He devised strategies for Harald during the various invasions to the south, and showed no mercy when dealing with his own people.

"Leon, you saw it?" Harald pointed to the banners and heads on the city wall, his tone heavy. "Friedrich's move is very troublesome."

Leon raised his head, gazing at the provocative banner atop the city wall. A complex and unfathomable light flashed in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a chilling glint.

He bowed slightly and said in a low voice, "Great Chieftain, Friedrich's move, while seemingly clever, has actually exposed his weakness. He is eager to replenish his troops and stabilize the internal situation, and may even... the morale of the garrison in the city is not monolithic."

Upon hearing this, Harald and Asgeir both narrowed their eyes, Asgeir asked urgently, "What's your plan?"

Leon's lips curled into a sinister smile, "Great Chieftain, when we attack the city tomorrow, we can select a few hundred of the captured Broomflower soldiers and dress them in the Broomflower uniforms and armor we seized."

He paused, lowering his voice even further. "Then, have our most elite assassins change into the same clothes and blend in with these slaves."

"At dawn tomorrow, we will drive these 'surrendered soldiers' toward the gates of Old Osric Fortress, making them cry and beg for refuge, claiming it was a mutiny on the battlefield and that they have come to join Lord Friedrich."

A glint flashed in Harald's eyes, as if he had grasped something.

Leon continued, "When the garrison sees a large number of their compatriots coming to surrender, and it's an uprising on the battlefield, according to the policy Friedrich has promoted, they are very likely to open the gates and let them in."

"As soon as the city gates open... the assassins hidden among the crowd will immediately launch an attack, seize the gates, and create chaos! At that time, our army will seize the opportunity to launch a surprise attack, working together from within and without, Old Osric Fortress will surely fall!"

"Brilliant!" Asgeir couldn't help but clap his hands in approval. "What if they see through our disguise, refuse to open the door, or even shoot these surrendered soldiers with arrows?"

Leon gave a sinister smile, "That would be even better! If Friedrich orders the shooting of these compatriots who come to surrender, then the banner he hung on the city wall will become a huge joke!"

"What 'treating prisoners well' and 'forgiving past transgressions'? It's all a bunch of lies! This will not only chill the hearts of the garrison inside the city who might be wavering, but it will also let all the surrendered soldiers of the Broomflower Plantation outside the city see through their hypocrisy and cruelty. On the contrary, it will inspire our army's sense of shared hatred for the enemy! Whether they open the gate or not, we are invincible!"

After hearing Leon's plan, Harald's tense face finally broke into a smile.

He patted Leon on the shoulder and praised, "Good! What a brilliant plan! It kills two birds with one stone! Do as you say! Asgeir, go and prepare immediately! You will be in charge of selecting slaves and assassins. Make sure it's done secretly, and don't let the guards notice anything amiss!"

"Yes, brother!" Asgeir excitedly accepted the order and left.

Harald looked at Old Osric Fortress again, his eyes filled with icy killing intent and unwavering confidence.

"Friedrich... we'll see how you handle this tomorrow!"

The atmosphere was somber inside the temporary command post of Old Osric Fortress.

The flickering candlelight illuminated tired, anxious faces tinged with despair.

Several officers, still covered in blood and soot, were taking turns reporting the situation to Friedrich, who was standing in front of the map, their voices hoarse.

"My lord, the garrison on the eastern city wall originally numbered 320. Of these, 47 were killed in action, 63 were seriously wounded and rendered incapable of fighting, and nearly 100 were lightly wounded but still able to fight... Now, fewer than 200 men are able to stand and hold a gun..."

"My lord, the western arrow tower and its auxiliary defensive line, originally defended by 280 men, have suffered more than half their casualties after the Sauron's focused and fierce attack... their arrows are almost exhausted, and their Rolling Stone and Logs are also depleted..."

"Sir, the North Gate garrison..."

"Sir, the brothers responsible for patrolling the city and the reserve forces have all filled the gaps in the city wall. Now... now there are really no more troops to spare!"

Hearing this series of alarming figures, Friedrich frowned.

His gaze swept across the castle marker on the map, tightly surrounded by red arrows. He knew that after days of fierce fighting, the castle's garrison was on the verge of exhaustion.

Roughly speaking, there are probably fewer than a thousand soldiers still capable of fighting.

Outside the city, Harald's army still stretched as far as the eye could see.

"Soldiers..." Friedrich muttered to himself, then looked up sharply at the clerk in charge of logistics and civil administration. "Immediately conscript able-bodied civilians from within the city! All men capable of taking up arms shall be incorporated into the Auxiliary Troop to assist in the defense of the city! Tell them that the Sauron have sent a letter, that they will not accept surrender, and that the day the city falls will be the day of the massacre."

A sense of stagnation and despair permeated the air. Friedrich's order was like a boulder thrown into still water, creating only a ripple of helplessness.

The officers exchanged glances, none of them responding immediately; their faces reflected a mixture of exhaustion, fear, and a profound sense of powerlessness.

The scene of the loyalist army being easily crushed on the plains outside the city was like a cold brand, deeply etched in the minds of every officer.

That was not just the loss of 50,000 lives, but also the collapse of their last remaining belief that had held them there.

They endured hunger, thirst, injury, and relentless attacks because they firmly believed that the kingdom's banner would one day fly high over this land again, and that the horns of reinforcements would dispel the smoke signals of the Sauron.

But now, all hope has been shattered.

They became a truly isolated city and an isolated army, cut off from all contact with the outside world, and their only fate seemed to have been predetermined.

In their eyes, Friedrich's act of hanging up the enemy's head and enraging Harald was undoubtedly cutting off the last possible lifeline, even if it was humiliating.

The Sauron will not accept surrender. After the city falls, a merciless massacre awaits everyone.

Friedrich made this very clear, and they were well aware of it as well.

A complex emotion spread through the silence, a hint of resentment towards Friedrich's ruthless methods, but more so a sense of resigned dejection.

With no way out and the illusion of survival shattered, the remaining choices are simple: either die quickly in battle or be brutally murdered after the city falls.

For these aristocratic officers who still retained a shred of honor, the former seemed to be a slightly more respectable choice.

"... Yes, Sir Knight." Finally, a senior officer answered in a hoarse voice, breaking the suffocating silence.

He gave a somewhat stiff military salute, and the other officers followed suit, their movements slow and deliberate, like puppets on strings.

No one raised any further objections, nor did anyone make any impassioned speeches; there was only a lifeless acceptance.

Their departing figures from the command post appeared unusually somber and desolate.

Perhaps, at this moment, what they are thinking about is no longer victory, but how to die like a true knight in the inevitable end, and perhaps leave a tragic name in the annals of the kingdom that may never exist again.

The command center doors slowly closed, shutting out all the noise from the outside world.

In the flickering candlelight, only Friedrich remained, sitting alone at the end of the long table.

The toughness and determination he displayed when facing the crowd had faded from his face, replaced by a deep weariness etched between his brows.

He leaned back in the cold stone chair, staring blankly at the city defense map on the table that he knew by heart.

He knew he had pushed everyone to their doom, including himself.

He didn't expect a miracle, nor did he believe there was any chance of a turnaround.

All he could do was use this last bit of time to organize the most effective resistance possible, so that when the final moment came, the castle and everyone inside could take as many Sauron as possible with them to their deaths.

Outside the window, the faint sound of the clerk's trembling summons could be heard, followed by a commotion filled with fear and weeping.

Friedrich closed his eyes, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table.

He was waiting, waiting for Harald's all-out attack, waiting for the gate of destiny that was destined to open with a roar.

In the command post, only his lonely breathing and the faint crackling of the burning candlelight remained.