The Final Battle

Carnford, Lord's Castle Main Hall.

The hall, once a symbol of order and majesty, is now a scene of utter chaos.

The dome had been ripped open by the burning boulders launched by the catapult yesterday, leaving a gaping hole. The winter wind, mixed with fine snow, poured in without hindrance, scattering the last bit of warmth from the fireplace.

Broken stones, broken oak beams, torn tapestries, and scattered documents, mixed with dust, covered the carpet.

The air was thick with the smells of gunpowder, burnt metal, and cold air.

Karl von Schmidt sat alone, quietly in the high-backed chair that belonged to the Lord.

He wore gleaming full plate armor, though it was covered in battle scratches. His Italian-style helmet and knight's longsword were placed side by side on the dusty, debris-covered long table in front of him.

The hall was deserted, save for the howling wind whistling through the holes and the faint distant sounds of horns and War Drum —the sounds of the Sauron' impending attack—like the approaching footsteps of death.

Karl's gaze swept calmly across the ruins.

This place was the center of his power, a symbol of the home he had painstakingly rebuilt, but now it is in ruins.

However, this decay only added to his calm and resolute temperament, a quality born from the crucible of iron and blood.

Shedding the last trace of aristocratic gentleness, only the warrior's composure and sharpness in the face of the final battle remain.

He knew that the final moment had arrived.

The city's supplies have been completely exhausted, the city walls have collapsed, and the enemy is about to pour in.

What follows will be the most brutal street fighting and hand-to-hand combat, without any fancy moves.

As Lord, he must, and will, stand with his soldiers and subjects, fighting to the very last moment.

His thoughts involuntarily drifted back to more than a year ago.

At that time, he had just been granted this territory, which was full of ruins and despair, with a mere sixty soldiers, two or three hundred emaciated slaves, and countless doubtful and mocking eyes.

No one believed he could survive here, let alone rebuild his home.

However, in the past year or so, he has accomplished far too many things that he never dared to imagine before.

He transformed a wasteland into a vibrant new home for three thousand people.

He built a loyal and skilled army that repeatedly repelled the powerful invasions of Sauron.

He participated in the reclamation of fields and the construction of workshops, experiencing the hardships and joys of creation.

He also won the heart of a proud and beautiful female knight, experiencing what it's like to be truly loved by a woman...

In just one year, he experienced a life-changing and magnificent journey that he had never experienced in his previous thirty years.

Power, responsibility, battle, construction, love... he seems to have tasted all the joys and sorrows of life.

Although it was too short, such a life was already wonderful enough.

Now, all that's missing is a grand finale befitting this journey.

He died on the battlefield, sacrificing his life for his country.

For a Lord, this might be the most glorious end.

Without further hesitation, Karl sheathed his longsword at his waist, clutched his helmet to his chest, and strode out of the ruined main hall toward the castle courtyard that would soon become the final battlefield.

The pale morning light struggled to pierce the gloom that hung over Carnford, illuminating the not-so-spacious courtyard in front of the inner castle.

The place was already packed with people.

No longer a neat square formation, but a mixed force of surviving soldiers, lightly wounded, and all the mobilized young and able-bodied citizens, even including some women and children with resolute faces and simple weapons.

Thanks to Carnford's past reserves and spoils of war, weapons and armor were relatively plentiful. At this moment, everyone was wearing iron armor or leather Cotton Armor as much as possible, and they were holding spears, swords, and even pitchforks and axes tightly in their hands.

A suffocating silence filled the air; there was no pre-battle clamor, no cries of fear.

Everyone was unusually quiet, silently wiping the dull blades of their swords, checking their damaged armor, stuffing the last few pieces of dry, hard Black Bread into their mouths, moistening their chapped lips with snow water, or looking up at the tall inner city wall in front of the courtyard.

Everyone's face was etched with exhaustion, but deep in their eyes burned a kind of numb calm, a calm that stared back at fate.

No mobilization was needed; everyone understood that today was the final moment that would determine the fate of Carnford, and indeed, the fate of each and every one of them.

Survival or death will be revealed in the next few hours.

Karl silently walked slowly through the crowd of people who were about to die with him, his gaze sweeping over the familiar and unfamiliar faces.

He didn't speak, nor did he make any morale-boosting gestures.

At this moment, any words seem pale and powerless.

He made brief eye contact with many soldiers, and they all saw the same thing in each other's eyes: an unspoken understanding and a firm commitment to live and die for their homeland.

He walked up the stone steps, step by step, to the inner city wall.

Brendan and Richter were already waiting there, both fully armed, their faces stained with gunpowder and fatigue.

"My lord," Brendan handed over a brass telescope, his voice low and grave, "the Sauron ... have brought up their cannons. Judging by their posture, they're preparing to bombard the city walls directly."

Karl took the telescope and looked out of the city.

Through his dusty glasses, he could clearly see that a large, heavy Cannon with a thick barrel had been set up in front of the Sauron Army.

Several gunners, dressed in tattered Broomflower uniforms and clearly captured, were nervously adjusting their gun positions and firing angles under the threat of swords from their overseer, Sauron.

The cannon was far superior in quality to the Six-pound Cannon in Carnford; it was clearly a spoil of war captured by the Sauron from some important, fallen city.

Karl had hoped that the city gates, sealed shut by the Iron Shutter, could hold out for a while longer, but now it seemed that all his hopes were dashed.

Karl lowered his binoculars, his face cold and calm. Faced with absolute superiority, any scheme would be futile; ultimately, it would come down to a direct clash of power.

"Give the order," Karl's voice was low, but it clearly reached Brendan and Richter's ears, "Abandon the front line of defense at the city walls. All personnel are to immediately withdraw from the walls and, according to the pre-arranged plan, retreat into the inner city blocks, using the houses and barricades as cover, and prepare for street fighting."

This order meant that they would voluntarily abandon the inner city's strongest defenses and place the final battleground inside the city, engaging in the most brutal and chaotic house-to-house fighting.

This will undoubtedly result in greater casualties, but it is currently the only way to maximize the depletion of enemy forces and buy time.

Staying on the city wall would only make us easy targets for enemy artillery.

"Yes, sir!" Brendan and Richter responded immediately without hesitation, their voices low and firm. They had already anticipated this outcome.

The order was quickly relayed, and the defenders on the city wall began to withdraw from their posts in an orderly and rapid manner, retreating down the stairs into the maze-like streets and alleys below.

Karl took one last look at the heavy cannon poised to fire in the distance, then turned and walked down the city wall.

He will fight to the last man in the ruins of the city they built with their own hands, a city they will now turn into a graveyard.