The Dashians besieged the city through the night.
Yet the reinforcements merely watched from far away. The defenders inside the castle were probably already desperate.
But none of this had much to do with Zhang Yang. Sitting in the noisy camp, he carefully twisted a slender grass rope, then wrapped the matchstick-thick rope around an iron spear, adding weight and trying to make the spear more balanced overall. This would ultimately improve its accuracy slightly and increase its damage to a certain degree.
After finishing weighting all six iron spears, Zhang Yang lay down on a leather sack, covered himself with his large round shield, and began snoring away. No matter how much noise there was in the latter half of the night, he slept like a log.
Whether or not there would be a fierce battle tomorrow, maintaining enough stamina was certainly the right choice.
Before dawn the next day, Zhang Yang woke up. He took care of his personal business, exercised for five minutes, then went to a pile of fires that had just burned out and buried a piece of black bread and a piece of dried salted meat in the ashes.
A few minutes later, he dug out the black bread. The food, which had originally been hard as a rock, had puffed up slightly and was steaming hot, carrying an enticing charred fragrance.
Zhang Yang took out his waterskin, quickly ate everything, then lay back down and waited quietly.
Another half hour or so passed before an old soldier appeared with a wooden stick, cursing as he drove the sleeping recruits to their feet. These recruits had spent most of the previous night on tenterhooks, and now they had barely fallen asleep before being roused. It went without saying how wretched they looked.
Zhang Yang