Holding the Line

Above Morland Castle, the serf conscripts on the ladders were almost to the top of the walls.

One serf conscript poked his head over the edge. Just as he tried to step quickly onto the wall, a Longsword instantly chopped through his neck. His head flew into the air before landing on the ground and rolling several times.

Blood immediately sprayed from his headless neck. Although he had lost his head, his heart was still pounding vigorously. Driven by his heartbeat, the blood spurted three or four meters into the air through his arteries.

As it fell, it scattered into droplets like rain. The only difference was that this was a terrifying rain of blood.

After chopping off his head, Logan waved the Longsword in his hand and shouted, "Look, soldiers! They're so weak! Use your swords! Use your spears! Kill them!"

"It's this simple! The enemy will stick their heads out from the ladders one by one. All you need to do is chop them off with your swords or pierce them with your spears! It's as easy as eating, drinking, or climbing into bed with your women! Don't be afraid! Baron will be back soon! When that happens, this bunch of damned invaders will be like lambs for the slaughter!"

His words bolstered the guards' morale. After actually seeing an enemy die, they no longer felt quite so afraid.

A dozen or so guards gathered around the spot where the enemy ladder stood. Whenever the attackers poked their heads over the edge, several spears and swords immediately stabbed or hacked at them.

The battle continued for around five minutes. More than a dozen people had already died beneath the walls, slain by the guards' weapons.

More than a dozen corpses lay in the snow beneath the walls, while the snow had been dyed red with blood, looking like it had been covered by a scarlet carpet.

The corpses soon froze stiff in the icy weather. The blood that had flowed out froze together with the snow, forming things resembling ice sculptures. They possessed a strange, almost artistic quality.

The remaining serf conscripts were filled with deep fear when they saw their comrades dying ahead of them. Their morale had previously been high, but that had only been because they were enticed by the promise of profit.

When all was said and done, they were merely a group of serfs who had just thrown down their hoes. They were cowardly and powerless, and after suffering this blow, they quickly scattered.

Now, they only wanted to leave that place where so many had lost their lives as quickly as possible. They wanted to return home alive.

In an instant, not a single person remained on the ladder. They had all fled. Baron Lobean, however, had been quite clever. The ladders were exactly tall enough for the soldiers to climb onto the walls, while still being beyond the guards' reach from above.

Clearly, he had put considerable thought into this. He knew the height of Morland Castle's walls very well. Although it was unknown where he had obtained the information, it showed that his decision to attack Morland Castle had not been made on a whim.

Baron Lobean sat on horseback and watched the fleeing serf conscripts ahead of him. Calmly, he said to the knights beside him, "It seems we'll have to give these lowborns some motivation to attack!"

The knights beside him smiled and said, "Yes, Baron. We'll give them some motivation!"

Several knights revealed knowing smiles. It seemed they all understood Baron Lobean's meaning. They put on their helmets, mounted the warhorses beside them, and summoned their attendants. Their horses raised their hooves and kicked up clouds of snow as more than twenty riders charged forward.

They possessed an imposing momentum, their horses' tails flying up and down with the snow. It looked extraordinarily graceful. One knight passed a serf conscript, and with a sweep of his Longsword, a perfectly round head flew into the sky.

"Return to your positions! Attack the walls! Otherwise, you'll lose your chance to return home forever!" The knight pointed his bloodstained Longsword at the more than two hundred fleeing soldiers and spoke in a deep, muffled voice.

The knights and attendants beside him also drew their Longswords and pointed them at the conscripts. Faced with these knights and attendants mounted on tall warhorses, the serf conscripts felt an instinctive fear.

They shivered in the cold wind. As the knights slowly approached, they turned around and continued trudging toward the walls with tears in their eyes. The knights supervised them from behind, and if anyone hesitated or tried to desert, they would show no mercy.

The knights ahead were supervising the attack, but Baron Lobean was in a terrible mood. He did not understand why the gate mechanism had not been opened when he had already arranged for a spy to do so.

"Could he have been discovered?" Baron Lobean stroked the hilt of the Longsword at his waist and pondered with a frown. But at this point, whether the gate was open or not no longer mattered, because the assault on the walls had already begun.

He had arranged for the spy to open the gate mechanism merely to minimize their losses. Now that the attack had begun, whether that spy opened the gate mechanism or not was inconsequential.

"Do you see that, soldiers? The enemy is retreating! They're afraid! That's right, they're afraid of us! Because we're going to chop off their heads and smash their heads into armor! Look at them—they're like lambs afraid of being slaughtered! Even maggots in shit are braver than them! We will win!"

Logan freely used crude language to encourage the soldiers on the wall.

"Yes, sir! They're afraid we'll smash their heads apart!"

"I've never seen soldiers this cowardly!"

The soldiers also mocked the enemy noisily. Amid their laughter, they finally cast aside the fear in their hearts, realizing that this truly was not as difficult as they had imagined.

"Stay alert, boys! They're coming again!"

Under the knights' threats, Baron Lobean's serf conscripts climbed onto the ladders once more. They came from the various knights' fiefs and Baron Lobean's territory. Morland Castle might become the final resting place for many of them.

The brutal battle began again. Wars between minor nobles were usually not very intense, and sieges were a rarity for them.

Even twenty years ago, before the Empire had been unified, battles between minor nobles mostly involved arranging a challenge before settling things in a single decisive clash. Sieges typically lasted half a year or even longer.

The reason was the lack of siege equipment, as well as the fact that both sides were usually evenly matched. A battle like Baron Lobean's attack on Morland Castle had not appeared in the Northern Frontier for a very long time.

"Whew! I'm a little tired!"

"Don't say that. We have to hold on!"

Half an hour had passed. Baron Lobean's serf conscripts had already retreated three times, leaving four or five dozen corpses beneath the walls. The guards on the walls were also feeling extremely exhausted.

After the enemy retreated once more, the soldiers on the walls panted heavily and leaned against the battlements to relieve their fatigue.

Logan was also slightly out of breath by then. After all, he was not truly a knight who fought and killed on the battlefield.

"We'll hold! Baron has taken my letter to Lord South Street! I swear, Baron will definitely return within five hours. Believe me, soldiers!"

Logan spoke firmly. At this moment, he had to ensure the soldiers' morale, or they would never be able to hold the castle.

"Get up, soldiers! Stay sharp! The enemy is coming!" Logan immediately shouted loudly when he saw the enemy beneath the walls.

The soldiers rose from the wall one after another. For the sake of survival, they had to persevere. Even the wounded soldiers gripped their weapons tightly and prepared themselves for battle.