Outskirts of the royal capital, Tuse Watchtower.
A bloody battle was underway.
From watchtowers perched atop the mountains, guards still loyal to the royal capital mercilessly struck down every approaching enemy from above. The towers were scattered around the peaks, covering one another, while the narrow mountain paths could not accommodate many soldiers. This caused the rebel army no end of trouble.
Hundreds upon thousands of ragged rebel soldiers held wooden shields over their heads and short spears in their hands. Their numbers were vast!
When the defenders ignited their muskets and fired in volleys, when the guards poured down a rain of arrows, these men with nothing fell in neat rows like stalks of wheat cut by the scythe. Blood gradually pooled until it filled the mountain paths.
"Counterattack!" Amos's face twisted into a savage expression.
Panting heavily, he commanded the rebel army to retaliate with slings, covering the others as they pushed wooden ladders against the towers and drowned the watchtowers beneath a sea of men!
As for wizards? As for crossbowmen? The rebel army's scant long-range firepower could not be wasted on these watchtowers.
We shouldn't have stormed the royal capital head-on... Amos thought bitterly, but he was not the leader of the rebel army.
He was merely in charge of logistics. Fortunately, the rebel army's administrative system was bloated and convoluted; otherwise, how could a logistics officer have trained a personal guard force that could still be called orderly?
His gaze swept toward the front of the formation, where he spotted a flash of brightness.
It was a lady wearing a ribboned helm, silver scale armor, and a white-and-gold cloak. With both hands, she wielded a slender blade that seemed forged from sunlight, cleaving two guards who tried to stop her—men and shields alike—into pieces in