Solam stepped onto the city wall early the next morning, much sooner than he had expected. He had estimated that he would only need to help Silverymoon hold off the fiercest wave of attacks on the third day, but the Black Orcs' madness had exceeded his imagination.
The Black Orcs' assault had not stopped for the entire night, and its intensity had not been any weaker than during the day! Every section of the wall was beginning to cry for help, with requests for reinforcements coming from everywhere. Every commander was pestering his superior again and again for more men.
In fact, the losses across the city had not been severe throughout the previous day, just as they had not been for Mobri's group. They were the defenders, fighting from higher ground with all kinds of well-equipped siege defenses and the protection of the mythal. The divine spells of the Church of the Dead Three on the Black Orcs' side posed little threat to Silverymoon's defenders, while Silverymoon's formidable magical firepower could injure the Black Orcs. If the mythal's power had been able to extend beyond the city walls, the Black Orcs would probably have suffered even more. Now, the priests of the Dead Three could only intercept Silverymoon's spells, which was the only reason the Black Orcs had not completely collapsed.
With such an overwhelming advantage, it was only natural that the losses would be low.
But low losses were one thing; the defenders were still people, not machines. And people had limits. If a warrior fought nonstop for an hour, his stamina would be pushed to the brink and he would have to rest. Even elite athletes in the real world would be exhausted after an hour-long match, and war was far more grueling than sports.
Those warriors