Surging Waves

"Charge!!!"

The roar of Roslyn echoed across the heavens and earth!

This farmer had lived his entire life with extreme caution.

He had never dared to speak so loudly, nor had he ever done so.

But in this moment, his roar shook the very world.

The farmer of the past was dead.

The soldiers were stunned by this roar.

"Kill!!" "Kill!!" "Kill!!"

Awakened in an instant, like hounds unleashed, they let out earth-shattering howls.

They charged forward from all directions.

Roslyn took the lead, using his own body to slam into the Wildlings.

"For Lord Suleiman!!" Roslyn roared, his voice drowning out the bellows of the Wildlings. "And for ourselves!!!"

The soldiers swarmed in, instantly packing the narrow entrance until not a drop of water could pass through.

They engaged in close-quarters bloodletting, body pressed against body with the Wildlings.

In an instant, roars, gnashing teeth, battle cries, the sound of weapons piercing flesh, and the screams of the dying merged into one.

This was a symphony of death composed of blood, fire, iron, and flesh.

The gate was narrow by design, allowing at most three people to enter at once.

Bronn blocked it from the very first moment.

Only about twenty Wildlings had managed to surge inside.

The Wildlings in the rear attempted to push those who had already squeezed in further forward.

Yet the Wildlings at the front were being crushed against the Flatlanders.

Body pressed to body, shoulder to shoulder, blood mingling with blood.

The Flatlander soldiers and the Mountain Clans Wildlings were thoroughly mashed into a single mass.

There was no longer any talk of formations or tactics; there was only the most primitive, most savage hand-to-hand combat.

As long as they could inflict damage on a Wildling, anything went.

Daggers, teeth—everything was brought to bear against them.

Some Wildlings had their eyeballs gouged out by the Flatlanders.

When a Flatlander fell, if he still had breath in him, he was trampled by the Flatlanders behind him.

Suleiman's soldiers drew the daggers at their waists, raised them high, and stabbed them fiercely into the faces of the Wildlings.

All ethics had ceased to exist.

Wildlings and Flatlanders alike were pushing forward with reckless abandon, each using every ounce of their strength.

For everyone present, to fall meant death! It meant being trampled to death by friend or foe alike!

This was the most primitive and tragic of cold-weapon brawls; there was no retreat, only the advance.

The ground beneath their feet was quickly soaked in blood, turning into a muddy mess.

Every movement resulted in stepping on something slick and viscous, indistinguishable as either mud or viscera.

The fury in the eyes of the Milk Snakes chieftain froze.

He had never seen such frantic resistance; these Flatlanders were like a pack of prey driven into a desperate corner.

They were launching a final assault against the hunter.

The Flatlanders he had assumed would be crushed in a single blow.

Were now becoming indestructible, even expanding outward.

The Wildlings in the rear continued to push forward, yet the Wildlings in the front were being desperately shoved backward by the Flatlanders.

Under the crushing pressure, many Wildlings were even squeezed to death.

Or they were accidentally wounded by the weapons of their own companions.

At the narrow wooden gate, flesh was mangled and viscera flowed.

Every person who fell was trampled by countless feet, becoming a part of the blood-stained sludge.

Fighting body-to-body, it was cruel and bloody.

The Wildlings struggled, attempting to steady their footing.

But the strength and fighting spirit erupting from the Flatlanders were beyond imagination.

They were pushing them back, inch by inch.

They underestimated the desperate thirst for survival in those facing a dead end.

The chieftain of the Milk Snakes knew things could not continue like this.

He attempted to command the Wildlings to retreat.

He tried to split their forces to attack from the wooden walls.

But his voice was drowned out by the noisy, bloody environment.

There was only slaughter, only the forward crush, and only endless roars.

The people had already been blinded by bloodlust.

And one person had already set his sights on him!

The Milk Snakes chieftain continued to roar his orders.

He grabbed one crazed tribesman after another and flung them backward.

Then he punched them, trying to knock some sense into them.

But every Wildling that fell simply stood back up and pushed forward once more.

The Milk Snakes chieftain let out an angry roar.

But he could no longer scream it out.

A dagger was thrown through the air.

It pierced ruthlessly through his eyeball!

"Get up there, you cowards!" After throwing the dagger, Bronn kept cursing at Suleiman's soldiers. "Get up there! You cowards!"

He kicked the Suleiman soldiers who were being squeezed backward, again and again.

The immense force compelled them forward.

He gasped for air, his chest heaving violently.

The mercenary was covered in blood—some from his enemies, some his own.

He was drenched in gore.

He had no other choice; he could not get away!

He was bound to the fate of this damned young noble and this group of idiot soldiers!

He was forced to pin his hopes on them.

"Good... bro... ther! Well... done!" Suleiman, in the back of the crush, pushed against his soldiers. "I! Will! Pay! You! More!!!!"

His chest, exhausted to the point of exploding, made his speech stutter and gasp.

Bronn did not even want to look at him, remaining silent.

He continued to kick the soldiers fiercely.

In the bloody slaughter, the ground at the camp entrance had long been soaked with blood, and corpses were piled like mountains.

Both sides trampled over bodies crushed into pulp as they squeezed against one another.

Both sides were utterly exhausted.

But the instinct for survival on one side and the fire of vengeance on the other sustained them.

Just then, the earth began to tremble slightly.

At first, the vibration was faint, barely noticeable amidst the sounds of battle.

But soon, the tremors grew stronger, even bringing with them a massive, rumbling roar.

"Damn it! They're finally here!" Bronn was the first to notice the anomaly, and he cursed angrily!

The people fighting also gradually felt the shaking beneath their feet.

The Wildlings fell into a state of terror, not knowing what was happening.

But Suleiman's soldiers understood what this meant!

Suleiman raised his longsword high, opened his mouth, and took a ten-second breath of air.

"Brothers!!!!"

"Push them out!!!!!" Suleiman roared.

The soldiers heard him.

The soldiers let out angry bellows, no longer defending, but launching a near-maniacal assault!

"Charge out!!!" "Push them out!!!"

They squeezed every last ounce of strength from their bodies.

They stabbed with blades, slammed with their bodies, and smashed their fists into the heads of the Wildlings.

The original stalemate was broken in an instant, the astonishing power erupting from the Flatlanders Warrior.

They surged forward like a flood!

The Wildlings were struck with terror!

They were caught completely off guard by this sudden, violent counterattack and the intense tremors beneath their feet!

The Wildlings at the front were being brutally shoved and crushed by the Flatlanders.

The Wildlings at the rear had no idea what was happening.

They only felt as if they had been struck by a rampaging bull, shoved violently backward!

Countless Wildlings lost their balance, roaring as they fell into pools of blood.

They were immediately trampled to death by those behind them pushing forward, those in front pushing back, and the Flatlanders surging ahead.

The defensive line at the gate of the encampment was being pushed outward at a speed visible to the naked eye under the Flatlanders' frenzied assault!

Instinct made them want to flee the tremors beneath their feet.

But their companions behind them and the Flatlanders in front left them nowhere to run.

"BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!"

The sound grew closer, like ten thousand horses galloping, or the precursor to the heavens collapsing and the earth splitting asunder.

"Water! It's water! The water is coming!!!" an archer standing on the wooden wall pointed toward the upper reaches of the valley and wailed in despair!

The ones who would survive were them!!

A muddy torrent, like a wild horse unleashed, came surging forward with the force of a thunderbolt, rolling and roaring.

Wherever the flood passed, trees were uprooted.

Rocks were easily pushed aside, and every obstacle was ruthlessly crushed.

"Quick! Run!"

Finally, a Wildling reacted, letting out a desperate, hoarse roar.

He turned to run toward the hillside behind him.

But it was already too late.

Desperate roars and angry curses echoed throughout the valley!

Suleiman's soldiers quickly followed his prior instructions.

They began to ascend the wooden walls.

The deafening sound of the water instantly drowned out all shouts and screams.

Bearing the brunt of it were those Wildlings who had attempted to flee backward from the entrance.

They could not even mount a decent resistance.

They were swept up by the massive current, like fallen leaves in a gale or a lone boat in a tempest, vanishing instantly into the surging waves.

"Suleiman!" one soldier raised his sword.

Another soldier raised his sword. "Suleiman!!"

One after another.

"Suleiman!!!" "Suleiman!!!"

The people shouted; there were no lords, no masters, no nobles, and no uniformity.

"Suleiman!!!!"

There was only one name: "Suleiman!!!!"

This voice! This name! It echoed through the valley! Accompanied by the surging flood, it shook the heavens and the earth!