Attack

The New Year was almost here, and I'd be heading back to my hometown. I might have a lot to take care of, so I probably wouldn't be able to keep up the pace of two updates a day. Still, I'd do my best not to miss any updates.

Regarding the friends in the comments who said I added too much after each chapter, all I can say is, heaven knows I haven't asked for a single collection or recommendation since I started posting this book. All that stuff was just to thank the readers who tipped me...

But maybe it really does affect everyone's reading experience? In that case, I won't add anything at the end anymore. I'll put it all in the monthly thank-you chapter instead.

Well, as usual, I still have to thank the readers who've supported me all this time. Thank you all for patiently reading this far. Now, on with the story—

Since the start of winter, thick red clouds had blanketed the skies over the northern reaches of Darrowmere Forest. The sun wasn't particularly hot to begin with, and after its light filtered through those heavy, gloomy clouds, only a few pale rays remained. Even standing in direct sunlight brought little warmth.

The Mossflayer Trolls' refusal to leave their defenses unimpeded the humans' efforts to build their camp. Before winter arrived, the last command post had already been erected, facing the mountains where Zul'Aman stood. Once everything was ready, the human army finally drove a group of Gnoll prisoners into a probing attack on the Trolls of Zul'Aman.

Of course, the Gnoll prisoners hadn't been sent to their deaths for nothing. The soldiers of Lordaeron would support them from behind the battle lines with newly assembled, small catapults. When launching an assault against their age-old enemies, the Trolls, the humans naturally wouldn't forget their greatest advantage: weapons and tools.

A series of deep, rumbling whistles rang out above the steep slope. After some rough calculations, small stone balls were hurled by immense force toward the defenses before the valley entrance, striking the enemy's flimsy wooden structures with deadly accuracy.

One half-man-high stone ball after another traced a graceful arc through the air before plunging down. The wooden watchtowers and walls could do nothing to withstand such attacks. They shook violently beneath the barrage, and the Troll warriors stationed on them could barely keep their footing.

The stone balls slammed into the wooden barricades with tremendous force. Some smashed straight through the flimsy defenses; others shattered on impact. The fragments, sharp enough to injure anyone they grazed, sent sprays of blood through the ranks of Troll warriors. Their anguished cries rang without end. As for the less fortunate, the stone balls crushed them into bloody pulp, sending them to join their ancestors.

Under the catapults' cover, several hundred Gnoll warriors advanced slowly up the long slope at the valley entrance, arranged in ranks and carrying crude, oversized wooden shields. Besides a shield large enough for each of them to hide behind, every Gnoll had only a shoddy iron sword and a wooden spear.

The Blackpaw Gnolls' craftsmanship left much to be desired. The things they called "shields" were little more than tree trunks with their branches and bark stripped off, then tied together with rope. Even Alvin, watching the battle from afar with a monocular, could see the occasional bit of branch that hadn't been trimmed off.

But on the battlefield, practicality was what mattered. No matter how beautiful a piece of equipment was, it was no match for a ragged thing that could keep its owner alive. Though they looked crude, the wooden shields' solid thickness and broad surface made them highly effective against the Troll warriors' spears hurled down from above.

The nearly six-foot-tall shields allowed the Gnolls to bend slightly and cover themselves completely from the enemy's view, leaving no part of their bodies exposed. The heavy shields burdened them, but they also offered solid protection. Even spears whose force had increased after potential energy became kinetic energy couldn't pierce shields nearly a foot thick.

The defenses had been battered to the point of being unrecognizable, riddled with holes. The Gnoll warriors had already reached the ruined gate. The enemy's first probing attack had plunged the Mossflayer Trolls into danger.

"Boom!"

A stone ball suddenly came crashing down, slamming into the watchtower not far to Hamia's right. The wooden structure gave a sharp crack under the force of the impact. Then, knocked off balance by the blow, the watchtower toppled straight toward the Troll officer standing in for the commander.

A cloud of dust obscured Hamia's vision. He felt a sharp sting across his face. The young Troll warrior raised a hand and wiped his cheek. Bright red blood mixed with dirt, stark against his green palm.

I'm hurt? But we haven't even engaged the enemy yet. Hamia looked around in disbelief at the battlefield littered with splintered wood and stones. Groans of pain and splashes of crimson blood kept grating on his nerves, confronting him with a cruel truth: the Trolls' defenses were no match for the humans' "toys."

There were plenty of warriors in reserve, but even a high-ranking warrior like him wasn't guaranteed to escape unharmed when facing stones raining down from the sky. The catapults didn't just cause casualties and destroy fortifications. More importantly, they crushed morale and put the warriors under tremendous pressure. No one wanted to fight the enemy when they didn't know whether they'd be crushed by a stone the next moment—including him!

"Damn it!"

Hamia cursed and began giving orders to his subordinates. "Send a squad to carry all the wounded down. Replace them with fresh guards, and have the High Priest send me another column of warriors!"

Halfway through, the acting commander's face twisted into a fierce scowl. He turned toward the group behind him, whose members wore headdresses woven from branches and feathers and necklaces of animal teeth or skulls, dressed nothing like ordinary Troll warriors. He shouted in a hysterical voice.

"Priests, witch doctors, I don't care who—one of you spellcasters needs to find a way to deal with the enemy catapults! Our warriors can't take this kind of attrition!"

A long stretch of open woodland separated the battlefield on the slope before Zul'Aman from the human army. Alvin lowered the monocular he'd been using to observe the battle and turned to Maxwell, the commander of the entire force.

"The Mossflayer Trolls' wooden defenses are no match for the kingdom's army. They'll surely try to destroy our catapults first. Shouldn't we send more warriors to protect the siege engines?"

"Sometimes, sacrifices are made for the sake of a greater victory. You're focusing too much on the gains and losses of the moment, Your Highness." The young commander frowned and gently shook his head, rejecting the boy's suggestion.

"A race that's survived for thousands of years must have methods we need to be wary of, though I haven't dealt with them in a long time."

With that, the man looked up again and raised his monocular. He swallowed the rest of his words: If we can use a third of the catapults to draw out their hand and lure the enemy's elite into our encirclement, it'll be well worth it.

That was right. The six catapults in plain sight were nothing but bait. A cautious commander wouldn't stake everything on a first probing attack. The mage squad traveling with the army and the royal knights were waiting in reserve at the edge of the battlefield, ready for an enemy counterattack—or to storm the gates of Zul'Aman.

As they spoke, a bright burst of flame suddenly flared before the enormous catapult in the human ranks outside Zul'Aman, in the chill of that winter day.