King Ghidorah's three heads shook at the same time, and his claws left a deeper scratch on the deck.
But it didn't move.
It's waiting.
The fleet behind it is waiting.
Lys City is also waiting.
Everyone is waiting for the same moment on this scarlet sea.
The flagship cut through the waves in the scarlet sea water, the bow of the ship split the blood that had not completely dissipated, and the waves splashed onto the deck with a sweet smell like rust.
Dawg Russ stood at the bow of the boat, holding the sides of the boat tightly with both hands, his knuckles turning blue-white from excessive exertion.
His eyes were fixed on the city wall in front of him - the outlines of those ballistae were getting clearer and clearer.
He could even see the operators busy around the crossbows, and he could see the crossbow arrows as thick as an adult's arm flipping, loading, and aiming in the sun.
His heart was beating as if it was about to burst out of his throat.
"Hold on..." he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse like sandpaper being rubbed, "Hold on..."
On the city wall, the commander raised the flag in his hand again.
"Put--"
The explosive sound of the bowstring tore through the air again. This time, Dawg Russ heard it more clearly - it was not a sound, but a sound, as if someone had torn off a dozen steel bars at the same time in his ear.
The crossbow arrows ejected from the city wall, drew deadly arcs in the sunlight, and roared towards the fleet.
"Shield!" Dawg Las's roar came almost at the same time as the crossbow arrow left the string.
The shield bearers on the flagship deck simultaneously raised their large shields and formed a temporary iron armored dome above their heads.
The thick iron-barked oak shields lay side by side with overlapping edges, completely covering the sailors on the deck.
But how effective this layer of protection can be when facing those giant crossbow arrows as thick as an adult's arm, everyone has no idea.
The first crossbow bolt hit the sea in front of the flagship.
It was deflected. Perhaps it was a sudden change in the wind direction, or perhaps the angle of the crossbow was slightly off. The crossbow did not hit any ship, but instead plunged into the water three meters away from the starboard side of the flagship.
The moment the arrow hit the water, a huge water column was stirred up, and the sea water fell from a high place, pouring down everyone on the deck.
The cold seawater poured in along his collar. Dawg Lars shivered, but he didn't even dare to wipe it - his eyes were fixed on the falling black figures in the sky.
The second crossbow hit a battleship on the left side of the flagship.
The ship failed to escape. The crossbow arrow fell from a height and accurately penetrated the middle of the ship's hull.
The wood chips exploded, like a blooming wood flower.
The kinetic energy of the arrow was so great that the entire ship sank suddenly, then bounced back up, like a whale stabbed by a harpoon in its death throes.
The sailors on the deck were overturned by the shock wave, some rolled into the sea, and some were hit by flying sawdust. The screams could be heard clearly across dozens of meters of sea.
But the ship didn't sink. At least not immediately.
It rocked on the water, its hull tilted, and water poured in from the holes, but it was still floating and moving.
"Keep going!" Dawg Russ's voice was so hoarse that it was almost inaudible, but he still shouted, "Don't stop! If you stop, you will be a target!"
He was right. Those ships that were still hesitating, still retreating, and still spinning became the favorite targets of the crossbowmen.
A ship trying to turn around was hit by three consecutive crossbow arrows. The hull was shattered into a sieve in the blink of an eye. Water poured in from several holes at the same time, and the ship sank at a desperate speed.
The crew members jumped into the sea one after another, flopping and struggling on the scarlet water. Some were holding broken boards, some were holding on to ropes, and some could not hold on to anything and just rowed their arms desperately on the water.
Another ship that was blocked in the middle of the waterway and unable to advance or retreat received a more concentrated attack.
There were at least five ballistae on the city wall aimed at it at the same time, and the crossbow arrows were fired one after another, as if someone was hitting a toy boat with a giant hammer.
The bow was shattered, the sides of the ship were torn, the mast was broken, and the keel finally couldn't bear the continuous heavy blows, making a dull breaking sound. The entire ship was broken in two from the middle. The bow and stern were tilted at the same time, and then slowly sank.
A large area of wreckage and struggling figures were left on the sea.
Dawg Russ gritted his teeth.
His fleet is being torn apart piece by piece.
Of the fifteen ships, less than ten are still sailing normally.
The sunken, damaged, and powerless ships were scattered throughout the waterways, some were still burning, and some had only their mast tips sticking out of the water.
The sea was littered with broken boards, broken ropes, scattered supplies, and people who were still struggling but no longer struggling.
His men. His brothers.
Those who have been with him for several years, those whose names he knows, how many people are in his family, and what kind of wine they like to drink.
At this moment, he was sinking and floating in the scarlet sea water.
Dawg Russ took a deep breath and forced himself not to look in those directions.
His eyes were locked on the city wall in front of him again, on the white city that was shining in the sun.
"How far is it?" he asked.
The adjutant was stunned for a moment, then quickly estimated. "About... three hundred steps?"
Three hundred paces. The best range of the ballista.
Another hundred steps closer, and you will be within the shooting range of ordinary archers. Another two hundred steps closer, you can rely on help to pick up the ship.
Too far. Still too far.
"Full speed." Dawg Russ said, his voice so calm that even he felt unfamiliar, "Row as fast as you can."
The adjutant opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but after seeing Dawg's expression, he swallowed all the words and turned around and ran to deliver the order.
The flagship is a little faster.
Several ships behind him gritted their teeth and followed.
The oarsmen's muscles were trembling violently, and they used all their strength with every stroke.
The sailors stretched the sail ropes to the limit, and the sails were full, making a hunting sound in the sea breeze.
On the city wall, the commander put down his telescope, and most of the pride on his face had disappeared, replaced by a faint uneasiness.
"They're still moving forward," he whispered, as if talking to himself.
He originally thought that the first round of strikes would be enough to disintegrate the fleet.
The second hit should make them turn around and run away.
But these people - these lunatics - they're still moving forward.
The ship was sunk, people were killed, the water was dyed red, but they were still moving forward.
"Adjust the angle!" He waved his hand violently, with a hint of impatience in his voice that he was not aware of, "Aim at the biggest one! It's the flagship! Knock it out!"