After a brief silence, thunderous cheers erupted from the defenders atop the city walls.
Upon hearing this completely unexpected response, the five remaining players immediately scattered to the side.
At the same time, the ballistae placed on the mechanical platforms on the city walls creaked and turned toward Kebola's direction.
"Shoot!"
At the deputy captain's command, a series of whooshing sounds echoed throughout the entire barbican, and black raindrops poured down.
The ones with a slightly clearer and sharper sound were ordinary crossbow bolts, while those with a cracking sound were crossbow bolts that were more than a meter tall.
Large and small black raindrops flew towards Kebola's location, while the Middle Tier Dragonborn was completely dumbfounded.
He instinctively wanted to run away, but then he remembered that his hands and feet were completely bound.
As the rain of arrows drew ever closer, he desperately unleashed his power—
Slow!
The arrows flew slower and slower through the air, seemingly never reaching Kebola.
But this is just the surface.
In fact, Kebola was completely overwhelmed at this moment. His forehead was covered in sweat, and he no longer had the strength to suppress all the arrows. He was in a state of constant back-and-forth, like a poor child who couldn't keep up with the rhythm of whack-a-mole for the first time.
After witnessing Kebola single-handedly slow down hundreds of arrows, he wasn't greeted with cheers and applause, but rather with a look of utter anger:
"Fire another round!"
"Yes!"
The roars of the soldiers in the Graycast Corridor soared to the heavens, accompanied by a series of terrifying sounds—
"Swish, swish, swish!"
The second volley of arrows was fired, and the number was significantly greater than the first time, seemingly because some of the defenders were taking revenge and firing more arrows at a faster pace.
This time, Kebola was no longer able to slow all the arrows to near a standstill. He had to distribute his power among each arrow, but could only slightly reduce their speed.
But this is merely a superficial effect of the Amber Dragon's blessing; the lethality of these arrows has not actually been reduced in any way.
So for Kebola, who was unable to move freely at that moment, his struggles only turned what could have been a single, decisive death sentence into a slow, agonizing process of being cut with a dull knife.
But he has no choice now, because even if he could be resurrected, the pain would be real.
After holding on for a few more breaths, Kebola could no longer endure the torment.
At this moment, Kebola resembled someone from a comic book, a man being led to the guillotine with a rope attached to the executioner's blade in his mouth; if he let go, he would die.
Everyone knows that no matter how long he can hold on, there will always be a moment when he will give in.
Kebola finally reached his limit. With a wail, he released all the restraints on his abilities, and hundreds of arrows shot towards him from all sides.
Almost half a minute had passed since the vice-captain gave the first order to fire, and it was quite remarkable that Kebola had been able to hold out for so long under such intense fire.
While he stubbornly refused to die, the players who had already distanced themselves from him each had their own thoughts.
For players already adventuring in the Wilderness of Chaos, there's no real difference between the Wilderness of Chaos and the Graycast Corridor; they're just looking for fun and novelty.
But it's completely different for [ Vanilla Ice Cream Scoop ].
After distancing herself from the Marquis of Kebola, she keenly realized one thing—
Even if the guards of the Graycast Corridor are elite, most of them are still just ordinary people.
So what happened to the arrows that missed Kebola?
The answer, of course, is to insert it into the King of Fall Resistance, I Guess.
The moment the thought crossed his mind, [ the Vanilla Ice Cream Scoop ] felt a cold sweat break out all over his body.
These brutes, they'd better not get shot to death by their own Machine Spirit!
She immediately took out a young ironwood sapling and stuck it in her palm, preparing to create a thick wooden shield around Kebola to protect him from the arrows.
Finally, as Kebola couldn't hold on any longer, [ Vanilla Ice Cream Scoop ] used half of his current health to complete the creation of the "Helmet" of the King of Fall Resistance, I Guess.
Amid Kebola's wails, the rapid whistling of arrows piercing the air resumed.
With a series of muffled "thud, thud, thud" sounds of arrows piercing flesh, Kebola died amidst the siege of hundreds of men, pierced by countless arrows. Amid cheers from the many defenders on the city wall, he transformed into a stream of light and began the process of resurrection.
However, there were at most only one hundred arrows that killed Kebola and turned him into an artificial sea urchin.
After Kebola's death, the remaining arrows were completely freed and continued to fly forward at full speed.
"Tap tap tap..."
Amidst the muffled thuds like raindrops hitting the ground, [ Vanilla Ice Cream Scoop ]'s Machine Spirit helmet was also riddled with countless arrows, resembling half a smashed sea urchin shell, clearly providing excellent protection.
Even so, some arrows with poor aim were not stopped by the helmet and instead stuck in the front wall of the King of Fall Resistance, I Guess.
Just as the defenders on the city wall were cheering, a low, hoarse voice, seemingly a cacophony of countless voices, suddenly rang out:
"Ouch, that hurts!"
The cry of pain was like the Descent a demon. All the members of the Gray Corridor Guard who heard the sound held their breath and became serious. The smiles that had been on their faces just a moment ago vanished instantly. Everyone fell silent, and the only sound was the clicking of the ballista being cocked.
The reason was simple: although it was the result of a mixture of many sounds, the timbre of the sound was strangely familiar to everyone present.
That's the voice of Blood Corpse!
The soldiers, who had relaxed slightly because of [ the Vanilla Ice Cream Scoop ]'s words, immediately tensed up, their crossbow bolts seemingly imbued with their primal killing intent.
The vice-captain, basking in the satisfaction of having killed a member of the Eternal Domain, looked back at the barbican and shouted:
"Are there Blood Corpse inside your fortress?"
Isn't that obvious?
One player shouted:
"Isn't the fortress powered by Blood Corpse?"
"But those Blood Corpse can't speak, so there must be elite-level Blood Corpse inside your fortress!"
The deputy captain's questioning grew increasingly harsh. If he found anything amiss, he would order his men to fire arrows, turning everyone into pincushions, and then burn the already small fortified town to the ground.
"The laws of the Graycast Corridor explicitly forbid the use of elite-level Blood Corpse. Hand over those Blood Corpse immediately so we can dispose of them harmlessly (execute them) so we can continue our exchange!"