Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 421: Chapter 56: The Shadow Commander

Fate tormented both sides in a ludicrous manner.

Once upon a time, city walls were the foolproof method for agricultural civilizations to defend against barbarian tribes, but now they had become the stronghold behind which the nomadic tribes holed up.

The Paratu People struggled immensely in their siege; it wasn’t until the fourth day that they barely managed to fill the double-layered moat outside the southern wall.

On the fifth day of the battle, a large troop broke through to the area beneath the southern wall bastion. Shielded by mantlets, the sappers began to excavate the wall, preparing for blasting.

The most ferocious combat of the siege erupted then and there.

The Herders atop the bastion poured boiling water and hot oil down the walls in a frenzy, without pause.

The main city gate and three side gates burst open as armored Herder elite troops counterattacked in a relentless stream. Some, fearless of death, even leapt down from the battlements, plunging into the crowd to slash wildly.

With arrows raining down like hail and scalding oil pouring like rain, just a few steps away were comrades and barbarian soldiers locked in combat, their screams, moans, and the sound of weapons piercing flesh incessantly assaulting the ears—the Paratu engineers dug into the wall with teeth clenched amidst such chaos.

In the context of Vineta and The Federated Provinces, “frontiersmen”—the Montan and Paratu People are synonymous with rudeness and savagery.

Yet the courage and ferocity displayed by the Paratu soldiers and their enemies deeply moved Winters.

The bloody melee had a similar effect on Winters’ auxiliaries and laborers, making their scalps tingle, so much so that they complained less while they worked.

Although the siege was not progressing smoothly, Winters’ tunneling work was making good progress.

He had successfully advanced the trench to within two hundred meters of the city walls, with some trenches even less than fifty meters away, where one could clearly hear the voices of the Herders on the walls.

These trenches greatly reduced the distance of the troops’ charge, now allowing Paratu soldiers to first reach the vicinity of the walls safely via the trenches before launching an assault.

During retreat, they could fall back to the trenches nearby, then shift further back.

Winters had estimated that the Herders would launch an attack once the trenches crossed the midline.

Thus, Winters cautiously prepared countermeasures. He had his most elite squads of ten on full alert, assigned sentries, and arranged chevaux-de-frise and evacuation passages throughout the trenches, among other preparations.

But his efforts were like winking at a blind man, for the Herder counterstrike never came.

This made Winters even more certain that, although the Herders had appropriate city defense planning and a will that was strong enough, they lacked practical experience in siege warfare.

The location and design of Bianli City were first-class, obviously the work of an expert; however, the current garrison seemed to be fighting on instinct.

They focused on the contention below the walls, and it was very likely that even if some Herders noticed the trenches drawing closer, they could spare no effort to deal with them.

Or perhaps the garrison deemed the battles at the foot of the wall more critical, thus they neglected the trenches temporarily.

Whatever the Herders’ thoughts might be, one side’s oversight was an opportunity for the other. Since the Herders underestimated the importance of the trenches, Winters accelerated his tunneling.

On the fifth day of the siege, in the afternoon, the Paratu engineers finally set the explosives, and Captain Andraleo, covered in dirt, personally lit the fuse.

Seeing the Paratu People scatter, the Herders, realizing that something bad was about to happen, struck once more, only to be desperately held back by Captain Andraleo and his men.

The fuse hissed into the earth, and the crowd near the wall involuntarily held their breath, waiting for the earth-shattering explosion.

Andraleo even closed his eyes, as he was too close to the Blasting Point and had resolved that survival was impossible.@@novelbin@@

Yet no one heard an earth-shattering explosion; the blast sounded more like a damp squib.

When the smoke cleared, a large hole had appeared in the wall. The city wall stood silently in its place, as if nothing had happened.

The coveted wall-breaching blasting tactic of the Paratu People started off on the wrong foot, with several hundred kilograms of black gunpowder amounting to no more than fireworks.

…

On the fifth day of the siege, night fell.

Colonel Jeska lifted the curtain of Lieutenant Montaigne’s tent to see him writing something on a piece of sheepskin.

Upon seeing the colonel enter, Winters instinctively covered the sheepskin with a map, stood up, and saluted.

Jeska took in the scene and, standing at the entrance of the tent, spoke in his customary stern tone, “Sekler wants to see you.”

“General Sekler?” Winters was taken aback.

Jeska nodded slightly.

“I’ll just get ready, and then I’ll go.” Winters pulled out the sheepskin full of writing from beneath the map, folded it twice, and placed it into a square wooden box.

As the lieutenant opened the box, Jeska saw it contained stacks of neatly folded sheepskins.

Following the colonel, Winters headed toward the central command tent in the camp.

“Sekler is a good man; there’s no need to be nervous,” Colonel Jeska said.

Winters nodded in agreement.

“It’s probably about tactical matters, so just answer whatever he asks. Sekler likes people who can get to the point. Try to keep it short and to the point,” he advised.

“Thank you, sir.”

The colonel hummed lightly, seemingly indifferent to the thanks.

After another stretch of silence, Jeska suddenly asked, “What were you writing just now? Of course… if you don’t want to say, that’s fine.”

“A letter to my family.”

“Family.” The one-eyed colonel mulled over the word: “In this godforsaken place, even if you write it, you can’t send it.”

“I can’t send it, but I still write.”

The colonel hummed again.

Inside a spacious tent, Winters met with Brigadier General Sekler.

Compared to the size of the tent itself, the interior was spartan: a bed, a desk, a clothes rack, and that was all.

General Sekler sat on a small stool with a bench in front of him, apparently using it as a table while he ate his dinner.

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