Chapter 54: The Struggle for the City Walls

The momentum of the Imperial assault was simply overwhelming, and despite our desperate efforts, their siege engines advanced relentlessly toward the city walls. After seven towering siege towers had been destroyed, at last, three siege engines managed to lay their wooden drawbridges along the wall's edge. Giant troll warriors wielding axes, vampire sorcerers with scarlet gleams in their eyes, and undead necromancers with hollow sockets burning with eerie blue flames howled as they surged onto the ramparts, eager to sate their evil hearts with a frenzy of slaughter.

They had no inkling of the path of annihilation awaiting them.

The lead troll warrior easily dispatched the battered defenders, victims of his own traps, and raised his axe in a triumphant sneer, ready to press forward—

A faint string tremor reverberated through the air, and suddenly the sound of raindrops grew shrill. Before the burly troll could react, three poisoned blades shot out from concealed mechanisms at the wall's corner, piercing his thigh. A line of crimson "-100" floated above his head, and, poisoned, every so often another "-20" or "-35" appeared.

This was only the beginning. He lacked the vitality to withstand the potent toxins for long. In the blink of an eye, a bright bolt of bundled lightning erupted from another mechanism, striking him squarely in the chest. The damage wasn't limited to him—others behind him were caught in the chain lightning, their vitality draining away in waves.

Then, a ghostly blue light rose from the ground, enveloping him. Instantly, the blue glow unleashed a violent chill, causing the surrounding moisture to condense rapidly, crackling with freezing sounds as if the very space was frozen solid. Soon, a coat of icy frost encrusted the unlucky troll, immobilizing him. For ten seconds, he could do nothing, and when he finally broke free, his movements were sluggish, and his life force had been reduced to less than one-tenth.

While he struggled to escape the freezing trap, his foot triggered a flame-spraying device, sealing his fate. This small, fist-sized magical contraption with a metal nozzle spewed roaring flames, engulfing the troll and reducing him to ashes.

His tragic end was not unique; nearly all of the first wave of invading soldiers suffered the same fate. The traps set by the shadow thieves, arranged by Fo Smile, proved devastating. The mechanisms and pitfalls, like greedy mouths, mercilessly devoured the enemy.

When all the pre-set traps were exhausted, hundreds of invaders had fallen to these insidious devices, while another two or three hundred were so weakened by poison, explosions, or freezing that they could barely fight, their demise inevitable.

Within moments, we achieved such a brilliant victory, each of us exhilarated, though I felt they could have done even better.

Perhaps because it was the first time on such a grand battlefield, our shadow thief companions hadn't fully harnessed their tools. These crafty and dexterous rogues, too eager for glory, clustered their traps where the siege engines approached. On this narrow stretch of wall, various mechanisms were piled together; a single step could trigger three or four traps, killing enemies instantly—but also rapidly depleting our arsenal, with many traps’ lasting effects wasted.

If only the shadow thieves had coordinated their placements, distributing the traps methodically to maximize each device's potential, our results would have been even greater.

Soon, the traps on the ramparts were spent. Before they ran out, these professional killing tools brought us results far beyond expectation: enemy soldiers leaping from the siege engines barely had time to find their footing before becoming pathetic corpses, let alone breach the wall. We even had time to focus our fire, destroying the most fragile of the three siege engines nearest the wall.

When the last trap was triggered, sharp shrapnel exploded, filling the air above the enemy with thick crimson clouds. The battle entered its cruel phase, where steel and flesh met directly.

I faced a swinging, twin-bladed undead "battle zombie." I've always disliked fighting these disgusting decayers. No matter when or where, they emit a foul stench, their stiff faces marred with ugly corpse spots, wounds exposing twisted muscles oozing yellow pus. Just seeing them churns one's stomach. Worse yet, undead are animated by evil magic, not physical function; attacks deadly to "true" life—like piercing wounds—barely affect them. Against undead, a sharp axe or heavy hammer works better, but as a swordsman, many effective thrusting skills are useless, limiting my combat options.

Fortunately, this battle zombie was five levels below me. His attacks were slow and feeble; even without using skills, my sword easily overpowered him. In just a few exchanges, his vitality was depleted, and he met his second death.

More siege engines now laid their drawbridges, unleashing undead, trolls, vampires, demons, dark elves—evil warriors flooding the walls, intensifying their assault. Soon, the ramparts echoed with guttural roars and the metallic clang of weapons, blood spraying and rising in scarlet mists, staining us all red.

Originally, the fight should not have been so arduous. As I said, their levels were far beneath those of the wall-defending Voidwalkers. Normally, even our lowest-level member could handle three foes at once, winning easily. Their destructive power and combat skill were poor; even twice their numbers couldn't shake our defenses.

But now, my Voidwalker comrades seemed bewitched—sluggish, slow to react, fighting with unprecedented stupidity.

Song of Strings was the worst. He clumsily drew his bow, carefully aiming at empty space—where nothing at all existed. Who knows what he was targeting? Whatever it was, it surely existed only in his imagination.

He released an arrow, which, unsurprisingly, missed and tumbled from the battlements. Song of Strings watched the pointless arrow vanish, then cursed in frustration, slowly drew another, and turned to aim at another patch of empty space, firing in vain at imaginary foes.

After this happened seven or eight times, our elven sharpshooter finally broke down. He stowed his longbow, pulled a crude skinning knife from his pack, and, hysterical, charged into the enemy ranks.

After that... I never saw him return.

Compared to Song of Strings, the dwarven priest Sunshot was far more effective. As usual, this fervent warrior threw himself into the thick of the enemy, wielding his nunchaku staff with the "Intercepting Fist" spell, chanting "hum hum ha xi" in that nasal, snotty voice.

But this powerful shield spell consumed prodigious magic, and after a few dozen seconds, Sunshot's mana was depleted. Unfortunately, our dwarven friend didn't notice, still swinging his staff energetically. On the battlefield, without magical glow, his nunchaku was little more than a fire stick. The soldiers of the End Empire, no longer wary, surrounded him with cruel smiles... and soon another cry of pain joined the din.

Such incidents were numerous. According to the Voidwalkers, they had all been afflicted by a widespread curse called "Lag," losing their usual agility and barely able to fight, like moving targets. Only the native city defenders like myself remained unaffected, able to fight as before.

It was terrifying. If the End Empire could so easily cripple the Voidwalkers, who could stop them? Even now I cannot fathom how they accomplished this.

A startled scream rang out atop the wall—from the elven druid girl Fairy Descended. Though troubled by "Lag," she seemed less affected, able to shift between human and bear form and heal herself. But facing so many enemies, she inevitably struggled. When her life waned and she reverted to human form to heal, a "Thorn Lash" demon seized the moment, attacking relentlessly and cornering her.

"I'm here!" In the nick of time, paladin Ox Million arrived, playing the heroic "White Ox Prince," resisting evil and rescuing the lady. He swung his wooden stake with a fierce roar, striking the demon in the abdomen. Surprisingly, the burly demon, as large as a minotaur, was sent flying, tumbling down the wall and smashed into a meat patty.

Ox Million's attack didn't end there. Gripping the stake, he spun on his heels, whirling the stake in a spiral, creating a dangerous windstorm and shielding Fairy Descended. Every enemy struck was battered back; some unlucky ones toppled off the ramparts and fell to their deaths.

The "Powerful Whirlwind" was Ox Million's earliest self-created skill, its knockback effect proving invaluable here. No matter the enemy's vitality, being swept off the wall meant certain death—a humiliating end.

In our past dealings, Ox Million had always struck me as timid, chaotic, a source of trouble in combat, rarely accomplishing anything noteworthy. This was the first time I'd seen him so valiantly take the initiative. He was majestic, indomitable, standing before the druid girl, blocking all foes and giving her time to recover. If not for his absurd name floating overhead, I'd have doubted my own eyes.

When his whirlwind finished, he had become the most distinguished warrior of the battle: eight enemies were knocked off the wall by his crude stake, their lives fueling his glory. Several others suffered injuries.

"You're amazing, Big Ox!" The rescued druid girl gazed at the paladin's muscular form, her eyes flashing with uncontrollable heat, shrieking in excitement.

For most people, spinning in place at high speed is unpleasant—Ox Million included. He was pale, legs weak, eyes rolling, seemingly struggling not to vomit. Yet the druid girl's adoration made his vain heart soar.

"Of course... I haven't... used my full strength yet..." he boasted shamelessly, swaying unsteadily. The "Powerful Whirlwind" skill carried a severe side effect: a minute of dizziness. Ox Million's balance was abysmal, and now he could barely stand, yet he stubbornly charged forward.

He tried to walk straight, but inevitably his path curved toward the wall's edge...

"Strange... why does the ground keep... swaying?" The dizzy paladin staggered like a drunk toward the wall, muttering his final words...

Then, determinedly, he stepped off the rampart, and fell—

"Ah, so high..." his voice drifted from outside the wall, followed by—

"Bang!"

My research showed that a minotaur makes a louder impact than a frail dark elf when hitting the ground.

Ox Million's rare heroic feat ended predictably in such foolish fashion, but his brief battle inspired us. As I fought, suppressing laughter, the swordsman Fo Smile called out behind us:

"Don't slash blindly, use knockback skills! Throw them off the wall!" He wielded blade and sword, ignoring the pursuing summoned minion, his double blades raining down on the undead sorcerer. In a few exchanges, the skeleton was shattered; the minion, deprived of magic, vanished from existence. Meanwhile, Fo Smile was pushed to his limit, a stray arrow lodging in his forearm, causing his death from the minor wound.

Others soon adopted this efficient tactic. Those wielding hammers, axes, or heavy clubs stopped fixating on killing enemies with their own weapons. Instead, they pressed forward, forcing enemies toward the edge, then unleashed powerful knockback skills, sending them flying. Combat became quicker, saving stamina and mana.

Sadly, my single-handed sword lacked knockback abilities. I could only slash, while others easily pushed foes off the wall. Regret filled me for not learning hammer techniques.

My frustration made my attacks fiercer, and before I knew it, I'd reached the edge of a drawbridge. Ahead, several invaders vied to face me. Carelessly, I'd accumulated several wounds, losing nearly a third of my vitality.

Facing so many enemies head-on was unwise. I decided to unleash a "Fear Roar," hoping to force them back.

Unexpectedly, my roar stunned the enemies into confusion. Terrified, they retreated, crowding onto the siege engine's drawbridge. In the crush, two trolls tumbled off the bridge, followed quickly by a dark elf and a demon. My intimidating shout proved more lethal than my sword.

This clever tactic quickly spread. Warriors before the siege engines roared, sending attackers fleeing; one after another fell from the ramparts. Furthermore, my discovery inspired others: priests specializing in support could learn "Soul Guidance," temporarily controlling an enemy's soul with divine power, directing them as desired. Now, these "kind," "noble," "pure," and "holy" priests used it to command enemies to jump from the wall en masse.

Mind-specialist sorcerers used spells like "Mental Shock," sending a wave of psychic energy to stun foes, producing effects similar to "Fear Roar."

With this counterattack, the enemy numbers on the wall dwindled, many trapped on the drawbridges, unable to advance or retreat, waiting to be thrown down. The pressure eased considerably.

Perhaps only one was dissatisfied:

"Damn, damn, all the corpses are thrown beneath the wall—how am I supposed to find money now..." Feyin complained, stamping her feet, even as she unleashed a "Mana Strike," knocking a vampire soldier off the wall.

(The following note is not part of the chapter:

First, a correction—this chapter is actually fifty-four, the previous was fifty-three. Thanks to Defu for the reminder.

Second, I want to mention a fellow writer, the author of "Seemingly Kind Drow," Touching the Harp. I once advertised for him, though we only share a distant camaraderie. Today I learned he lives in the Sichuan earthquake disaster area, enduring hardship on the streets. I offer my condolences here; if anyone knows his whereabouts, please send him my regards and blessings.

Finally, an announcement: I've been concerned about my grandfather's illness and haven't followed the earthquake news closely. Today, I checked the news and found the disaster far more severe than I imagined, the tragic deaths wrenching my heart. I've decided that, when my first month's royalties for "Solo Journey" are paid, however much it is, I will donate it all to the earthquake disaster area. This is a writer's modest contribution to suffering compatriots, and a heartfelt offering on behalf of all "Solo Journey" readers.)