Chapter 1068 - 876: City Breach (Part 2)

The rebel army camp was brightly lit at night, with smoke rising from campfires everywhere. The patrol’s torches snaked through the camp areas like glowing serpents.

In the distance, the silhouette of Grey Rock City loomed under the ominous night sky like a crouching beast. The torches on the city walls had become much sparser than three days ago.

Victor stood there watching for a long time, then turned and headed back to his tent.

The fourth day, at dawn.

Before the sky had fully brightened, the rebel army camp was already bustling.

Countless campfires lit up in the morning mist, like countless eyes opening in the darkness.

Soldiers quickly gathered under their respective captains’ orders, the sound of iron clashing with weapons forming a dense clatter.

Cooks pushed large carts, distributing the last pre-battle meal to each camp, hot wheat porridge, and salted meat were ladled into the soldiers’ bowls. No one spoke as everyone chewed in silence, knowing that this might be their last meal ever.

As the first light of dawn broke the horizon, all siege engines of the rebel army simultaneously activated.

Dozens of trebuchets released a unified thud, launching burning stones trailing thick black smoke across the morning sky like fiery meteors falling upon the walls of Grey Rock City.

The stones exploded upon impact with the walls, scattering stones and fiery rain, blowing several parapets along with the defenders behind them into the air.

Crossbows launched massive bolts with a screech, embedding them into the tower walls. The ropes attached to the bolts were pulled taut by soldiers below, allowing dozens of climbers gripping daggers in their mouths to swiftly ascend the ropes.

The defenders on the wall frantically chopped with swords, burned with fire, and jabbed with spears, trying to sever the ropes before the enemy climbed up.

Some ropes were burned through, and some climbers plummeted with screams from above, but more ropes were pinned up again, and more climbers scrambled up with hands and feet.

Beneath the gates, the final siege hammer had taken position. It was a colossal object made of a whole millennium-old ironwood wrapped in thick iron plates, requiring hundreds of people to maneuver.

The hammer had continuously struck the gate for several days, causing the iron plates to warp and the bolt to crack in many places. The entire gate groaned under each blow as if it could no longer bear the burden.

The defenders used logs to prop the gate from the inside and sandbags to fill the doorframe, but these makeshift reinforcements were crumbling layer by layer under the relentless pounding of the siege hammer.

With a final blow, the hammer breached the central crossbar of the gate, causing the iron-plated door to collapse inward with a thunderous crash as rebel soldiers poured into the city like a flood.

The defenders on the wall were thrown into chaos upon realizing that the gate had fallen.

Soldiers still fighting at the parapets against the climbers found themselves surrounded and attacked from both sides by the rebels advancing from the inside, causing a massive breach in the central section of the West City Wall defenses within moments.

The commanding officer attempted to call up reserves to block the gate, but the reserve force had already suffered heavy casualties over the past days of fierce fighting, leaving only a sparse hundred or so. They were like a mantis trying to stop a chariot against the main force of rebels pouring through the gate.

The commanding officer was killed on the spot by a crossbow arrow shot from the shadows, and his personal soldier attempting to drag his body down from the walls was cut down by advancing rebel soldiers.

The West City Wall was completely lost, and the Red Sun Banner of the rebel army was raised over the parapets within moments.

The last line of defense for the Earl’s Mansion was set in the main hall of the keep.

Earl Marshall’s Personal Guard was the elite force of Grey Rock City, with each member handpicked from veteran soldiers and possessing at least Level 1 strength.

They engaged the invading rebels in brutal room-to-room combat in the outskirts of the keep, leaving behind corpses in every corridor, at every door, and on every step.

The Personal Guard fought and retreated from the courtyard to the main hall, from the main hall to the inner chamber, reducing from the initial hundreds to mere dozens, and then down to the final ten or so.

When rebel soldiers finally broke into Earl Marshall’s study, the white-haired old Earl stood behind his desk holding his decades-old broadsword, his armor riddled with nicks and arrow holes, his left arm hanging feebly by his side, blood dripping from his elbow to the carpet below.

All of his close Personal Soldiers had already fallen in the hallway outside the study door, the last of whom died with several arrows in his back, blocking the gap under the door with his body until his last breath.

A few rebel soldiers rushed forward simultaneously. Earl Marshall cut down one of them, but another soldier struck his wrist with a spear shaft, causing the longsword to fly from his grip.

A third soldier tackled him from the side, pinning him to the ground by the knee, and tying his hands behind his back with a hemp rope.

He did not struggle, only pressed his face against the cold carpet and closed his eyes.

At noon, Victor rode into Grey Rock City.

Hooves clattered over the main street littered with rubble and broken arrows, flanked by walls of houses blackened by fire, the air heavy with the stench of blood and charred wood.

Rebel soldiers were clearing the streets, dragging bodies to pile at the foot of the city wall and using carts to move away the debris.

The pillaging was already underway, with soldiers carrying out crates of valuables, food, and cloth from noble residences and shops. Occasionally, the sound of women screaming and soldiers’ vulgar jokes echoed from street corners, but were quickly hushed.

Victor had ordered that no civilians be killed, a command strictly enforced, with any violators executed on the spot.

As for the looting, it was customary after a city fell, and he did not intend to curb it. The soldiers needed release, they needed spoils, they needed these tangible rewards to compensate for their losses and fear in recent days.

A massive crowd of civilians had already gathered at the square in front of the Earl’s Mansion.

They were driven out of their hiding places in cellars and attics by the rebel soldiers, dressed in rags, faces pale, eyes filled with lingering terror and confusion.

A makeshift wooden platform was erected in the center of the square, devoid of decorations save for a thick wooden stake and a gleaming two-handed axe.

There was a chaotic commotion from the crowd below when Earl Marshall was brought up onto the platform.

Some threw stones at him, some spat upon him, some cried loudly, while others stood expressionless, clenching their clothing tightly.

Victor climbed onto the platform, standing beside the Earl, his gaze slowly sweeping over the civilians below.

He didn’t give a long speech, simply listing the main crimes committed by Earl Marshall during his reign, then leaned down and whispered something to the Earl.

The Earl closed his eyes at these words, his lips quivering slightly as if in silent prayer.

Victor straightened up, turning towards the crowd below with an impassive face, and announced the execution.

The executioner lifted the large axe, its heavy blade flashing a piercing cold gleam in the sunlight before it came down swiftly.

The dull thud of the decapitation echoed across the square, sparking a mix of screams and uncontrollable sobs among the crowd.

The white-haired head rolled onto the wooden platform, dark red blood seeping through the gaps between the planks, dripping into the soil below.

For a moment, the crowd was silent, then some began to weep softly, others cheered aloud, and some stood dazed, not knowing what to do.

A middle-aged woman in a worn apron stood on the edge of the crowd, clutching a ladle snatched from her home.

She stared at the head rolling on the platform, her lips moving slightly, then suddenly crouched down, burying her face in her knees, her shoulders shaking violently.

Her neighbor patted her back in an attempt to comfort her but ended up with tearful eyes herself.

The surrounding civilians wore expressions of vengeful satisfaction mixed with a deeper sense of bewilderment.

Long-oppressed under the Earl, their emotions poured forth at this moment, granting them a fleeting sense of relief.

But their homes had been destroyed by the fires of war, their food taken by looting soldiers, and their future, like the blood-soaked soil beneath their feet, lay obscure and muddy.