Chapter 81: The Defense of High Court—The Probing Assault Begins!

As soon as the meeting ended, One-Eye led his group of officers toward the medical center.

Five minutes later, One-Eye Sneech slowly pushed open the door to Yang Jie’s hospital room.

It was deep night; the room was pitch black, yet Yang Jie’s faint breathing could still be heard, and the air was thick with the sharp scent of blood.

Yang Jie lay flat on a mat made of dry grass and animal hides, his right hand limp and hanging downward.

The sight of Yang Jie, barely clinging to life on the grass mat, filled every officer present with remorse and guilt. Each wondered why, at the crucial moment, they had not dared to rush forward and take the arrow meant for their chieftain.

The officers stood dumbly to the side, haunted by the scene. Johnny and Carl, in particular, were consumed by self-blame; Johnny, whose duty it had been to protect Yang Jie, ended up being protected by him instead.

Carl, newly promoted as captain of the personal guard, had failed to react in time at the critical moment!

There was no excuse—for him, this was nothing short of dereliction of duty. A suffocating sense of anguish gnawed at him.

One-Eye gently clasped Yang Jie’s hand, placing it atop his own, and spoke softly:

“As long as we draw breath, High Court shall never fall.”

...

Early the next morning, a dense mass of human soldiers had already formed ranks outside High Court. Today, Wu Fan’s expendable battalion was sent to probe the defenses. To be honest, not even Wu Fan himself held any hope; if these cannon fodder managed to reach the base of the city walls without turning back, it would be a remarkable feat.

The human troops were arranged in phalanxes, typically ten by ten—one hundred men per formation, led by a centurion, equipped with tower shields and spearmen, while the archers formed a separate unit.

At the sound of the horn, Wu Fan stood at the front, brandishing his weapon and shouted, “Everyone! Attack!”

Roused by Wu Fan’s forced enthusiasm, Zhang Wenyan’s expendable battalion began its slow, snail-like advance, launching their attack from three hundred meters away from High Court’s walls.

The attack commenced from three hundred meters out because the ballistae atop the walls had a range of two hundred fifty meters, and with the elevation advantage, could reach about three hundred meters. These ballistae had been dismantled from Wu Fan’s own warship, so he understood their capabilities better than anyone.

On High Court’s city wall, One-Eye Sneech stood atop the central tower, watching the group of cannon fodder carrying ladders, inching forward.

“Should we open fire? They’re within range,” Johnny asked beside him. Though One-Eye was the overall commander, the soldiers manning the walls were still Johnny’s city defense troops.

One-Eye shook his head and replied:

...

“No need. They’re nothing but cannon fodder. Our ballista bolts are limited, and the battle is just beginning—we must conserve them. Using them on this rabble would be a waste.”

As the commanding general, One-Eye naturally had his own tactical considerations. After consulting with Old Sha and understanding Yang Jie’s strategic thinking, he knew not to focus solely on defending the walls. The goal was to whittle down the enemy as much as possible before the walls were breached.

Moreover, mobilizing all available strength from the tribe to meet the enemy was the true path to defeating them.

Wu Fan’s first batch of five hundred expendables moved slowly, taking nearly five minutes to cover a mere hundred meters. If not for the overseers driving them forward, it would have taken even longer.

The troops, neat at the outset, became increasingly disordered after traversing one hundred meters. These expendables had no systematic military training; most were fighting for the first time. They were the old, weak, and sick among their people, closely watched after joining the alliance army, with no chance to escape.

Suddenly, the foremost expendable’s foot slipped, and he plunged down with a cry, vanishing without another sound.

The others were so startled they collapsed to the ground, and the bravest peered into the hole. Inside, nearly three meters deep, the unlucky man’s chest had been impaled by a wooden stake, the jagged tip protruding from his chest—his death was gruesome.

None dared advance further...

“Men! Fill in this pit!” shouted the overseer, indifferent to the victims’ fate. He summoned a few engineers with shovels to fill the hole.

“Everyone else, keep moving forward. Deserters will be dealt with according to military law!” he barked, kicking an old soldier behind the knee. The old man stumbled, hands landing on the ground, nearly falling into the same trap.

“Keep formation and advance! Deserters will be punished on the spot!” the overseer cracked his whip against the earth, raising a cloud of dust.

Now, the expendables finally understood they were sent to trigger traps, but dared not protest. Driven by repeated lashings, they pressed on.

A motley crew!

Ten minutes later, the overseer got them back in order and continued to drive them forward.

Barely had they moved a few steps when another expendable at the front cried out and plummeted into the next trap.

This man, terrified by the earlier impalement, was now panic-stricken. The pit lacked the dreadful wooden spikes, but he felt something beneath him...

Suddenly, an agonizing pain shot through his neck—a venomous snake had sunk its fangs into his carotid artery. Only then did he realize the pit was full of such snakes.

...

Clad in rough hemp, most of his body exposed, he was utterly defenseless against the serpents.

“Help me! Help me!” His hoarse cries pierced the air, audible even to One-Eye atop the tower a hundred meters away—the very effect he sought.

The unfortunate expendable was soon swarmed by snakes, his body writhing and covered in their coils, enough to make anyone’s skin crawl.

His eyes, vacant and hollow, stared up at the sky, his hand reaching as if to grasp something in the air.

Soon, his cries faded to a whisper, barely audible—within minutes, he toppled backward, lifeless.

“Engineers, hurry and fill in this pit!” the overseer ignored everything, finally calling for the engineers to fill the snake-infested trap with dirt.

Fear is contagious. Two more expendables dropped their weapons and, crazed, bolted toward the main force.

Wu Fan saw the two fleeing soldiers, drew his spear, and felled them both without hesitation—no mercy.

“Desertion is death!” he declared.

This grim warning instantly quashed any thoughts of escape; under the overseer’s urging, the rest had no choice but to press on.

Thus, the expendables inched forward, probing the ground with their weapons in hopes of detecting traps.

But the ratmen’s trap-making skills were masterful—impossible to spot with the naked eye. Even poking with spears did nothing, but the moment a foot touched the surface, the trap would spring.

As they entered the two-hundred-meter radius from High Court’s walls, the traps became more frequent; thirty engineers struggled to keep pace.

Of the five hundred expendables, nearly a hundred fell victim to the ratmen’s traps within one hundred fifty meters.

The closer they drew to High Court, the denser the traps became. Eventually, at one hundred fifty meters from the walls, the expendables sat down, ignoring the overseer’s lashes, refusing to advance any further.

...