Chapter 84: A Single Man Guards the Pass

With Sparge’s shout of “Change formation!” the human battle regiment moved into action under the commands of dozens of centurions.

Their original formation consisted of four thousand warriors arrayed evenly along a five-hundred-meter crescent-shaped defensive wall, advancing steadily. But at the order, their uniform line swiftly shifted under the centurions’ commands. The center advanced under the cover of longbowmen’s withering fire, while the wings halted and began to converge toward the middle.

Within five minutes, the once elongated formation had compressed into a wedge for a breakthrough. Shieldbearers clustered along the sides of the wedge, raising their shields to protect the assault troops rushing forward at the center, while the longbowmen in the rear volleyed arrow after arrow, pinning the Black Banner soldiers atop the walls.

From above, the entire regiment appeared as a single line perpendicular to the ramparts. The ballistae on either side of the wall were rendered useless by the angle, and only the central ballistae could still fire—yet even they were suppressed by the longbowmen’s rain of arrows.

The speed of this tactical shift genuinely startled the one-eyed Sneech atop the battlements. He had expected a broad, even assault along the entire five-hundred-meter line—a classic blunder in siege warfare of the cold steel era. He had not anticipated that the humans could so rapidly concentrate their forces and launch a focused assault on a single segment of the wall.

In an instant, Sneech’s entire battle plan was thrown into disarray. The formation placed the assault group under full protection while directing the regiment’s strength to strike at a single point—precisely where Sneech commanded from the tower.

“Cease fire! Conserve the ballista bolts!” he roared.

“Black Banner soldiers, by my command! Switch to melee weapons and prepare to engage!”

“Understood!” came the reply.

The enemy was now less than fifty meters from the wall. The battlefield changed with every heartbeat; no one could predict what the next moment would bring. Where once Sneech had felt in perfect control, now, peering through the battlements at the advancing human regiment, he was suddenly pressed by an overwhelming sense of danger.

“General! They’re nearly upon us!” Hank’s voice trembled with panic, sweat pouring down his face as he bore the immense pressure. They held the most beleaguered section of the line, facing the brunt of the enemy’s assault.

“I know! Tell the flanks to hold their ground and await my orders!” Sneech replied. “Take a deep breath and steady yourself. We still hold the advantage as the defenders.”

Though for the first time Sneech himself felt the edge of anxiety, as commander he could not let his composure slip, and even found time to reassure Hank as he steeled himself.

“Yes, General!” Hank mimicked Sneech’s deep breathing to relieve his nerves. He was not alone—the Black Banner soldiers around him, braced for the fight, followed suit.

They stood at the very forefront, the first to meet the enemy’s onslaught, determined to hold at all costs.

By now, the human regiment had reached the base of the wall. Ladders were hoisted and set against the crenellations.

Because of the compressed formation, the ladders now crowded the battlements like a great net thrown over the wall. The arrow storm had ceased, signaling the bloody hand-to-hand battle about to begin, and the Black Banner soldiers could finally lower their shields—bristling with arrows—held high above their heads until now.

Sneech stood tall, weapon in hand at the very center of the tower.

“Soldiers of the Black Banner!” he called.

A resounding cheer went up.

“Raise your shields and spears high!”

“Prepare to fight!”

“No mercy! No mercy! No mercy!” The cry thundered forth as Sneech rallied their spirits to the peak.

Beneath the wall, four thousand warriors surged against a hundred-meter stretch of battlements in a furious assault. Sparge ran among them, bellowing orders:

“Everyone! We must bring honor to the Vanguard this day!”

“Form up! Assault group, advance!”

“Steady the ladders! Advance in squads! Keep up with me!”

Bare-chested assault team members gripped their bamboo sabers in their teeth and began to climb, scaling the six-meter wall with practiced ease. Clearly, these men had trained long for this moment.

“Ready!”

“Go!”

A centurion leading the first wave barked the command, and a row of prone warriors on the ladders roared in unison. Within seconds, the first team had vaulted over the parapet.

What greeted them was a host of Black Banner soldiers, already poised for battle. Countless beady eyes snapped to them all at once—bloodlust sharp and cold.

“Kill!”

In a flash, a forest of spears thrust out.

“Second team, up!”

“Third team, ready!”

Sparge below the wall swung his weapon and roared.

Then a looming shadow grew overhead—a centurion who had just crested the wall plummeted straight down.

On the ramparts, Sneech ran a human warrior through the belly; the man clutched the spear buried in his gut and toppled backward. Another centurion, bamboo saber gripped in his teeth and round shield in hand, leaped from the wall, bringing his shield down with all his weight into the midst of the Black Banner. He smashed open a patch of ground, sending several ratfolk tumbling from the ramparts.

The centurion quickly spotted a ratfolk soldier, unarmed and defenseless, his weapon shattered. He snatched the bamboo saber from his mouth, braced his feet, and lunged. The centurion had a keen eye—a glance told him this was no ordinary foe, but a big fish.

Yet he hadn’t expected just how formidable his opponent was. This was none other than Sneech, the one-eyed general of the ratfolk.

The moment the centurion spotted him, Sneech’s single eye flicked over his attacker’s weapons, assessing in an instant.

As the centurion, shield and saber ready, charged at Sneech, the ratfolk general lunged forward as well. The centurion hadn’t anticipated such reckless aggression from an unarmed ratfolk. Instinctively, he readied to thrust with his bamboo saber, shield raised.

The gap between them closed rapidly. Just as the ratfolk entered his strike range, the centurion’s lips curled in a wicked grin—his right arm drew back, ready to stab. But Sneech’s movements blurred—he exploded forward in a flash.

At less than a meter’s distance, Sneech suddenly slammed a foot down and accelerated, twisting his body and ramming his shoulder into the centurion’s shield.

It was like thunder, swift as lightning.

If Yang Jie had been there, he would have recognized the ferocious technique: the Iron Mountain Lean of Eight Extremities.

The centurion never expected such a savage, unorthodox attack. The shock blew the breath from his lungs, and his thrusting saber cut nothing but air behind Sneech.

Suddenly, he felt his extended right arm trapped as if by a vice, and a surge of strength wrenched through it. The next instant, his feet left the ground and he was hurled bodily from the wall.

Sneech had executed a textbook over-the-shoulder throw, casting the centurion from the battlements.