Chapter 870: Siege
The brass trumpets sounded from a distance and broke the silence of noon. In the castle courtyard, the birds stopped calling—a small cessation, like an intake of breath before something large and irreversible.
Duke Wilion Berger stood in the hall and looked from the portrait of the former king Timothy to the suit of full armor on its stand—his grandfather’s armor, patched and re-patched over the years, polished until every piece wore a skin of compressed grease that had become, through decades of care, nearly part of the metal itself. On the right arm, his family’s motto was engraved.
Undying loyalty.
In this armor he had ridden through rain and arrows to take a rebellious old duke alive on the battlefield. Timothy had given him the Eastern Region for that. Timothy was gone now. But the duty of a lord did not end because the king who had bestowed it was dead.
He had made his decision. He would keep his honor.
A servant entered and bowed. “My lord, Prince Roland’s army is approaching Valencia. They carry no cannon.”
“Good.” Wilion nodded. “Tell the others to make ready. I will come shortly.”
“Yes!”
He shed his coat and walked to the armor. “Help me dress,” he said to his Chief Knight, Galina.
“Yes, my lord.” She rolled up her sleeves and began. Her hands were calloused and rough—the hands of a woman who had put a spear through armor on dozens of battlefields—but they moved now with a gentleness that belied everything they had done. Wilion watched them work and felt the familiar mix of things: admiration, gratitude, the particular loneliness of having led a person into a situation from which you could no longer protect them.
“Do you regret it?” he asked.
“No, my lord.” Her voice was even. “The moment you made me your Chief Knight, I decided to remain with you. Whatever comes next, I will do my duty.”
“But the enemy we face this time is stronger than any before. If it’s possible—”
The belt drew tight around his waist, cutting off the sentence.
“Then why did you refuse to ally with the King of Dawn,” Galina said, her hands still moving through the fastenings, “if you believed the opponent that strong? You kicked his messenger out of Valencia personally. When word reached Glow, Appen Moya must have concluded you couldn’t appreciate a favor.”
“I doubt the City of Glow could hold against Roland’s army regardless.” Wilion curled his lip. “And Appen Moya asking for harbors and permanent military bases—what is the difference between him and Roland Wimbledon? The former king granted me the Eastern Region. If I had accepted Appen’s terms, I would have failed my king from a different direction.”
“Then my answer is the same as before,” Galina said, without hesitation or performance. “The Berger family is not alone in placing loyalty above convenience. My lord, please don’t say that anymore. It sounds like you are trying to give me a way out, and I find that insulting.”
Wilion went quiet.
After a moment: “Most nobles have forgotten this. I know.” He breathed out. “Then we go to war together. The enemy is strong—I won’t pretend otherwise—but I will not surrender Valencia without making them earn every step of it. I have been waiting for this battle.”
“Yes, my lord.” Galina smiled.
“Bale!” He called for his Clerk.
A bald middle-aged man appeared promptly in the doorway. “My lord, what do you require?”
“Write down what I say. After a full night’s rest, the kingslayer Roland Wimbledon’s forces intend to formally assault Valencia today. Duke of Valencia, Wilion Berger, resolves to oppose them in the name of the former king. His Chief Knight, Galina Wynne, has chosen to ride with him without hesitation. May the deities bless them.” He paused. “If that seems too subjective—you may omit the last sentence.”
Bale’s charcoal pen moved steadily across the page. “I believe I’ll keep it, my lord. There is no perfectly objective record in this world. Since I am the Clerk of Valencia, my favor toward this city is part of the reality I am recording. No apology is needed for that.”
“Then keep it. But whatever happens next—record it faithfully. The outcome, the full process, the reasons. All of it.” Wilion held the clerk’s eyes. “That is your purpose here.”
“You have my word, my lord.” Bale bowed. “The people will remember this.”
Without further ceremony, Wilion took his sword from the wall and walked out of the castle without looking back.
By the time the duke and Galina climbed the lookout tower above the city gate, the preparations were fully visible below them: bonfires lit, oil boiling in iron pots, the air sharp with its pungent smoke. Soldiers moved up and down the wall, hauling stones and lengths of timber to the battlements.
Wilion had done his research on Roland’s methods. He knew from the king’s city how the campaign had gone there—that the most devastating weapon in a siege had been the cannon, the snow powder launcher that could reach far beyond any mangonel’s range. Timothy, in his final months, had managed to get the design to Wilion: the formula, the manufacturing process, the schematics.
Wilion had invested heavily. And in the process, he had learned the cannon’s weaknesses. First: it was extraordinarily heavy, requiring level ground and a stable mount to perform fully. Second: it was slow to deploy—the assembly process required covering fire from flintlocks. It was a weapon built for defense, not maneuver.
He had adapted his preparations accordingly. The city wall had been thickened. Iron barbs had been installed across its outer surface. Every road in the suburb had been broken or flooded, the farmland turned to marshland by diverting river water. Stumps had been sunk into the Sanwan River to block large vessels. None of these measures were cheap. The destruction of the farmland had driven out population; the broken roads had killed the trade that Valencia had been built on. But the duke had accepted those costs, because the result was exactly what he needed: no cannon could be dragged to his walls through flooded field and demolished road without first constructing the road itself, which would take weeks and provide ample time to respond.
And the army approaching now carried none.
He had won the first exchange before a shot was fired.
Roland’s soldiers were equipped with flintlocks, he knew—rapid, deadly at medium range. But flintlocks could not conceal men at a wall’s base, and they could not assist someone climbing a surface covered in iron barbs. Meanwhile Wilion had four mangonels and two cannons of his own positioned in the city, capable of reaching a thousand steps. The equation had tilted.
“They’re coming,” Galina said.
A detachment of soldiers in brown moved out of the main formation—deliberate, unhurried, holding their spacing. Their advance slowed as the ground turned soft beneath them, the flooded farmland doing its intended work, breaking their column into small groups of two and three. They carried something on their backs: dark grey cylinders, long, paired with barrels about the thickness of a man’s thigh. Light. Not cannon—much too light for cannon. The duke studied them and could not immediately place what they were.
He estimated the distance, raised a red flag, and swept it toward the wall.
“Rock cannon—fire!”
Chapter 870: Siege
Translator: TransN Editor: TransN
The sounds of brass trumpets came from afar and broke the silence of the noon. The birds in the courtyard stopped tweeting, which seemed like an omen. At this moment, this hall in the castle looked solemn and dull.
Duke Wilion Berger knew that it was the time for the decisive battle.
He moved his eyes from the portrait of the former king Timothy to a set of delicate full armor, which was inherited from his grandfather. He had repeatedly patched and polished it. Each piece of it was soaked with grease which formed something like a skin on its surface.
His family’s motto engraved on the right arm armor read “Undying loyalty”.
In this set of armor, he had caught the rebellious old duke alive on the battlefield in a rain of arrows. For this brilliant achievement, Timothy had bestowed on him the title of Lord of the Eastern Region.
Although Timothy was gone, the duty of a lord would not be interrupted by this incident.
He made up his mind to keep his honor.
“My lord, Prince Roland’s army is approaching Valencia. They didn’t carry any big firearm with them.” A servant walked into the hall and reported to him.
“Good.” Wilion nodded. “Tell the others to get ready. I’ll come over very soon.”
“Yes!”
He took off his coat and walked to the armor. “Help me put on the armor,” he said to his Chief Knight, Galina.
“Yes.” She rolled up her sleeves and started to help him change his clothes. Her hands were rough and calloused but now moved slowly and gently whilst removing his clothes. It was hard to believe that these hands could also hold a spear to penetrate armor and stab her enemies on the battlefield.
Whenever he saw her killing whilst in combat, he would be enchanted by that scene.
“Do you… regret it?”
“Of course not, my lord,” Galina replied calmly. “The moment you decided to make me your Chief Knight, I made up my mind to stay with you forever. No matter what happens, I’ll do my duty.”
“But this time, the enemy is stronger than ever. If it’s possible—” The duke was interrupted by the belt suddenly tightening around his waist.
“So why did you refuse to ally with King of Dawn, if you think that our opponent is that strong. You even openly kicked his messenger out of Valencia. When the envoy sent this information back to Dawn, the king must have blamed you for being unable to appreciate a favor.”
“Tut, I highly doubt whether the City of Glow is able to resist the attack of Prince Roland’s troops, and Appen Moya really crossed the line to ask me to provide him harbors and permanent military bases.” Wilion curled his lips in contempt. “Is there any difference between him and Roland Wimbledon? The former king granted me the Eastern Region. If I had promised Appen, I would have failed my king.”
“So my answer is still the same,” Galina said without any hesitation. “The Berger family is not alone in rating loyalty as the top quality, so my lord, please don’t say that anymore. It’s an insult to me.”
Wilion fell silent. A moment later, he said, “Unfortunately, most nobles have forgotten this point… I see, let’s go to war together. Although the enemy is
powerful, I won’t let them seize Valencia easily. I’ve been waiting for this battle for a long time.”
“Yes, my lord.” The female knight smiled.
“Bale!” He shouted out his Clerk’s name. “Come here!”
Soon, a bald middle-aged man came into the hall. “My lord, what can I do for you?”
“Write down what I say. After a whole night’s rest, the kingslayer Roland Wimbledon’s minions plan to officially launch an attack at Valencia today. Duke of Valencia, Wilion Berger, determines to defeat them in the name of the former king, and his brave, loyal Chief Knight, Galina Wynne decides to go with him to the battle with resolution. May the deities bless them.” Willy paused. “Surely… if you think this record seems too subjective, you can omit the last sentence.”
Bale nodded while rapidly noting down what the duke said on his notebook with a charcoal pen. “I think that it’ll be alright if I write down the last sentence, my lord. There’s no absolutely objective record in this world. Since I’m Clerk of Valencia, it’ll be totally acceptable if my favor goes to this city. This is also a part of the reality.”
“So keep it there, but no matter what happens next, you have to faithfully record the outcome of the war, understand?” Willy emphasized. “It’s your mission to record the reason and the whole process of this war.”
“Please be assured, my lord.” The Clerk bowed. “I’ll let the people remember this event.”
Without a word, Wilion picked up his steel sword hanging on the wall and went out of his castle without looking back.
…
When the duke and his Chief Knight climbed up to the lookout tower on top of the city wall, the bonfire had already been lit up. Oil was boiling in the
pot and emitted a pungent smell. The duke’s soldiers were busy going up and down, mounting stones and logs on the city wall.
He had known from the war in the king’s city that Roland’s most powerful firearm in a siege battle was a snow powder weapon called cannon which could shoot much farther than a mangonel. Unfortunately, Timothy had been unable to produce a similar weapon to compete with it to the day when the city had fallen. But on that day, the former king had managed to send his right-hand man to give the duke the formula for making snow powder and the design and manufacturing process of the weapon. Timothy’s purpose was self-evident.
Wilion had invested a lot in this new weapon and meanwhile had also found many weak points in this kind of firearms. First, it was very heavy and needed to be placed on a flat ground to give full play to its strength. Second, it was slow to set up and thus this assembling process needed to be covered by flintlocks. In general, it was more a defensive weapon than an offensive one.
He had done everything in his power to get well-prepared for this war. He had thickened the city wall and installed barbs on it. He had also sent his men to destruct all the roads in the suburb and make all the farmland marshland by flooding them with water from the river. He had erected many hidden stumps in the Sanwan River, making it hard for any big inland river ship to travel in this waterway. These measures he had adapted had totally changed this place in the past two years. Now, it was inconvenient to carry any heavy thing into the city using manpower, let alone carriages drawn by horses.
These war preparations cost him dearly. Without convenient connections to the other places, this city of trade could not be prosperous anymore. The destruction of the farmland had led to a sharp reduction in the population. However, the duke firmly believed his measures were correct, as now he could not find any cannon in the approaching enemy troops.
They must have realized that they could never drag their cannons here if they did not build a road first.
Next, it was time for a tough battle.
Though Roland’s soldiers were equipped with highly efficient flintlocks, they could not hide themselves at the foot of the wall or climb up this wall with barbs on the surface. Furthermore, the duke had set four mangonels and two cannons in the city, which could hit target 1000 steps away. Now it was difficult to tell who was winning.
“They’re coming,” Galina warned.
A group of soldiers dressed in brown stepped out of the enemy troops, steadily heading toward the gate of the city. They did not move very fast but their steps were exceptionally firm. Soon they seemed to be unable to stay in formation on the muddy ground and then split into groups of two or three, starting to work in the fields like old farmers. They carried on their backs dark gray long spears and barrels as thick as thighs. The duke thought that something so light was obviously not a kind of cannon.
Wilion estimated the distance, raised a red flag and waved it to the soldiers behind him.
“Huge rock cannon, fire!”