FL - Chapter 70: The Rout

Late on the second night, frantic horns sounded from the southern wall.

Screams and firelight followed.

Viscount Webster hadn't slept. He pulled on his armor and rushed from his tent, his face dark.

A minor noble's knight order held that sector. They were few and poorly equipped, but Webster had expected them to last several days.

He hadn't imagined they would collapse so soon.

By the time he arrived, the entire wall had become a slaughterhouse.

Blood ran down the stone steps. Broken armor and severed limbs lay tangled together.

Corpses hung over the battlements, their open eyes and frozen expressions preserving their final terror.

No one had survived.

"Kill them!" Webster roared.

He charged and swung his heavy war blade, knocking several Snowsworn warriors to the ground with one blow.

Battle Aura burned around him like wildfire. His knights followed, fighting desperately to reclaim the wall one bloody step at a time.

As dawn approached, dying fires still smoldered. The air reeked of blood and charred flesh.

Webster leaned against a broken parapet. Gore covered his armor, and blood from a wound on his brow ran down his jaw.

His chest heaved as he stared toward the horizon.

*The second day is already this brutal. What comes next?*

The news spread through the city at first light.

"The southern-wall garrison was wiped out."

"The Snowsworn have broken into the city."

"They say the minor noble fled before the battle and had already betrayed us..."

Rumors multiplied. Fear filled the streets, and the army's morale began to crack.

Webster had little time to recover.

That evening, the Snowsworn main force advanced.

Instead of assaulting the wall directly, they aimed catapults at the northern gate.

Whoosh!

A black projectile crossed the sky, trailing thick smoke.

It struck and burst.

Putrid black mist spread across half an arrow tower.

"Aagh!"

Soldiers covered their mouths and noses and stumbled backward, but several collapsed screaming.

"Don't touch it! It's a curse-shell!"

Panic spread. The mist clung to armor and hissed as it corroded the metal. Festering pits opened in the wooden planks.

A second shell followed, then a third.

The Snowsworn had prepared dozens. They hammered the northern gate in rapid succession.

Black fog rolled across the defensive line. Archers collapsed from poison, the wall began to rot, and even corpses dissolved.

"Fall back!"

"We can't! If we retreat, the gate is lost!"

Command broke down and morale shattered.

An Elite Knight shouted, "Wet cloths over your mouths and noses! One step back and everything is over!"

Only a few old northern knight companies still held the wall.

In battered armor and with bloodshot eyes, they endured at the edge of the poison while corrosive liquid flowed beneath their boots and comrades collapsed around them.

Viscount Webster hurried to the northern gate, his wounds from the previous night still open.

He stood atop the poison-filled tower and issued an order through gritted teeth.

"Pull half the knights from the eastern and southern walls! Reinforce the northern gate! It can't hold!"

Messengers raced away in every direction.

They returned less than half an hour later, their faces rigid.

"My lord, one house refuses to send reinforcements. They claim they must defend their assigned sector."

"Another lord reports that his losses are too severe to spare troops."

Webster stared into the churning black mist without moving.

Wind caught his cloak and the blood-matted hair across his forehead.

Only coughing and pained groans disturbed the brief silence.

He understood.

The nobles had planned their escapes from the beginning. They had never intended to defend the city to the end.

A guard stumbled onto the battlements, blood covering his face.

"L-lord Viscount! The western gate... There's been a breach!"

Webster spun around. "What?"

"Someone saw no enemies there and thought they could escape..."

Another messenger arrived before he finished, nearly falling from his horse.

"The western gate was a trap! They left a gap to lure out deserters, and an ambush was waiting outside!

"Hundreds of men were surrounded the moment they passed the gate. They were all slaughtered!"

"Fools!" Webster roared. "It wasn't enough to throw away your own lives. You had to drag the entire defense down with you!"

He punched the stone wall, and blood seeped between his fingers.

Half an hour earlier, a report had claimed there was a gap in the western defenses.

The southern colonization nobles immediately saw an opportunity.

They quietly gathered their household knights, avoided the battle line, and headed for the western gate.

No one stopped them.

"If we don't flee now, when will we?"

"The northerners don't treat us as their own. Why should we care if the city falls?"

They spoke with perfect conviction.

Nobles had been taught from childhood that preserving their own strength mattered most.

Several hundred men moved through the night. Hooves and iron armor clattered against the stone streets as they rushed through the western gate.

The wasteland beyond was dark and silent, apparently empty.

They passed the outer wall and entered the frozen wilds.

Rows of red lights appeared in the darkness.

They were Snowsworn eyes, gleaming like those of nocturnal predators.

Horns sounded from every direction. The snow erupted as countless warriors emerged and closed in.

"Enemy attack!"

The frontmost knight died before the warning ended. A volley of arrows pierced his helmet and threw him from the saddle.

Chaos engulfed the rear. Horses trying to turn collided and fell.

The Snowsworn gave them no time to recover.

They entered the crowd with Battle Aura erupting around their blades and axes.

The leading warriors wore thick beast-hide armor. Their eyes glowed red, and deep-blue Battle Aura rolled around them like ocean waves.

Every axe stroke cleaved through men and armor.

Wolf riders rampaged among the fugitives on massive white wolves. Claws tore through plate, and fangs crushed throats.

The fleeing column had barely cleared the gate and never formed ranks. It was torn apart within moments.

Blood dyed the earth. Warm mist rose from the gore.

Some men knelt and begged. Others shouted their surrender.

The Snowsworn showed no mercy. They killed without pause, washing away their shame in blood.

Warhorses shrieked and collapsed on the men beneath them. Spears pierced armor and dragged out blood and flesh.

The screams weakened, then vanished into the wind and snow.

The attempted escape had become a massacre.

Fewer than ten men survived.