Chapter 142 Chapter 139 Fight and Retreat
The next day.
At the second city wall, after the walls collapsed on both sides, there was no moat, and the ratmen could rush to the breach in the wall on foot. The anticipated fierce assault did not arrive. Furthermore, even the daily barrage of cannon fodder used to exhaust their stamina and crossbow bolts had stopped.
Three Abyssal Hells loomed outside the first city wall, and one of them lay on the ground, receiving treatment.
In front of the enraged dwarfs, the ratmen began to dismantle the houses they had lived in for generations, clearing a wide avenue.
In today’s diary, George wrote: “No battle today.” He intended to write, “Hope the reinforcements arrive soon.”
The pen tip touched the paper but stopped, fearing that leaking news of the reinforcements would lead to failure. This top-secret information was known only to the clan leader besides his two fiancées.
He was also worried that if the secret leaked, the ratmen would encircle the reinforcements. Jima was still in the army, and he feared Beow would use the opportunity to attack Jima.
After closing the notebook, he put it away. Leaning against the city wall, he looked down at the busy ratmen. Their assault had still not come, and he was concerned about whether the ratmen were concocting some evil plan.
The ratmen were indeed brewing a plan.
The “Divide the Cake” plan.
“I have the greatest merit, the greatest! Long live the Corrupted Clan.”
“Shut up, I defended the dignity of the Great Horn Rat. You fools have repeatedly let those surface dwellers go.”
The Divine Chosen of Great Horn Rat, Kuro, shouted: “The dwarven palace and treasury are all mine, mine! I have made great contributions!”
The Red Armored Ratman Warlord complained: “I traveled a long distance to lead the army to aid you, yet you have put me in the back tunnels. The difficult siege should be attacked by my troops.”
“Yours, useless throughout the whole process, useless!” Kuro shouted: “We do not need you.”
The representative of the Corrupted Clan said: “Our three flesh-and-blood creations! The highest achievement in genetic engineering will take the lead and attack the dwarven fortress!”
The Red Armored Ratman Warlord was furious, having clearly agreed with the representative of the Corrupted Clan last night to advance and retreat together. He could imagine that they had treated him as a bargaining chip and sold him out to Kuro.
“You guys better not mess up the siege.”
“Hahahaha.” Kuro said: “I want to defeat my nemesis; those surface dwellers will all die! Die!”
The Red Armored Ratman Warlord, angry, stood up and left. Once he returned to his residence surrounded by guards, and ensured that no one was eavesdropping, he leaned over and whispered to the human head:
“Good friend, you were right; I have been betrayed.”
The long-dried human head replied: “Ratmen are not to be trusted.”
“Then what’s the use of me paying to bribe those assassins to sabotage the ritual?”
“If you have allies, you can use the failure of the ritual as a pretext to retaliate.”
“My allies have betrayed me.”
“Then you can vent your anger.”
The Red Armored Ratman Warlord drew a runic dagger and sliced the table in front of him, taking a deep breath and saying, “You are right, old friend.”
As the Doomsday Bell cooled down sufficiently, the ratmen sent to clear a path under the bombardment of dwarven catapults had created two paths for the three Abyssal Hells to advance.
Almost two days had passed.
During these two days, Jima communicated through dreams with Eve Frostleaf, asking:
“How to vie for power? Especially under conditions where my reputation is notorious, with four fanatics wanting me dead, and the general being a coward.”
“How can I quietly eliminate my opponents while still appearing innocent, like a victim?”
“By the way, don’t nitpick my grammar. I know what you mean.”
“But if Du Long City is finished, then don’t play your high elf traditions; everyone in the world except the short-lived races knows that court intrigue is your fine tradition.”
“No way? Then I can relax; I trust the experts’ words. By the way, you can forget about getting back your music box. I know that politics is the art of compromise and deal-making.
“So as long as I don’t compromise or negotiate, I will never fail. I hate those who treat me as a pawn while being self-satisfied.”
“This isn’t bargaining; it’s a bottom line. We have nothing to discuss! Silver-haired long legs.”
Jima turned around and communicated with George.
“I have two pieces of news for you: one is bad news, and the other is also bad news.”
“The army is stalled; although the general of the expeditionary force has a favorable impression of me, he is a claustrophobic. Once underground, he panics. Not just him, many of the Kysliff women can’t handle it.
“He is still a coward without the resolve to launch a surprise attack. Clearly, he could have perfectly captured each of the defenseless checkpoints along the way, yet he worries about it being a ratmen trap to lure the enemy in.
“I made many attempts, all of which failed. You can verify this with Eve Frostleaf; she gave me lots of useful advice.”
“The other piece of bad news is that from that glass eye, I saw a future of failure. Just as I thought, the general of the expeditionary force lacks the qualities to engage in hard battles and retreated midway.”
“Oh, and one last piece of bad news: I want to become the Divine Chosen of Trickery; I’d like your opinion, uh, reaction, so I can think whether I can bear the cost—hope you have a preference for women with long feathers.”
“I understand what you mean. I still need to think more about becoming the Chosen. I must go and continue scouting for those dim-witted people. Oh, I just remembered to tell you another piece of bad news.
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Consider it as if I suddenly got over my fear of childbirth; anyway, it’s bad news.”
“What about the future? I worry that we have no future, my dear.”
Jima left the dream.
On the ratmen’s side.
When Du Long City’s high-precision map was filled with red lines, dividing the “loot zones” of various ratmen clans.
The ratmen’s war machine was set in motion.
A reddish medicinal mist sprayed through the air, and below the fog, the exhausted slave rats, their eyes bloodshot, charged forward. Driven by whips, hunger, and the medicinal mist, the slave rats howled, dragging their tired and emaciated bodies toward the dwarven second city wall.
As corpses piled at the base of the wall, when the drug’s effects wore off, after the fleeing slave rats, another batch emerged to drag back the bodies of the dead slave rats to deal with their own hunger, and also to use as “ritual materials.”
The dwarves conserved ammunition and refrained from shooting at the ratmen collecting corpses. Even so, the entire reserve of slave rats in the ratmen army had been nearly depleted.
According to the ratmen’s plan, after winning this battle, they would be able to exhaust the last of the slave rats and shed their heavy burden.
The Doomsday Bell was ready.
The Divine Chosen of the Great Horn Rat, Kuro, was prepared. He stood before the Doomsday Bell, his feet on a magic circle, surrounded by a circle of dimensional mages. Not far away, a pile of slave rat corpses lay.
On the magic circle lay a ring of precious materials.
Kuro examined the materials but found nothing wrong.
No problem; there was a problem.
He personally reached out, gathered the precious materials from the various clans, and put them into his pouch, saying, “Get a new batch; this one has a problem.”
The ratman responsible for the materials opened his mouth but said nothing; after all, Kuro’s power was at its peak.
Before long, the backup materials were presented.
Kuro patted the bulging pouch at his waist, looking at the Red Armored Ratman Warlord, smiling to reveal his white rat teeth.
The ritual was held very smoothly.
When the Doomsday bell rang, yet another ancient dwarven wall collapsed.
The assault officially began.
George stood at the ruin of the city wall, wielding a giant sword. Behind him, heavily armored dwarves rushed forward to form ranks under the firelight.
The boulders thrown by the vengeful catapults flew over his head, landing in the rat tide before him, barely causing a ripple.
Dimensional stone bullets streaked through the night sky, hitting dwarves on the wall and George from time to time.
Bullets shattered against his armor.
The rat tide closed in on them, holding triangular shields, baring their teeth and roaring as they charged.
At that moment, a flicker of fear unexpectedly surged within George; there were too many ratmen. How many assassins with deadly blades were hidden among the surging rat swarm? What kind of conspiracy were they brewing in the darkness?
He felt as if he were standing on a riverbank, facing a sudden mountain flood all alone.
But he knew he was not alone; Frostleaf and Jenna were behind him, along with so many dwarves willing to bleed to death for their homeland.
The ratmen closed in. A wave of foul stench first overwhelmed George, and several “Weeping Blood Swords” were drawn, aimed at him.
George did not retreat; instead, he charged forward, kicking off with force, like a cannonball—literally—crashing into the rat horde, slashing through the sea of rats, killing those holding “Weeping Blood Swords.”
Countless crossbow bolts fell, momentarily thinning out the surrounding ratmen. George wielded his double-handed sword, striking wide arcs, where the sword passed, shields shattered, and blades waved aside; with a gentle touch, weak limbs flew away.
From time to time, ratmen assassins would sneak attack, and distant riflemen would shoot at George.
George had to expend all his energy to face the current battle; love, faith, and future gradually faded from his mind. In their place were ratmen, broken limbs, and sudden attacks from who knows where.
George was a serious person; he could maintain his immersion for a long time, and the deeper he sank into the slaughter, the higher his efficiency became. Gradually, he could kill ratmen while conserving magic power to the greatest extent.
This state of immersion lasted for an indeterminate time; the first batch of dead ratmen had already bled dry. So many corpses piled up that the ratmen had to scrape away their comrades’ bodies; otherwise, they could only climb onto the corpses to fight, and the corpse piles also affected their shooting angles.
A piercing horn rang out.
“Retreat! Retreat!”
George suddenly snapped back from his immersion; that batch of attacking ratmen had been killed, and a new batch of ratmen troops was preparing to advance. The banner of the shrine had not yet fallen, though it had acquired many bullet holes.
“Quickly retreat!”
Eve Frostleaf rushed over, shouting: “Retreat.”
Only then did George hear Eve Frostleaf’s voice; why were they retreating?
The countless ratmen corpses before him showcased his achievements; he hadn’t killed enough of these wicked enemies and wanted to kill more—
George suddenly came to his senses, forcibly cutting off that thought. He once again reaffirmed his initial resolve: he fought to protect others, not merely for killing’s sake.
He shouted, “What happened?”
However, seeing only a thin two rows of dwarven infantry behind him, George immediately realized. The line must be in crisis; withdrawing the infantry from this position meant that retreat would mean—
Eve Frostleaf drew her bow and shot a rifleman, running over to shout: “Withdraw back to the inner city.”
The entire line was in retreat.
Only this sentence emerged in George’s mind.
“Bang bang bang.”
The Doomsday Bell tolled, and the familiar sound of crumbling echoed, like the funeral bell tolling.
