"What's that sound? It feels a lot like a trebuchet. Luciana looked up, "It's coming from the direction of the North Gate." ”

"Probably worse than a trebuchet." Brochette looked solemn, "Herald! ”

"Yes!"

"Inform the defenders of the west gate and the east gate, in the twentieth - no! Thirteen minutes later, they covered each other according to the route planned by the emergency plan and retreated in an orderly manner. The Guardians and the Rangers retreat to the Inner Fort to defend themselves, and the Black Spear Knights and other mercenary units retreat to the Academy Auditorium. Be the first to be delivered! ”

"Understood!" The two heralds turned and left.

"Dams! Suspend all potions, arm the healers, and set up a defensive line around the auditorium. The wounded and necessary supplies were transferred by trolley. Luna," he said, looking at Luciana, solemnly admonished, "follow Dammer and don't get separated." ”

"Okay." Luciana nodded seriously from the old man's grim face, "Don't you need to be notified from the north gate?" ”

"I'll go there myself." Brochette untied his robe and drew a throwing knife to cut off his long white beard. He galloped wildly, showing a physical strength that was seriously contrary to his age, and soon caught up with the herald, who stepped first onto the wall in his stunned gaze.

What a situation! What a situation!! What's the situation!!

A few grains of snow drifted into Ranmaroke's mouth that was wide open in horror, and the chill expanded in an instant, pressing his tongue to the point of immobility, and his vocal cords seemed to begin to die under the man's cold gaze, and a simple syllable could hardly be formed. They had looked at each other seven hundred paces apart, but that was enough to shake Ranmaroke's mind, and now that the two were less than a hundred paces apart, the pressure on him had increased exponentially. Before the man appeared, Ranmaroch had imagined and rehearsed a plan in his mind countless times, using the marksman's instincts to find where he might appear, figuring out when he might appear, and being ready to adjust the angle of the garrison's volley at him at any time. However, these plans were shattered when the gates were torn apart. Ranmarok's outstretched hand towards the quiver froze in mid-air, leaving only a blank blank in his mind, until the man walked towards the gate of the main city wall and suddenly woke up. He bit the tip of his tongue and gulped down his own hot blood, and soon he felt his vocal cords vibrating in his throat again. Ranmarok roared hoarsely, "Dragon...... Dragon roar! ”

His hand plunged into the quiver, his fingers flicking between the wood and the feathers, and at last he grasped the arrow of steel, which he laboriously pulled out and put on the bowstring, an instinctive action that was now unfamiliar at the moment. Don't panic! Don't panic! Ranmarok warned himself inwardly, but his fingers trembled under his nose, and the dragon's roar of arrows seemed to slip off the bowstring at any moment. The blood from the tip of the bitten tongue was still flowing, but the blood seemed to be starting to freeze cold, like sticky ice water, and every muscle that flowed through it began to spasm violently. Ranmaroke was on the verge of losing the strength to open his bow. "Urvet, the patron saint of the shooter...... Please protect me......" he muttered.

The illusion of the dragon and the falcon flew before his eyes, and his fingers suddenly steadied. Ranmaroke was stunned, and reflexively pinched the bowstring to pull the iron-tired bow full. He stared at the man who was slowly walking towards the city wall, the other party still made him feel cold fear, but the once sluggish fighting spirit and courage had begun to burn surging to fight against it, and the warm power poured into his body. "Ready!" Ranmarok shouted.

The wind passed through the tunnel of the arrow, and the low sound converged together, majestic as a clarion call for war. The crosshairs of the three hundred and one iron-tired bows locked firmly on the man with the giant axe. And he seemed to sense a great, deadly threat, and stopped, his gaze indifferently swept over the walls.

"Put!" Ranmarok roared and let go of his fingers, but all he heard was a sharp whistling and saw only a white turbulence. The majestic sound of the trumpet came to an abrupt end. He turned his head in disbelief, and found all the garrison frozen in place, their fingers holding the bowstring trembling violently, dead gray horror spreading across everyone's faces. Three hundred dragon arrows roared and fell to the ground, and the crisp sound of collision came and went.

At least one more! Ranmarok threw himself between the battlements, looking out with a slight hope, but he was soon pushed into the abyss: the man stood in front of him the great axe, and lightly intercepted the dragon's roaring arrow in midair, the arrow spun at high speed on the axe's surface, but it could never penetrate, and after a brief stalemate of a few seconds, it used all its kinetic energy and fell to the ground, and the axe was still smooth and white. The man glanced at Ranmaroke with contempt, stepped over the dragon's roaring arrow, and continued towards the city gate.

What a monster you are! Ranmaroke grabbed a large handful of arrows and shot them frantically at the man, shouting Urvet for each arrow. He had never drawn his bow so fast, and the name of the god of archery gradually melted into high-speed and muffled syllables in his mouth. Before he knew it, he had even broken his own record for a streak of arrows, and he might have fired fifteen, twenty, or more in one go, but the man just met his shot, and swept the incoming arrows away one by one, the heavy tomahawk as light as a toy in his hand.

Ranmarok's quiver was empty, and the man stood in front of the city gate, his tomahawk raised high, and then smashed down!

The walls shook violently, and Ranmarok heard a cracking sound that made him shudder, and he knew only by hearing the sound that there was a terrible gap in the gate. How many axes do you want this time? He numbly pulled the empty bowstring and thought numbly.

This time the other party used three axes.

Boinbru, the city is broken.

……

The battle at the West Gate has become white-hot, and the defenders of the first echelon have all withdrawn the city walls and repaired in the inner urn city, but Eishu is still fighting at the front line. Unlike yesterday's almost cathartic killing, he had been consciously controlling the exertion of his stamina while sharing the pressure of the rest of the line as much as possible - though his intentions were good and redundant as far as the current situation was going on, the Grey Tide's onslaught on the line was not yet urgent enough for him to come to the rescue. The absolute gap between the two sides in terms of the quality of soldiers and equipment is enough to make up for the disparity in quantity, and the entrances to the city walls on both sides are already narrow, which greatly limits the fierce impact of the gray tide, making it impossible for the army of Misty Mountain to smoothly play its only numerical advantage. Although they are not limited to attacking by climbing the outer urn city, and will also try to climb every inch of the city wall that can be climbed, the only attack route that can effectively threaten the defense line of the west city is the former - their ladder is not enough to cover the entire wall of the west city, and can only be placed on the outer wall that is not easy to be sniped, so those warriors of the misty mountain who can't squeeze into the cloud ladder can only climb the rough edges and corners of the city bricks with their bare hands, but they are often smashed by ice chips halfway, and only a handful can successfully climb the battlement. Wren's formation worked – at least much better than what Gieg had done with a pat on the head. The gray tide seemed endless, but the line of defense never wavered.

There was a faint sound from the direction of the north gate, like the tail note left deep in the clouds after the roar of muffled thunder. Estheu wasn't the only one who heard, but he was the only one distracted. He subconsciously glanced in the direction of the sound - of course he couldn't see anything, but he noticed that some of the gray tide began to move along the city wall towards the north gate, completely out of spontaneous action, without any obvious instructions, and quietly completed the change of direction of attack.

Without hesitation, Ai Xiu turned around and squeezed away the surrounding soldiers and ran wildly towards the Northern Urn City. His actions even caused a brief disarray in the defensive line, but Esher couldn't care about that much. Gig shouted at him in annoyance and confusion, and out of the corner of Estheau's eye caught a glimpse of him raising his spear at him, presumably to give himself a warning, but before he could pull it over his head, Teresa stopped him by a black key against Giger's throat.

Thank you. Eshua said in a low heart. He ran with concentration.