When the group climbed the main city wall, scattered snowflakes floated in the sky, but they did not affect their vision, only occasionally fell into the gaps in the armor, melted by the body temperature of people, and brought a wet and cool touch, accumulating a lot, as if they couldn't help but break out in a cold sweat. The defenders had already lined up at the entrances to the north and south of the main city wall, and there were no barbarians from the Misty Mountains standing on the outer urn city, only a few sergeants who were blowing their horns diligently. Wren and Gig looked at each other, and both breathed a sigh of relief. The timing of the Misty Mountain army's attack was not tricky—at least the barbarians gave the defenders time to line up on the walls, and if they attacked under the darkness of night, it was likely that the Outer Urn City would have been taken by the Grey Tide before they could reach the walls. The two glanced at the battlements, there were no siege crossbows in black robes and black shields, and there were no death knights in black armor and black horses, only the purest gray tide slowly flooded the snow field and approached Boinbru, and there were only less than three hundred steps left from the outer urn city. In a few moments there should have been a sporadic number of arrows on the outer urn city, and the trumpet-blowing sergeants clearly understood this, and they immediately stopped playing and hurried back to the main wall. The leader saluted Jige: "Report, no heretical troops have been found!" ”

"Good." Gig raised his spear, "Ready, ready to fight!" ”

"Attention!" Wren stood beside him and emphasized, "Everyone strictly guards their combat posts, only snipes at the enemy troops on the main city wall, and does not rush to the outer urn city!" As he said this, he searched for Eshu in the crowd, only to find that the latter had left the group and was walking towards the line at the entrance to the southern wall—as if he had turned his back when Gig gave the order to prepare for battle. After hearing Wren's voice, Eshu didn't stop, just nodded slightly. Yesterday's battle made Eshu quite famous, and the plain single clothes in the ice and snow almost became his label, and on the way, the defenders spontaneously gave way to the front of the line. Wren shrugged his shoulders and followed Gig to his combat position, vaguely sensing that the so-called order would not restrain Eshy. Before the battle had even begun, Esher already had a tendency to wander away from the battlefield at any moment—just by the look in his eyes. Everyone else around Eshu was nervously watching the approaching gray tide on the snowfield, but he held his head high and cast his gaze intently on the sky.

Above the sky...... Wren subconsciously raised his head, trying to find the focus of Esthe's gaze, but he only saw the heavy dark clouds, and the gradually dense snow beneath the dark clouds.

A snowflake shattered before Estheau's eyes, and tiny ice crystals split into smaller shapes and sprinkled on his chest, slowly soaking through a small piece of flax. Essho tugged at his neckline slightly, it wasn't his intention to go to battle in a single coat. If he could, of course Estheu would go to the arsenal and get a suit - it would be better for Brochette to give him a set of armor from the Black Spear Knight, so that he would be more confident in the next battle, but time did not allow it. Essho heard his heart "thump", but rarely, not because of excitement, but because of a great uneasiness that enveloped him—who could remain calm in the face of an unknown but imminent fate? But Essho wasn't going to save his energy for the arbitration, in fact, he was about to squander it to get himself into the groove, and he needed to get high enough to barely suppress the shadowy and cold restlessness in his heart, and only the hot blood, his own and his enemies, could help him do that.

Are you ready to accept the arbitration of fate with me? In the dark, someone asked Esthew again, or Esher asked himself.

I'm ready! Eshy withdrew his gaze and took a large breath of cold air.

I'm ready! Roars rang out from under the walls and from the walls, in no particular order.

I'm ready! The first Bearclaw Berserker to rush in front of Aeshu was kicked off the wall, and Eshy snatched the mace from his hand, smashing the face of the other Misty Mountain warrior who rushed up. Essius roared out of the line, her mace forming a tyrannical hurricane around her.

North Urn City.

Ranmarok led the garrison on the main city wall. Since the infidel troops, especially the siege crossbow squads, did not reappear, Ranmarok naturally did not need to stand on the outer urn city and snipe. The Misty Mountain barbarians didn't have the need to snipe at all, the garrison only needed to stand behind the battlements and shoot down the Misty Mountain warriors who climbed up to the outer urn city one by one, they didn't even use arrows, just sharpened wooden sticks - they were all shot on the city wall by the hunters of the Misty Mountains in yesterday's battle, and they happened to be used to the fullest by Ranmarok. Even a pointed stick would be imbued with considerable lethality by an iron-tired bow, perhaps not enough to pierce a slightly thicker piece of leather armor, or a hard skull, but it would be easy to penetrate a soft throat at a distance of a hundred paces. And for elite shooters like the Poynbru garrison, firing a pointed stick to hit the target is not a difficult task - not to mention that it is just one of their daily training activities. It was an intense and boring repetitive activity, and it was impossible to stop the Grey Tide with just three hundred garrisons, but even if the barbarians of the Misty Mountains managed to make it to the Outer Urn City, they would be greeted only by another wall of shields and axes from the Guardians of Livingston. They fell one after the other in front of the high wall, like the waves of the sea crashing against the reef. It was no different from previous years, except that the waves made up of gray tides were longer lasting and stronger. Ranmaroke almost yawned as he motioned for the garrison to remove their armor and gauntlets, lest the metal parts that had no chance of protecting them unnecessarily drag down the bow. Intercepting the Grey Tide was now his way of passing the time before waiting for the Omenwolf to appear.

As the stockpile of pointed sticks ran out, Ranmarok glanced at the bulging quiver beside him, and among the dense feathered arrows lay a steel arrow. Not only Ranmarok, but all the Poimpur garrisons have such a "dragon roar" hidden in their quivers, as long as the Omenwolf appears, he will be greeted by a round of dragon bombardment! As long as the Omenwolf is killed, the tide of tens of thousands of people will collapse and disintegrate in an instant.

But the question is, in what way will he appear? Will he appear at the East Gate, the West Gate, or the North Gate?

The gray tide was still pouring into the outer urn city, and the garrison had shot at least a few hundred Misty Mountain warriors off the walls, but the barbarians in gray-white leather armor were still climbing. In the past, their morale had long since collapsed in front of the dense rain of arrows, but now they were only single-mindedly ascending the city, and even if the corpses of their companions were smashed on top of their heads, they would not waver. Ranmarok's fingers were already faintly sore, and he raised his hand to signal the garrison to reduce the frequency of their fire. Where will it be? Ranmarok had given the order to report to the Wolf of Omen in any direction immediately, but so far there has been no news from the East Gate or the West Gate. Somewhat agitated, he pinched an arrow and shot it, the hollow arrow with a loud whistling sound, and a brute dressed as a shaman fell down the wall with his bloody throat clutched.

As if in response, there was a heavy muffled sound at the gate of the Outer Urn City, and the wooden door covered with iron sheets was violently deformed and twisted under the strong impact, and the broken wood broke through the iron sheet and was exposed to the air. The sudden change caused the garrison's originally dense arrow rain to even have a brief break, and in just a few seconds, the outer urn city was immediately filled with dense Misty Mountain warriors.

There was another tooth-aching thud, and this time the gate burst in half and flew out, slamming heavily on the cold snow, and the shirtless man stepped into the urn with a blank face, the huge battle axe in his palm, and the blade of the axe hung with fragments of wood and iron. Behind him, the gray tide rushed in. The man looked up and looked coldly at Ranmarok, his eyes glazed over the grand blizzard.