It was the darkest hour before dawn, the clouds crushed the walls, the orc attacks were like a frenzy and lava, and the fur-covered corpses accumulated and solidified under the walls, becoming the stamps of a new group of orc soldiers.

With a wave of his hand, an elven mage flipped over a cauldron capable of cooking an entire bison, and the gooey black oil that had melted but not yet become hot flowed out of the edge of the pot, dousing the orcs below. As the human soldier guarding the pot shouted, "It's not hot yet," he removed a small branch from the torch, lit it, and threw it at the orc, who was still licking the grease from his mouth, which had been discarded whale oil collected by merchants from the seaside nations and territories. The whale oil, which is used to fry food, is inherently inexpensive, and after countless reuses, even a piece of ice thrown into it will be contaminated into a sticky and dirty black, and this useless grease cannot be poured directly into dirt rivers or sewers, otherwise the land will be starved, the fish in the rivers will be suffocated, and the sewers will be clogged - the lords and kings allow the merchants of the Northland to buy them for a price that is almost free, just that they can be transported away as soon as possible.

So most of them still have a bitter sweetness, a strange spicy taste and a mixed fragrance, which can even be said to be a small temptation for the simple-minded orc soldiers, when it is not so hot.

The flaming sprigs ignited the grease-covered orcs, and in the process of flapping and falling, he caught more of the orcs clinging to the stone bricks, so that a narrow and long orc torch was added to the wall, and they howled, fell, and ran wildly in all directions—the orc warriors had to go out and kill them first, lest the formation collapse before they could touch the stone bricks of the walls of Thundercastle.

The human soldiers cleverly emulated the Elven Mage's approach, which not only killed more enemies, but was also faster and more fuel-efficient, after all, melting the grease and boiling the grease to a boil are two different things - 8 times out of 10** The snow and ice in the nine cauldrons had been replaced with grease, the entire walls of Thundercastle were on fire, new spare ballistas and small catapults had been hauled to the battlements, and twelve-foot-long crossbows and bowl-sized stones slanted down like hailstones, and the clouds of death they brought with them hung over the heads of the orc soldiers, forcing them to abandon their attacks and turn and flee.

"Do you hear that?" asked the eldest elven mage in the midst of the cheers, "Drums." ”

"It shouldn't be now," he said worriedly, "and this is the first day." ”

"There are so many unusual things in this war. The elven mage said.

As the orcs were in decline, the leader of the "Blizzard" tribe, Gersh, watched as the priest's disciples brought out of his tent a leather drum, the skin of which had been peeled alive from the body of an elf, very complete, without a single scar, without black moles and spots, and dyed red with the blood of the same elf, the body of the drum came from the tibia of a dragon sawed off and hollowed out of the bone marrow, and the round nails and hoops were pure gold.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" said Gersh, "that you have lost the favor of Kawula, and you can't even heal your wounds. ”

"I have sacrificed my flesh and blood to the great Kawuha, who will listen to my wishes. Denver said that his face was difficult for even orcs to look at - the explosion caused by the elves killed the parasites of the Kawu attendants, killed the warriors and thousands of soldiers who had received the divine grace of the priesthood, Denver was thrown against the mountain wall, he miraculously did not die, but the stones and wood chips that flew out of the explosion flattened his face, and he lost an arm, a hand, and a foot, but he still maintained the majesty of the strongest priest, sitting upright on a leather pocket carried by four orcs, and commanding his brother to carry out his leather drum.

Every orc had drunk the so-called "Warrior's Wine" before going into battle, and Gersh didn't know it, but he knew that it contained tiny worms that burrowed into their brains and manipulated their thoughts and actions when the priests beat the elven drum.

"You just want to kill them. Gersh smiled uglyly, "Because your son is dead." ”

"If it weren't for their cowardice," Denver said, "my son would have lived and won." ”

"Then he will be able to replace me in a grand manner. ”

"The great Kawuha will give you the most severe punishment he can give for conniving at a man to kill a warrior. Denver said.

I looked forward to it, Gersh said in his heart, but he didn't resort to words, Kauja was not a forgiving deity, so he changed his words: "Will it be heavier than you? Denver?" and he called the priest by name, "You have sent our warriors and soldiers under the arrows and stones of men." ”

"We have many more soldiers, and the great Kawu will gladly receive this great sacrifice. Denver said he was in tune with Gersh here.

Gersh said no more, he folded his arms, and watched as the priest and his leather drum slowly marched forward in parting from the battle formation, and Denver had raised his exposed ulna and radius and beat the drum in rhythm.

The small gains of the human race never seemed to exist, and the orcs once again launched a frenzied and massive attack on the walls of Thunder Castle, unlike before, they no longer seemed to feel pain and fear, their eyes turned red, their muscles bulged, and their movements were swift, even if they were engulfed in flames and burned, pierced by crossbow arrows, and smashed by stones, as long as their limbs were still able to move, the orcs who had taken themselves could continue to climb without hesitation. One by one, the hairy claws climbed up the battlements, and the soldiers roared loudly, slashing them with knives and swords, but there were so many enemies they had to face, and the people of Berdwin were so exhausted that they could not take care of the other—one or more upright bears and wolves pounced on them, slaying every living creature they could grasp with the weight of their sword bones, claws, teeth, and bodies, or the burning flames. The only thing that could delay them was appetite, an orc who had his chest and abdomen torn open by a spell cast by a mage, and who had struggled to walk on his own fallen entrails, biting off a soldier's face, flesh down his throat and out of his body directly through his broken esophagus, but he was still eating, full of joy.

Only knights and mages can organize effective counterattacks, mages can throw fire and lightning at distant orcs, and can cast protective and healing spells on knights, but mages need the protection of knights, and they must use valuable spells at their discretion - when the orcs seem endless, they will not stop fighting in time for the caster to rest and recuperate and memorize their spellbooks.

Berdwin's little servant is one of the knights who can't get the help of a mage, he has been fighting hard for nearly half a night, even with the favor of Tyre, his spirit and ** have reached the limit, Bodwin noticed, he ordered the young man and several other exhausted knights to enter the arrow tower, where there are elven mages and water of life.

The mage beside Baldwin cast a spell, and the missile flew away several orcs above them, and Xiao Hu Cong and his companions hurried towards the arrow tower, and the soldiers on the arrow tower shot arrows downward to ensure their safety, while shouting loudly, Xiao Hu Cong was the last to step on the stairs, and the shouting suddenly became loud and intense, and he was shrouded in a huge shadow before he could understand the meaning. A nine-foot-tall orc warrior climbed the wall, human arrows piercing his nose and arms, his blood-stained and fur-covered back burning, emitting a burnt smell and a stench, but he was unconscious, and only single-mindedly grabbed the little servant's ankle, and the young knight was lifted, and the orc tore him in half in the terrified shouts of the humans.

He was the youngest servant of Birdwin, he had no parents, no wife and no children, and in the short moment before he died, he had only two people to think of, his master, Lord Birdwin, and his lover, the priest of Flo.

Memmy was in the royal capital of Norman in the Highlands, thousands of miles from Thundercastle, and she was safe, so good, he thought so, and fell into eternal darkness.