ps: I almost forgot, thank you for the reward of the alphabet a few days ago.

Bloody, scorching and choking fireworks, shouts of killing, cries and hoarse roars, the battlefield was chaotic like a beast farm, and the warriors of both clans were like cattle robbing for food. The air twisted in the flames, black-gray smoke drifted with the cold wind, and flying sawdust flew everywhere, smearing the warrior's face dirty.

"Rush in! burn down their houses and kill any Quid who resisted!" the Terran commander wielded a shiny long sword in his hand as he hid behind a massive iron shield that covered his body. He wore a suit of shiny thin iron armor, a long white mopping coat draped behind him, and a black oak emblem on his chest. Pieces of silver fox fur of the same color as the armor were sewn near the arms and neck of the iron armor, so that the wearer would not feel the coldness of the metal.

The commander was surrounded by archers among the mercenaries, numbering about three dozen. These mercenaries, dressed in leather armor, were grim-faced, silent, but efficient, and shot their bows and arrows again and again under the command of the commander's orders and banners, and their accurate surnames and disciplinary surnames were difficult to match even the second-tier legionnaires in some countries.

The rain of arrows accurately thrown at the heads of the Quaid warriors injured many people. Due to the lack of metal in the tribe, most of the warriors had only a pair of leather helmets to protect their heads and ears, which was difficult to stop the iron arrows that fell from the sky. As the Quaid archers fell one by one, the fleeing Terran mage suddenly emerged from a hidden corner.

He had changed into a long, pointed hooded magic robe. With a lengthy incantation in his mouth, various magical materials spilled out of the Terran mage's hand, and with the swing of his staff studded with milky diamonds, the mage finally unleashed a fiery tee towards the wall.

Fireballs about the size of the basin slammed into the top of the wall with the panicked cries of Quaid's archers, screeching and bursting. The blazing sparks shine like a dance of a dancing elf. The wooden fence on the fence was immediately ignited, and the flames spread rapidly towards the surroundings.

"Fight the fire! Hurry up and put out the fire!" shouted Graybeard, whose face was smoky and his beard was half burned, but no more warriors answered him except for a dozen or so people nearby. After a rain of arrows and magic, most of the Quaid warriors had been wounded, removed from the wall, or died. On the walls of the flames and smoke lay the mutilated corpses of the three dozen Quaid warriors and large expanses of arrows driven into logs and baffles.

From the beginning of the attack, the old and weak of the tribe had begun to move towards the west of the camp, and they were to leave through a small hidden door to hide from the fire that could upend the tribe at any time. Father Thorne has left the tribe with the help of Gus and the others, so that Riga and the remaining warriors can fully devote themselves to the war.

The chief was still unconscious, and the astonishing frost energy pierced his chest with an iron arrow, causing severe damage to his internal organs. The chief's son, Paron was always by his father's side at first, but as the battle continued, he had to take up arms in grief. The wall has become a sad place for the Quaids, where at least fifty lives have been lost.

When Graybeard's wall lost its ability to resist Terran attacks, the burden of counterattacking fell on Paron's shoulders. The rain of arrows from the Terran mercenaries immediately moved to the south of the gate, leaving his Quaid archers to huddle behind thick barriers and launch sporadic counterattacks.

The warriors on the wall paid a great price, but Riga and the Quaid warriors behind the gate repaired the gate in time. Dozens of thick logs pressed against the door, and the bronze and wooden nails tightly nailed at the junction made the dilapidated wooden door very strong, and the only thing that made these warriors feel helpless was the flame that was still burning. The inextinguishable flames of magic allowed Riga to only last around four hourglass hours, and of course that was when the ram wasn't lifted under the door.

In fact, most of the wooden arrows fired by Quaid warriors were only sharpened triangular stone arrows, and the fragile material made it difficult for them to break through the defenses of chain mail, even through the skin backing that was more than an inch thick. The mercenaries guarding the ram had lost half their lives before approaching the burning gate, which was only half as high as it was.

The ram, which had simply been shaved off from the slender branches, had no ornamentation, except for the head of the hammer, which had been slashed into a sharp arc that made it easier to penetrate. The Terran mercenaries also hammered more than a dozen long rods of pig iron into either side of it, making it easier to exert force when impacted. The sharpened hammer head quickly slammed into the wooden door made of logs nailed together, causing the burning wooden door to let out a tooth-aching scream.

The walls of the entire camp shook in the midst of this violent impact. Riga and the others took a step back in horror, but then they all drew their iron swords from the belts around their waists. If the gate is breached, then they will have to fight with the Terrans who rush in.

"The god of harvest is on top, give me the force, slam open the gate!" the mercenaries who had completed the first ramming immediately retreated, braving the arrows that had fallen from the wall, roaring and clinging to the thick trunk of the tree, and then speeding forward again, allowing the ram to strike the wooden door even more forcefully.

The regular impact was like a bone hammer hitting Riga in the heart, making him hold the iron sword excitedly, but he didn't know what to do. Fortunately, an old warrior next to him patted him on the shoulder, relieving the hunter's nervousness. This group of experienced veterans had also returned to normal at this time, and most of them stood at the forefront of the battlefield, directing the counterattack of their clansmen. But from those vicissitudes and eager eyes, Riga could not see any hope of victory.

The hunter was able to recover from the shock in the first place because he didn't know what the 'Thunderbolt' meant. It was fourth-level magic, a spell that could only be cast by a mid-level caster beyond level six. If low-level spellcasters wanted to unleash such powerful spells, they would have to pay with their lives and souls. Just like a dead wizard, he completely consumed the rest of his life before he could complete the fourth-level divine technique that protected the gate.

The Terran mage who had unleashed the thunderbolt technique hidden in the tribe was at least level seven, and coupled with the mercenaries who rushed from outside, the power of this Terran mercenary made many old warriors feel terrified, and they even felt that it was time to retreat.

"Damn the Terrans!" the unconscious chief finally woke up as the gate wailed hard and let out a grueling scream as it slammed into the impact. The damage inflicted by the Devil Archer still makes him feel cold now, but the heat of the Quaid's blood is gradually dissipating it. "Fight back!"

The chief's muscular body hugged a log against the gate, and pressed his body, which had vibrated with the impact, to it. But few people responded to his call, and the Quaid warriors on the wall were almost dead and wounded. The corpses of the dead soldiers were placed on the wall in various postures, and the wounded were huddled in the corners, not daring to move, lest they be killed by the flying arrows.

"Strike back!" the chief shook his reddish-brown beard violently, an expression of anxiety and pain flashing across his face blackened by the dust. "What are you waiting for?"

"Sparyn. One of the warriors spoke faintly. He shook his fiery red beard slightly, and his face twitched slightly. "We can't fight anymore. There are still people we need to protect, and we can't abandon everything for the sake of a camp. ”

"You're lying!coward, the Fury will spit on you forever!" ruthlessly knocking down the warrior's outstretched hand, the chief pushing the log forward with all his might, then clasped his collar with both hands. "How could we fail?!

The chief's face flushed, and he looked like he was about to go berserk with rage. But he was now as weak as the attacked camp, and the warrior shook off his hands with a slight struggle. "We are all for the continuation of the tribe, but you should face the facts, we can't stand off the enemies outside. ”

"I'll stay! Let the Terrans know what happened to the Quid people. ”

Several Quaid warriors stood behind the chief in fierce language, causing the wounded warrior to shake his beard with excitement, but then more warriors stood behind the other warrior.

"I'm sorry, Spayin. One of the warriors who was most familiar with the chief walked up to him and hugged him, "We are not afraid of battle, but we are afraid of the extinction of the tribe." ”

"Retreat first!" said the old warrior, "we will come back for revenge!"

The repeated and intense mood swings soon caused the chief to faint to the ground, and he was carried away by several warriors. The pain from the wound caused him to wake up several times, only to be doused with a stobering potion by the wizard apprentice next to him, and then fell into a coma.

Having lost the heart of resistance, Quaid's camp was soon breached, and when the heavy ram opened the wooden door, all arguments lost their meaning. Riga and the others retreated at the orders of the old warriors, while Paron, who had been guarding the wall, began to retreat. The swarming Terran mercenaries pounced on the fleeing Quaids like beasts, trying to tear them apart. But a blaze in a row stopped them. Gal and a group of warriors had piled up some wood near the gate beforehand, and now this was just in time to stop the Terrans from pursuing.

"Damn natives!barbarians who eat raw flesh and drink the blood of beasts!" the Terran mage slammed down his long staff, knocking a wounded Quaid warrior unconscious. "You can't run away!"

"Oh, the god of harvest, dear Master Soran, you are a powerful spellcaster. Without waiting for the mage to take a few more steps forward, a proud, repulsive tone came from behind him.

The previous Terran commander had now taken off his helmet, revealing his short curled blonde hair and a handsome face that even noblewomen would envy. The guards who followed closely around guarded the remnants of the Quaid warriors, protecting the Terran commander from approaching.

"The god of magic is above, dear Baron Natiles. I think this victory is all because the soldiers can see the heroic figure of you commanding them!" The Terran mage immediately smiled as brightly as a blooming flower on his face, and turned to the baron. Although the seventh-level mage was already able to stand above the ordinary barons of the Duchy of Morton, the mage's family still needed some help, the help from the ancient family of Natilles.