Chapter 80: The Battle of Southern Deer Gate Mountain at the Border of Kadero Province

On the earthen ramparts of South Mountain Fortress at Deer Gate, Weilin stood fully armored beneath the regimental banner, sword planted firmly before him, his presence within sight of every soldier and officer. The bustling troops would glance toward the banner from time to time, finding reassurance in its steadfastness.

“Attack.”

With a thunderous roar, the giant ratman Tuck gave the order. Instantly, the ratmen soldiers behind him fell back several dozen meters. Then, ten ratman plague priests standing behind the giant ratman raised their drums of pestilence and began to beat them in a steady, ominous rhythm.

Under the influence of the drums, thousands of goblins and kobolds had their eyes redden, their limbs and bones warped into grotesque forms, sprouting spikes, their backs swelling with boils, and a putrid stench swept across the entire battlefield. The surrounding trees withered and died.

Moments later, the drumbeat shifted abruptly, and thousands of plague-borne creatures surged toward South Mountain Fortress at Deer Gate.

“These plague hosts of the ratmen last only three hours. Survive this, and victory is ours.”

“Now, cover all exposed skin and prepare for battle.”

Each officer issued their orders in turn; the soldiers followed without hesitation, drawing clean cloth strips from their armor to bind their hands, feet, and mouths and noses, leaving only their eyes exposed.

“Archers, loose!”

Upon the ramparts, hundreds of archers delivered three volleys into the oncoming plague hosts, then switched to free fire, emptying their quivers as quickly as possible.

The foremost kobold plague hosts fell by the hundreds, yet the tide of plague creatures did not slow.

“Infantry forward, prepare to engage!”

As the archers withdrew, sword- and spear-wielding soldiers advanced, eyes fixed intently on the onrushing abominations below.

Shrill and piercing cries echoed throughout the fortress, testing the soldiers’ mental resolve.

“Thwack!”

Those plague hosts that managed to scale the walls were cut down one by one, their pestilence-tainted ichor smearing the earthen ramparts, corroding the embedded rubble.

As time wore on, soldiers began to falter, some dragged from the walls and torn apart.

Weilin stood atop the command platform, impassively watching all that unfolded on the ramparts, though within, faint ripples stirred his heart. As the army’s spiritual pillar, he could afford no outward sign of emotion on the battlefield.

“Kill! The Lord is watching over us!”

“Only half an hour more—endure, and these monsters will lose their vitality!”

Wounded soldiers were swiftly carried away, administered diluted Water of Life to heal their injuries and cleanse them of the plague.

As the battle neared its end, over a thousand plague hosts still able to move suddenly collapsed, falling limp to the ground and rapidly dissolving into pools of foul liquid.

Though the plague hosts had all lost their vigor, the defenders did not dare relax, for the true monster army had yet to begin their assault.

“Master, the fighting is over,” Tuck the giant ratman reported humbly to the ratman sorcerer Tattersoul, casting a wary glance at the nearby half-dragons.

“Withdraw the troops. We’ll seize the fortress tomorrow,” the ratman sorcerer commanded, pausing his meditation.

“Yes, my lord.”

Under the puzzled gaze of the defending army, the monstrous host began to withdraw in good order.

“My lord, why is this?” Kael asked in confusion.

“It’s not that simple. Have all the warriors rest and take their potions to ward off the plague.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once Kael departed, Weilin gazed grimly at the retreating monster army fading from sight.

Wherever ratmen are present, beware of poison.

This was a widely known adage among the world’s nobility.

He then issued an order forbidding the drinking of any groundwater, a command that caused quite a stir among the troops, though officers quickly enforced compliance.

At night, in the monster encampment, the ratman sorcerer sat by the fire, hosting the two half-dragons with feigned enthusiasm.

“Tattersoul, you know the consequences if you fail to take that fortress tomorrow,” one half-dragon warned, staring coldly at the sorcerer.

“I know, I know. Tomorrow, we’ll take the fortress,” Tattersoul replied with a broad, self-assured smile.

“Hmph, tricks and schemes—ratmen truly are a vile and base breed,” the other half-dragon sneered in disdain.

“Yes, yes.”

Facing their derision, Tattersoul could only reply meekly. They had the half-dragon chieftain and a legendary red dragon behind them, while he was merely a lowly ratman with no patronage.

If not for his status as a sorcerer, he would have long been cast onto the bloodiest front lines as expendable fodder.

Late that night, inside South Mountain Castle at Deer Gate, countless soldiers suffered parched lips and burning thirst, licking at their mouths in vain.

Gazing at the well guarded by knightly retainers and under the eyes of ever-patrolling officers, the men gave up any thought of seizing water by force. None could understand the reasoning behind their superiors’ order.

The next dawn, a light rain began to fall, and the parched soldiers eagerly removed their helmets, turning their faces skyward to receive the blessing from above.

Watching the rain from his window, Weilin licked his cracked lips and smiled—the heavens themselves seemed to favor him.

Yesterday, uncertain whether the groundwater had been poisoned, he had forbidden anyone to drink it.

He knew enough of ratman treachery not to take any chances.

Having chewed through their coarse black bread, the defenders stood ready at their posts, wary of a sudden monster assault.

“All men, keep behind the battlements! No one shows themselves without orders!”

“Tuck, take your men and claim the fortress. Surely the humans must all be dead by now,” Tattersoul said confidently, “Don’t damage the corpses—they’re my ingredients for ascension.”

“Yes, Master.”

Tuck the giant ratman swaggered toward the walls at the head of the ratman army.

“Boss, I think I just saw a human!” one ratman soldier said, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

“Nonsense!” Tuck snapped, cuffing the soldier so hard he spun in place and collapsed.

“If the master says the humans are dead, then they’re dead.”

The rest fell silent, not daring another word.

When the ratmen drew within two hundred meters of the walls, more than five hundred archers rose up, nocking arrows to their bows.

“Loose!”

At the sudden hail of arrows, Tuck snatched up two ratmen as shields and bolted for the rear.

The remaining ratmen followed suit, retreating in a panic.

The monsters abandoned over six hundred ratman corpses in their flight.

“Tattersoul, is this what you call seizing the fortress?” one half-dragon growled, sword in hand.

“Impossible! There’s no way they wouldn’t replenish their water after the battle—they should’ve fallen into the trap,” the ratman sorcerer muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.