In the afternoon, the Black Gate fortress on the border of Mordor stood silently in the shadows, like a giant beast lurking on the filthy earth.
The air was filled with the smell of sulfur and decay, constantly assailing the Rangers' nostrils, causing them to frown slightly.
However, the main reason for their furrowed brows was the orc army beneath the towering walls of the Black Gate.
The air seemed to be torn apart by the surging clamor below the city; Sauron's orc army, like boundless, boiling black tar, filled every inch of the barren land as far as the eye could see, stretching to the distant horizon obscured by smoke and dust.
The ground trembled, and even atop the high walls, the vibration could be felt.
The orcs' coarse beast hides and rusty iron armor rubbed against each other, emitting harsh scraping sounds, while blades and axes gleamed with twisted, malevolent light in the dimness, and countless ugly, ferocious faces bore naked, bloodthirsty desires.
"How are things, Beckett?"
Talion rushed over and, seeing the orc army below, asked the Ranger Captain on duty.
Arthur, Melina, and Bernal followed closely behind Talion.
Arthur, who came with Talion, had some impression of the young Ranger Captain's appearance; he had been sitting near the traitor when Arthur helped Talion catch him.
So Arthur briefly introduced this person to Bernal and the others who had followed him.
However, after only a few months, this once vibrant young Ranger now had wrinkles on his forehead and grayish stubble covering his chin; he seemed to have aged ten years, looking lifeless.
The loss of comrades and the orc attacks had, after all, left an indelible mark on Beckett.
Beckett first noticed Arthur and his group behind Talion, paused, and then said to Talion in a hoarse voice, "It's serious. These orcs don't seem to be playing around this time. Both their numbers and quality look more terrifying than before. Even Uruks and Olog-Trolls, which were rarely seen before, have been deployed."
As he spoke, he pointed to certain formations within the orc army below that were clearly distinct from the smaller orcs.
Arthur was about to say something else when Igon's old but sharp voice interjected. He scoffed at the sky and said, "I think your opponents might be getting impatient. Look at the dark clouds in the sky; three Ringwraiths are hidden in them."
Talion and Beckett both looked up in astonishment, but no matter how much they squinted or used their telescopes from their waists, they couldn't see any trace of the Ringwraiths.
Igon waved his hand, "Don't look anymore. They must have noticed my gaze just now and are hiding in the clouds again."
Beckett instinctively wanted to question Igon, but remembering that Igon had also come with wizard Arthur, he cleverly changed his tone: "How did you discover them?"
Igon let out a "Ha" and laughed loudly, "I just looked up at the sky and saw them. They probably saw us too, which is why they hid again."
Just looking up and seeing them, how good must one's eyesight be to notice that?
Just as an astonished expression appeared on Beckett's face, Talion lightly coughed and whispered in his ear, "Lord Arthur has brought the members of the Lonely Mountain Expedition with him this time. The one who just spoke to you is Igon the Deadeye, but Arthur told me his true title is Igon the Dragon Warrior. Also, haven't you always wanted to meet Lord Bernal, who fought several Ringwraiths to a standstill? That golden-eyed man in silver armor is him."
Then Talion squeezed the instinctively excited Beckett and said, "However, now is not the time for pleasantries. Lord Arthur has brought the Erdtree's army using his Glintstone Magic. You will naturally have a chance to talk when you hand over duties."
Beckett looked at Bernal a few more times, then turned back and nodded vigorously at Talion.
This, however, left Bernal a bit puzzled.
But it didn't stop Bernal from speaking to Talion and Beckett at this moment: "With the presence of Ringwraiths, you need to guard against their strange aura. No matter how strong a warrior is, it's easy to panic in that instant, and soldiers with unstable minds will directly give up resistance and lose their combat ability."
Talion nodded, "We have also had several encounters with Ringwraiths. Although not as heroic as Lord Bernal, fighting many at once, we can still maintain our composure under the Ringwraiths' interference. Please rest assured, Lord Arthur and Lord Bernal, our people will not hold you back in battle."
Bernal shook his head slightly, "No, what I mean is, I will cast a certain Pray… *cough cough*, Glintstone Magic for you Rangers later, which will allow you to be immune to the Ringwraiths' interference, so you don't have to be distracted by resisting."
Then he pointed to Arthur and added, "This Glintstone Magic was also taught to me by Arthur. He will also perform this unique Glintstone Magic from the Erdtree with me for you."
Arthur glanced at Bernal. He knew Bernal didn't want to cast Glintstone Magic on so many Rangers by himself, so he made up a clumsy excuse to drag him in.
Bernal, in turn, winked at Arthur, meaning that with him present, these Rangers would be more receptive to having the Erdtree Prayers cast upon them.
Melina then softly said from behind Arthur, "Bernal is probably talking about the Erdtree's Blessing, a branch of Erdtree Prayers. I can also help share some of your work."
Arthur nodded slightly and said to Melina, "Then I'll trouble you."
Just then, the sharp-eyed Igon said, "The orcs in the distance are starting to move. The general assault is about to begin. We don't have much time to linger here."
Arthur took a deep breath and said to Talion, "Have the Ranger most familiar with the Black Gate's structure go with Igon to Leyndell's army and tell them where the defensive fortifications and weak points on the Black Gate walls are."
Talion immediately shouted to his son, "Di Hai'er, did you hear that? You are the most familiar with the Black Gate's architectural structure here. Go with Elder Igon and quickly inform the reinforcements brought by Lord Arthur about the situation here!"
"Yes!" Di Hai'er shouted, with no other unnecessary words, and immediately left with Igon.
Bernal frowned, looking at the suddenly agitated orc army below, and said, "I'm afraid it's too late to cast Prayers now. Their marching speed is much faster than the orcs we encountered at Lonely Mountain."
Arthur looked coldly at the ugly, grayish-black wave of orcs below and said, "I can see that. These orcs are probably the main force Sauron has been hiding and cultivating."
As he spoke, his staff appeared in his hand. While gathering magical power to prepare to cast Glintstone Magic, he said to Melina and Bernal behind him, "I'll buy you some time to cast Prayers. Millison, if the Ringwraiths dare to dive onto the city walls, they are yours."
Millison did not speak, but the Scythe Sword tightly clutched in her hand represented her answer.
"Push harder, you pigs! Lord Sauron commands that the Black Gate be taken at all costs! Even if you die of exhaustion, die on the Black Gate!"
An Orc Commander, riding on a snarling warg, wielded a leather whip, constantly lashing it onto two Olog-hai whose skin was already flayed.
These two Olog-hai were pushing a siege tower with all their might. The tall siege tower was filled with orcs in mottled armor, making it extremely difficult for them to push.
When the Orc Commander's whip landed on them, the pain made them wail, then they squeezed out all the strength in their bodies to push, making the siege tower advance a tiny bit faster.
"Boom—"
Just as the Orc Commander, dissatisfied with the marching speed, was about to swing his whip again to lash these Trolls who only knew how to eat and not work hard, a roar suddenly exploded above his head, and then a shadow covered him and the orc warg riders around him.
This Orc Commander only had time to look up with his last glimpse before being crushed beneath the broken siege tower, black blood slowly spreading from the ruins of the siege tower.
On the destroyed siege tower, the cerulean magic particles were only gradually dissipating.
This sudden anomaly was like a scorching branding iron searing the agitated nerves of the Orc Commanders.
"wizard—wizard!"
An orc chieftain, clad in a few pieces of crude iron armor and with a large scar on his face, was the first to let out a hoarse roar like a broken gong. His muddy yellow eyes instantly filled with fear and fury. He brandished a blood-stained cleaver, frantically pointing towards the battlements where the blue light had disappeared, spittle spraying with his roar.
"There's a wizard on the Black Gate! That damned glowing rat! Catapults! Get them moving! Aim at the Black Gate! Smash! Smash that glowing bastard into paste! Smash the entire section of the Black Gate down!"
His roar was like igniting a fuse. Several other Orc Commanders nearby who had also witnessed the blue light, whether short-tempered Uruk chieftains or relatively cunning ordinary orc squad leaders, reacted with surprising uniformity at this moment.
They either pounded their chests or screamed themselves hoarse, roaring the same command in various foul Orcish dialects:
"Catapults! Aim at the top of the Black Gate! Fire!"
"Quick! Kill that wizard! Don't let him glow again!"
"Target—where the wizard is standing! Smash him hard!"
The command spread like a plague to the orc catapult positions in the rear, which were made of huge skeletons, crude ropes, and rotten wood. The orcs responsible for operating these cumbersome killing machines immediately sprang into action like tops whipped by a lash.
Large-bodied, low-intelligence, ordinary Trolls wearing only simple leather aprons grunted dully under the lashing and cursing of orc overseers, using their muscular, grime-covered giant arms to strenuously lift huge stones, each the size of four or five robust humans, with rough edges and sharp angles.
These stones were incredibly heavy; each time a Troll moved one, it left a very noticeable indentation in the muddy ground beneath its feet.
The stones were laboriously placed by the Trolls into the catapults' huge throwing pouches, sewn from tough animal hides. The orcs operating the winches, baring their uneven yellow teeth, turned the heavy winches with all their might. The thick ropes groaned, bearing immense tension.
The orcs responsible for adjusting the firing angle and direction narrowed their small eyes, making crude gestures, while baring their teeth and emitting threatening and mocking hisses and growls towards the general direction where the blue light had appeared on the Black Gate.
"Release!"
The orc squad leaders of each catapult almost simultaneously let out a piercing shriek.
"Whoosh—whoosh!"
A dull whooshing sound suddenly erupted, and a dozen huge shadows tore through the polluted air of Mordor, soaring into the sky with a roar.
They traced heavy but short parabolas, and their shadows instantly enveloped the orc vanguard preparing for the siege below.
"Roar! Smash these human scums to death!"
"The Black Gate is going to collapse!"
"The wizard is finished too!"
The orcs below who noticed this spectacular sight—at least to them—had their ugly faces filled with primal excitement and bloodthirsty anticipation, waving their weapons and emitting deafening cheers mixed with various strange cries.
Some even opened their mouths, from which disgusting saliva flowed, revealing their yellow-black fangs, eagerly awaiting the pleasant screams that would come when the stones hit the Black Gate.
However, on the Black Gate, the Dúnedain Rangers in their grey-green cloaks stood like cold rocks behind the battlements.
There was no panic or tension on their faces, nor did they seek cover. They simply watched the roaring giant stones with a cold, almost imperceptible hint of mockery.
"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom—!"
A series of dull, heart-stopping thuds, like heavy hammers striking hard ground, caused the earth at the foot of the Black Gate to tremble, kicking up a cloud of dust.
But the source of the sound was not the incredibly sturdy black wall of the Black Gate itself.
All the stones, without exception, accurately and heavily struck the open ground forty to fifty meters in front of the Black Gate.
The ground was gouged with shocking, deep craters with cracked edges, and shattered stones and dirt sprayed radially far and wide. Smoke and dust filled the air, obscuring part of the view.
Those deafening thuds just now seemed to have slammed hard into the wide-open, drooling, and stained mouths of all the orcs below who had been excitedly roaring, instantly plunging the front line of the battlefield, which had been deafeningly noisy a second ago, into a dead silence.
All the orcs, with their heads up and mouths open, had their expressions frozen, their excited roars caught in their throats, turning into a comical, silent tableau.
Arthur looked at this scene, admiring Talion somewhat, and said, "So their range really isn't enough to hit the Black Gate."
Talion's face showed confidence, but he quickly sighed at the large number of orcs below and said, "I've fought these orcs for so many years, of course, I know the maximum range of their catapults, and I also know their temper. As long as they are attacked by ranged means, they will definitely retaliate with catapults. These brainless orcs saw your Glintstone Magic hit the enemy and thought their catapults could hit us too."
Arthur shrugged and raised his staff again.
His magic power was still abundant, and Melina and Bernal's Prayers were nearing completion. He could cast more Glintstone Magic to delay for a while longer.
Talion, full of worry, instructed his trusted subordinates to send news to Gondor that the Black Gate was under attack by the Mordor army led by the Ringwraiths and needed immediate reinforcement.
No sooner had he finished giving instructions than he suddenly heard several piercing shrieks from the sky that seemed to tear one's soul apart.
However, he had already been blessed by Bernal with "Sorcery," so these shrieks only sounded harsh, causing only some physiological discomfort.
Talion immediately understood that the Ringwraiths hiding in the dark clouds were finally unable to resist making their move. He took his bow from his back and quickly commanded, "Archers, prepare for the sky!"
From within the dense, dark clouds, three Ringwraiths riding fierce beasts broke through the clouds and flew directly towards Arthur, who was casting Glintstone Magic on the Black Gate.
"Fire arrows! Don't let the Ringwraiths harm Lord Arthur!" Talion roared loudly, releasing his bowstring first, sending arrows flying towards the Ringwraiths diving from the sky.
Arthur did not stop casting Glintstone Magic. The Glintstone Magic continuously emitted cerulean light, striking the siege towers and catapults that were constantly advancing towards the Black Gate, destroying the Orcs' siege engines.
Even though Melina had temporarily left his side, and Bernal was casting Prayers for the Rangers, there was still one person behind Arthur protecting him at all times.
As Talion saw that arrows could not stop the diving Ringwraiths, a flash of crimson streaked into his vision like a flame petal caught by a strong wind, in the anxious corner of his eye.
Millison's movements were so fast they almost left afterimages. She precisely used the rough, protruding brick structures of the watchtowers on both sides as leverage points, her slender feet lightly touching them. In just a few swift leaps, her figure had already sprung to the highest point of one of the watchtowers.
The biting wind on the watchtower instantly billowed her crimson dress. Millison did not hesitate, swinging her weapon towards the massive, twisted Ringwraith, shrouded in the aura of death, that had plunged to the closest proximity to her, and a torrent of blade light poured out.
Under the lead-gray sky, Millison's figure was like a crimson flower bud about to bloom. The Scythe Curved Sword in her hand, like an extension of her arm, transformed into a torrent of golden light.
The continuous blade light wove into a dense and deadly web, aimed directly at the Ringwraiths closest to her.
The attacked Ringwraiths immediately let out soul-piercing shrieks. The ominous black smoke and cold cursed blade in their hands hastily parried, attempting to resist Millison's fierce attack.
"Clang! Clang! Clang-clang—!"
Within mere seconds, ear-splitting metallic clashes abruptly erupted, sparks wildly splattering from the collision of blades, as crimson and black light fiercely tore through the air.
The ferocious beast ridden by the Ringwraiths was driven into a frenzy by the intense clash. Its head, covered in scales and bone spurs, suddenly reared up, opening its gaping maw, which dripped corrosive saliva, and letting out a deafening roar. The putrid hot breath almost sprayed onto Millison's face, while its sharp front claws viciously swiped.
Millison's golden eyes calmly watched this scene. Her dance-like movements suddenly changed. Using the force of the Scythe Curved Sword's collision with the Ringwraiths' demonic blades, her body spun in mid-air at an incredible angle, precisely dodging the ferocious beast's bite and claw attack.
Then, the golden blade light abruptly converged and condensed, as if suddenly gripped by an invisible hand. The next moment, it struck the neck of the ferocious beast, which was covered in thick keratin and scales, and was fully exposed due to its roaring head-raise.
"Rip—Crack!!!"
A chilling sound of tearing flesh and cutting bone clearly resonated. Millison swiftly and unimpededly cut into the ferocious beast's tough neck bone and muscles. A large, hideous, fanged head, spraying corrosive, foul blood, was thrown high into the air.
The massive body, now headless, instantly stiffened. All roars and strength ceased abruptly. The headless beast's remains, spattering black blood, along with the falling head, crashed down like two foul mountains of flesh onto the sturdy walls of the Black Gate below.
Talion had been observing the entire process of Millison's battle with the Ringwraiths in the sky. Seeing this, he immediately shouted to the Dúnedain Rangers on the wall below: "Get out of the way!"
"Boom—!!!"
"Splat!"
A dull, heart-stopping crash and the gooey sound of flesh and bones being crushed erupted simultaneously. The ferocious beast's body splattered into bloody remnants, leaving large patches of sticky, foul, sizzling stains. However, the hard walls of the Black Gate only shook slightly.
The nearby Dúnedain Rangers, who had just received the Golden Prayers blessing, all gasped, looking up at the brave crimson-clad swordswoman in the sky.
After Millison beheaded the ferocious beast, the Ringwraiths riding on its back were violently thrown upwards by the beast's death throes, letting out a shriek full of pain and rage. The black mist swirling around them violently churned, clearly indicating severe injury.
This Ringwraiths had never anticipated that Millison's sword skills would be even more formidable than that silver-armored swordsman who fought against multiple enemies in Lake-town. The only thing worth celebrating was that the opponent's strength was not as great as that silver-armored swordsman, otherwise it would have already returned to its master to await resurrection.
Its breastplate had been cleaved open by the Scythe Curved Sword, revealing the Ringwraiths' spectral form faintly within. For a moment, it lost stable control over itself, tumbling through the air like a broken black kite.
At this point, Millison had lost her footing and could not continue to pursue this Ringwraiths, only watching as it utilized its spectral nature to fall away from her.
The other two Ringwraiths, who were originally swooping down to attack Millison or Arthur, witnessed this sudden turn of events and immediately flapped the wings of the ferocious beasts beneath them, forcibly changing their dive trajectories.
One of the Ringwraiths, shrouded in dense black smoke, shot like an arrow towards its thrown companion, catching it before it hit the ground and returning it to the back of the ferocious beast.
And the other Ringwraiths, seeing its companion saved, immediately pulled up their altitude with them.
This was because the Ringwraiths noticed that Arthur, who had finished casting his previous "Glintstone Magic," was no longer focusing on the siege towers and catapults outside the Black Gate, but had aimed his staff at the Ringwraiths.
Ever since the last encounter in Lake-town with the Erdtree warriors, where two Ringwraiths fell, they all knew that the other side could cast "Glintstone Magic" that could directly kill them. Therefore, these three Ringwraiths, seeing Arthur begin to prepare to deal with them, immediately fled into the dark clouds in the sky.
Arthur watched the Ringwraiths quickly hide back in the clouds high in the sky, and without caring if they could hear him, he scoffed, "They're quite quick at running away."
At the same time, Millison descended from the air. Just as she had when ascending the watchtower, she once again used the familiar protruding bricks on the watchtower's rough exterior wall as cushioning and leverage points. Her movements were clean and fluid, without any hesitation. A few agile maneuvers to disperse her momentum, and she landed steadily back on the ground.
Her chest rose and fell slightly. She quickly came behind Arthur, gripping her blade tightly again, and whispered to him, "One of the Ringwraiths was severely wounded by me. It should not be able to act for a short time."
Arthur nodded slightly: "Thank you for your hard work, Millison."
At this moment, Melina also finished blessing the last group of Dúnedain Rangers with Prayers, and similarly returned to Arthur's side.
As for Bernal, after finishing the Golden Prayers blessing, he immediately went to the direction where the Rodel Legion troops were located to act as overall commander, leading them in battle.
Arthur looked below the Black Gate. Just as Millison was fighting the Ringwraiths, he had also used Glintstone Magic to destroy the several catapults that posed the greatest threat to the Black Gate.
Currently, he still had some magic power left in his body, but Arthur was unsure if Sauron was observing this battlefield, so he dared not rashly use up all his magic power.
Even if he had the blue tear stone vial to replenish his magic power, it would still take a few seconds, and given the threat Arthur felt from Sauron, he dared not gamble on that few-second window.
Therefore, Arthur not only did not use all his magic power for Glintstone Magic, but immediately after speaking with Millison, he pulled out the blue tear stone vial to fully replenish his magic power for any unforeseen circumstances.
Talion waited for Arthur to finish all this, then looked at the noisy orc army below, and spoke with a heavy heart: "I have already sent out scouts in batches to notify Gondor of the situation here, hoping they can send troops to support us as soon as they receive the news."
Arthur recalled the face of the Regent of Gondor and shook his head slightly: "I'm afraid there's not much hope. It would be enough if Gondor could send more supplies."
Talion asked, puzzled: "Even counting the reinforcements you brought, the current supplies at the Black Gate are enough to last three months. Why do you sound as if they will run out quickly?"
Arthur shrugged. The Regent of Gondor had indeed kept his word, sending enough supplies, so much that even if these Dúnedain Rangers at the Black Gate secretly sold off a portion, there would still be plenty left.
He cleared his throat and said to Talion: "I brought more reinforcements than just these, but how much specific support can be provided depends on how many orcs Sauron sends."
After all, the more orcs that died, the more souls he could collect, and he could use the portal to return and gather more armies from The Lands Between.
But Talion was unaware of this, simply interpreting Arthur's words as meaning appropriate support based on the number of enemies.
On the thick walls of the Black Gate fortress, the clamor of battle tore through the dead silence of the Mordor air.
The nauseating black tide of orcs surged against the ancient stones, crude siege ladders slammed into the battlements with thuds, and their foul roars threatened to overturn the wall.
Although Arthur had destroyed the trebuchets and some of the siege towers, it was clear that the orcs would not be deterred from attacking the Black Gate because of it.
Then, they began their relentless assault, regardless of casualties.
Ladder after ladder was carried on the shoulders of the orcs as they rushed towards the Black Gate, and the Dúnedain Rangers stationed there immediately began to retaliate using ballistas, catapults, and other machinery on the city walls.
But as mentioned before, Sauron seemed determined this time to regain control of the Black Gate, so even though the attacking orcs suffered heavy casualties and their corpses littered the field, the orcs in the rear still stepped on the broken bodies of their comrades to climb the ladders that were firmly hooked onto the wall.
Although orcs fell every minute, and every Ranger had several, even dozens, of orc lives on their hands, with almost no casualties on their own side, these experienced Rangers showed no joy on their faces at such a low casualty ratio; instead, their expressions grew increasingly solemn.
Because the number of orcs was simply too great, and their defensive weapons were being frantically consumed by the orcs, who were sacrificing their lives.
An old Dúnedain Ranger veteran leaned against the cold battlement, the motion of his bowstringing so fast it was almost a blur. Every time he drew an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, drew the bow, aimed, and released, it was as fluid as breathing, the hum of the bowstring short and deadly.
"Pfft! Pfft!"
Arrows precisely pierced the eye socket of an orc below, who was howling and attempting to set up a short ladder, and then penetrated the throat of another orc behind it, who was holding a rusty shield.
In just a few breaths, five orcs fell from the ladder on the section of the wall he was defending, landing with dull thuds on the ground, becoming twisted corpses.
However, there was no hint of triumph on his weathered face, only solemnity.
The old Ranger's left hand reached into his quiver again, and the sensation at his fingertips made his heart sink. The once bulging quiver was now shallow to the touch, with only a single, cold fletching remaining.
He glanced at the bundles of spare arrows piled not far away; they too were diminishing at a visible rate. A young Ranger responsible for supplies ran over, carrying the last bundle of arrows, distributing them to his comrades, his face bearing the same heavy expression as the old Ranger.
The Rangers here all knew that although the arrow rain was dense and the kills numerous, this endless consumption was gradually thinning the deadly "rain." Every arrow shot meant that their "lifeline," which maintained their distance advantage, shortened by a fraction.
At the same time, in another part of the battlefield, in the middle section of the wall, several Rangers worked together to push a heavy rolling log down from the battlement.
The log, carrying the force of wind and thunder, crashed down along the ladder, instantly crushing seven or eight orcs clinging to the ladder like ants, breaking their bones and tearing their sinews. They screamed as they fell, dragging the ladder with them, causing it to twist and break, making all the orcs on that ladder fall down and crash heavily onto the orcs below, causing waves of chaos.
But these Rangers couldn't even lean out to observe the results of their actions below. The Ranger squad leader among them didn't even bother to wipe away the splattered blood on his face, only urgently shouting to his comrades: "Quick! Over there! Another group is coming up!"
The Rangers beside him immediately rushed to another nearby supply point, but there were only two rolling logs and a few scattered stones left. More supplies were still being urgently moved from other places, but the replenishment of supplies could no longer keep up with their consumption.
A young Ranger looked at the tide of orcs surging below, stepping on the corpses of their comrades and the wreckage of rolling logs, continuing to set up ladders and climb, seemingly knowing no fear. His face turned pale, and his voice carried a subtle tremor: "Captain… only two rolling logs left! Not many stones either! The logistics team hasn't arrived yet!"
The squad leader looked at his comrades, each busy on the wall, then at the tide of orcs below, and clenched his teeth.
He had witnessed firsthand how the orcs were consuming their supplies with piles of bodies, but at this moment, he could only say: "Never mind that, hurry and help push this rolling log down!"
Meanwhile, in another section of the wall, further from the main battlefield, the Rangers had already exhausted their rolling logs, stones, and the arrows in their quivers. Some orcs had already climbed the ladders and reached the wall, and the battle had clearly entered a white-hot melee.
A Ranger had just cleanly slit the throat of an orc that had just popped up with his scimitar, then backhanded the hilt of his sword to smash the finger bones of another orc attempting to claw onto the battlement. His movements were swift and deadly; each swing of his weapon efficiently took an orc life, and the pile of corpses at his feet formed a small mound.
But fine beads of sweat constantly seeped from the Ranger's forehead, sliding down his blood-stained cheeks. His arm muscles began to ache and tremble uncontrollably from the prolonged high-intensity chopping and parrying, and his chest heaved violently, each breath bringing a stinging, burning sensation.
He glanced around, distracted, seeing his fellow Rangers also fighting desperately.
Although the defense line had not yet been breached and orc corpses continued to fall, everyone's face showed the same fatigue and heaviness. A young Ranger not far from him, after strenuously piercing an orc's chest, even had to briefly lean on his sword to the ground, gasping for breath.
Having survived previous battles with orcs, each of them was naturally a battle-hardened elite, knowing how to properly conserve their stamina and eliminate the orcs before them with the least amount of effort and cost.
However, no matter how valiant and skilled they were in combat, their physical and mental strength were not limitless.
At this very moment, below the wall they were defending, the roar of the massive, dark orc army showed no signs of diminishing. They stepped on charred or still-warm corpses, their eyes bloodthirsty, surging forward endlessly, as if those just eliminated were merely insignificant ripples.
Further in the distance, shrouded by dark clouds, subsequent trebuchets and siege towers could vaguely be seen continuously moving towards them.
Another orc leaping onto the wall from a ladder brought the Ranger back to his senses. Without thinking, he immediately seized the moment before the opponent could steady himself and swung his weapon at the orc's neck.
But the damaged weapon, which should have been tightly gripped, suddenly slipped from his grasp, falling uselessly onto the orc's body.
The Ranger reacted quickly, wanting to kick the orc to rectify his mistake, but he found his body heavier than ever before.
It's over.
The Ranger closed his eyes in exhaustion as he watched the orc's rusty cleaver swing towards him.
"Leyndell—advance!"
A deep battle cry, like thunder, rang in his ears, causing the Ranger to open his eyes, and then he realized his ears weren't playing tricks on him; those were indeed peals of thunder.
The next moment, golden lightning filled his vision.
Accompanied by this deep battle cry, the golden torrent, like molten gold breaching a dam, instantly filled the narrow wall passage.
Heavy footsteps, like dense drumbeats, drowned out the orcs' roars, shaking the Black Gate.
Under the somewhat dazed gaze of the Ranger, the soldiers of the Rodel Legion quickly came to their aid along the wall passage.
They were like moving golden bulwarks, clad in heavy armor, their massive tower shields tightly interlocked side by side, their edges even deeply embedded in the ground's stone cracks, instantly forming an insurmountable metal dam in front of the battlements, leaving the orcs who had climbed the Black Gate staring at each other in confusion.
They had not expected to face a shield wall after climbing the Black Gate.
"Hold! Push!"
A steady and powerful command came from the formation.
"Boom!"
With synchronized steps, the entire formation pressed forward as one.
The heavy tower shields in the hands of the Leyndell soldiers crashed violently into the newly climbed orcs, the dull sound of bones shattering making one's teeth ache. And those orcs who were lucky enough not to be knocked flying were immediately precisely pierced by the long spears thrust through the gaps in the shields.
Conversely, the orcs' rusted weapons only sparked a few times when they struck the tower shields, and were then immediately parried by the shields or flicked away by the long spears.
"Clang, clang—"
The Rangers noticed that two Rodel Knights, clad in even finer golden armor, took out some kind of stone emitting a golden halo from their pockets, and then these seemingly very precious stones were seemingly casually thrown onto the ground around them by these two Rodel Knights.
After the Warming Stone touched the ground, a golden light enveloped the Rangers, restoring their stamina while repairing some minor injuries that were not bone-deep.
After a brief shock, the Rangers immediately reacted and seized the opportunity to rest.
The severely wounded Rangers had their wounds promptly bandaged by their companions. Although the Warming Stone's glow could not fully heal them, it at least stabilized their injuries and allowed for slow recovery, preventing them from losing their lives due to lack of timely treatment.
The Ranger Captain and several experienced Ranger veterans sustained the fewest injuries. Feeling their stamina almost fully recovered, the Ranger Captain immediately stood up, led the veterans to quickly assess the situation of the section of the Black Gate he was defending, and then shouted loudly to the two Rodel Knights: "Left flank! Left flank breach! orcs are setting up ladders! There's also a climbing point below your left flank's battlement!"
Upon hearing this, one Rodel Knight immediately personally led a small flanking squad to turn, as if by instinct. The heavy shield wall and deadly long spears precisely blocked the weak point indicated by the Ranger Captain, mercilessly pushing the newly surging orcs back down the Black Gate.
The Rangers, panting heavily, exchanged glances.
Although they were unsure how the battle would develop, at least for now, they had survived.
Just as this Rodel Knight led his squad to reinforce the flank, firmly pinning the orcs' assault to the edge of the battlement, the remaining Rodel Knight was not idle either.
Those veterans skillfully went to several vantage points and sturdy tower platforms at the rear of the Black Gate with open views, quickly noticing changes within the orc army, and immediately called out to their Captain: "Captain! Those orc scum are regrouping for a new assault, and a makeshift trebuchet has also been assembled by them!"
Upon hearing this, the Ranger Captain immediately shouted to the remaining Rodel Knight: "Please follow me!"
The Rodel Knight nodded silently, following the Ranger Captain to a high point on the Black Gate. At this moment, a Ranger veteran was urgently gesturing, pointing to the densest area of orcs within the orc army, the concentrated point of newly erected siege ladders, and the position of the crude, highly threatening trebuchet that was being reassembled.
The Ranger veteran pointed and shouted, "There! The trebuchet! And that area, they're even using the corpses of their own kin to build a ramp!"
The Ranger Captain added with a solemn expression: "If we let them build up the ramp, the orcs will be able to set up ladders and climb the Black Gate more easily, which will put even greater pressure on our defense."
Then the Ranger Captain's gaze fell upon the only two remaining stone projectiles on the Black Gate, and he decisively commanded: "We still have stone projectiles here, we must prevent the orcs from building up the ramp!"
The Ranger veteran nodded, then hesitated and asked: "What about that trebuchet the orcs are assembling down there? These are the last two, if we throw them all down, our trebuchet will be useless."
The Ranger Captain took a deep breath and said: "But if the ramp is truly built, we will face orcs several times our number. The trebuchet... anyway, the orcs don't know if we have stone projectiles, so we'll use it to draw the enemy trebuchet's fire."
Then he paused for a moment before continuing: "As for what to do later, perhaps Talion is leading reinforcements. Time is short now, we must act immediately to prevent the orcs from building a ramp by the Black Gate."
Upon hearing this, the Ranger veteran said nothing more, but instead gave his Captain an understanding look and immediately motioned for the other Rangers to act.
The Rodel Knight beside the Ranger Captain slowly spoke at this moment: "I can deal with that trebuchet. As for the ramp, the Leyndell soldiers will also stop it."
The Ranger Captain looked up in surprise. Although the Rodel Knight's face was hidden behind a golden visor, he could still feel the sharp gaze coming from beneath it.
The Rodel Knight's right hand had, at some unknown moment, grasped a Holy Sigil. Violent golden lightning gathered and crackled madly, emitting a hair-raising "crackle" and a smell of burning in the air.
[Royal City Ancient Dragon Faith Prayers · Lightning Spear]
He shouted loudly: "In the name of the Erdtree and the Ancient Dragon!"
Almost at the same instant, a dazzling golden lightning spear, as if tearing through the murky lead-gray sky above the Black Gate, precisely struck the trebuchet that was almost fully assembled.
This was followed by a second, then a third lightning spear. This Rodel Knight continuously hurled three lightning bolts towards the trebuchet below the Black Gate before stopping.
"Boom—!!!"
Deafening explosions resounded in succession. The locked-on orcs were instantly swallowed by blinding lightning, and charred limbs and broken arms, mixed with dirt and rubble, exploded outwards in a radial pattern.
And the newly assembled trebuchet, directly hit by the lightning spears, its sturdy wooden framework shattered like fragile matchsticks, burning and collapsing with a crash, crushing a group of orcs below.
However, the danger was not over. Several broken pieces of wood from the destroyed makeshift trebuchet's wreckage were actually flung onto the orc corpse ramp below due to the broken mechanism, tumbling in the air and embedding themselves in the pile of corpses, conveniently forming several support points.
"Oh no!"
The Ranger Captain's face changed. Of course, he would not blame the Rodel Knight beside him; it was simply bad luck, and no one would have expected the destroyed trebuchet to cause such a situation.
When those veteran Rangers noticed the broken wood inserting into the orc corpse ramp, they immediately aimed the only two remaining rolling stones at those thick broken pieces of wood, and then pushed them down the Black Gate.
The huge stone projectiles crushed two of the broken pieces of wood that were propping against the Black Gate, but there was still one broken piece left.
Orcs, like a surging tide, were frantically climbing up this "stair of corpses," attempting to bypass the sturdy formation at the front and tear open a breach from the flank.
Seeing this, the Ranger Captain first ordered the Dúnedain Rangers who could still move to use all their arrows to shoot down the orcs climbing up the broken wooden ramp. Then, he anxiously looked at the Rodel Knight beside him.
He asked, "Can you still use those lightning-like sorceries, Your Excellency?"
The Rodel Knight shook his head slightly and said, "Sorcery? Oh, do you mean the Lightning Spear? I'm afraid my magic power is almost depleted, and another fellow Knight is resisting the orcs on the front line. Unless there are more Rodel Knights or those specialized in Prayers, you'll have to wait until my magic power recovers a bit."
The Ranger Captain didn't dwell on the difference between "Prayers" in his mouth and "sorcery" in his own. He seized on the Knight's last sentence and asked, "How much rest time do you need?"
The Rodel Knight replied, "About 5 minutes and I can cast the Lightning Spear again."
The Ranger Captain's voice was decisive, without the slightest hesitation: "My men and I will buy you those five minutes!"
Then he spun around abruptly, his hoarse roar instantly overriding the sounds of battle on the city wall: "Abandon ranged attacks! Everyone! Block the breach! Use your blades and your bodies to hold the line! Five minutes! We only need to hold for five minutes!"
The Captain's command was like a splash of ice water, instantly sobering the exhausted Dúnedain Rangers.
But they did not question, nor did they retreat. The Dúnedain Rangers who could move immediately fired their remaining arrows madly at the orc vanguards surging up the broken wooden ramp, not even aiming to kill, but only to delay the most ferocious first wave of impact.
The Dúnedain Rangers' final volley of arrows instantly turned the front few rows of orcs into pincushions. Their bodies tumbled down, slightly hindering the subsequent tide.
But this was far from enough. More orcs, stepping over the corpses of their comrades, brandishing rusty blades and axes, howled as they rushed to the top of the ramp, surging towards the almost torn defense line.
"For our comrades! For the Black Gate!"
The Ranger Captain drew his scimitar and was the first to charge, fiercely cutting down an orc that had just appeared.
"Block it!"
"Hold the line!"
Roars erupted in unison. The surviving Dúnedain Rangers, like moths to a flame, used their last ounce of strength to form a dike of flesh and blood, desperately blocking the junction between the broken wooden ramp and the city wall.
They abandoned their original flexible skirmishing tactics, choosing instead to directly withstand the orcs' assault with their bodies. Their chipped scimitars and rusty axes clashed wildly, sending sparks flying.
One Dúnedain Ranger's scimitar was knocked away due to exhaustion, but he unhesitatingly lunged forward, pressing his shoulder firmly against an orc's shield, allowing another orc's axe to hack into his side, just to buy his comrade behind him a chance to deliver a fatal blow.
The Dúnedain Rangers' bright red blood soaked the bricks beneath their feet, making it so slippery they could barely stand.
But when someone fell, those behind immediately hoarsely filled the gap, even if it meant using broken spears as short thrusting weapons, or even biting with their teeth.
It was only a short five minutes, yet time felt incredibly long, as if every second stretched into an eternity. Blood and lives repeatedly painted the Dúnedain Rangers' defense line, but this seemingly precarious line never fell.
The Rodel Knight who had spoken with the Ranger Captain was first briefly stunned by the Dúnedain Rangers' decisiveness and resolve. Then, seeing the Dúnedain Rangers withstand the orc assault with their flesh and blood, a burning respect flashed in his eyes.
The Rodel Knight leaped down from where he stood, drawing the knight's greatsword adorned with the Erdtree pattern from his back. His heavy armguard parried a rusty axe chopping towards a Dúnedain Ranger to his side, then with a powerful backhand swing, he split that orc in half from the head down.
"There is no need to die holding for me."
The Rodel Knight's voice remained clear and strong amidst the clash of blades. His golden, burly figure, like a bedrock, embedded itself into the Dúnedain Rangers' crumbling defense line, allowing the Dúnedain Rangers to briefly catch their breath and regroup.
He looked with some regret and heartache at the three fallen Dúnedain Rangers, and as he cleaved the surging orcs off the city wall with his greatsword, he said in a deep voice, "I apologize to you brave warriors for not joining the battle sooner. I misjudged your resolve and courage."
Then the Rodel Knight's gaze fell upon a young Dúnedain Ranger beside him who had been stabbed in the abdomen but was still desperately clinging to an orc's leg, allowing other Dúnedain Rangers to finish it off. To all the Dúnedain Rangers fighting in a bloodbath, he issued a thunderous commendation: "By the name of the Erdtree, I swear, the bravery of you Dúnedain people is enough to move the proudest of Rodel Knights!"
The agonizing five minutes finally ended. The Ranger Captain hoarsely threw his now-chipped scimitar at an orc's head. As he drew the last remaining dagger from his waist, he suddenly felt the familiar thunderous roar behind him.
He briefly looked back. The Rodel Knight had retreated a few steps to a relatively safer position at some point, and his raised right arm was gathering dazzling, flickering golden lightning, which finally condensed into a brilliant Lightning Spear as thick as an adult's arm.
"Retreat!"
The Rodel Knight let out a thunderous roar, simultaneously throwing his long-charged right arm forward.
A golden lightning bolt, tearing through the vision and carrying a shriek, instantly pierced into the center of the broken wooden log that formed the core of the ramp.
The Lightning Spear did not stop. The violent lightning erupted with a roar the moment it touched the broken wood. The thick log was like it was packed with explosives, completely blown into a sky full of fragments burning with golden electrical fire in the instant, deafening explosion.
The orcs climbing on the broken wood screamed as they were thrown, torn apart, along with dozens of orcs on the ramp, turning into shattered, charred corpses in the dazzling lightning, leaving behind a charred deep pit and wisps of smoke on the ground.
The shattered wooden splinters also caused secondary damage to nearby Orcs; many orcs were blinded or had fingers broken by those seemingly insignificant fragments.
The long-held breath in the Ranger Captain's chest finally expelled heavily as the broken wooden ramp vanished in smoke and dust, his shoulders unconsciously relaxing for a moment.
He wiped a smear of sticky blood from his face, and just as he was about to turn to express his heartfelt gratitude to the Rodel Knight, a cold, metal-clad hand landed heavily on his exhausted shoulder.
The Rodel Knight's voice was deep and steady: "I regret to say, now is not the time for apologies or relaxation, brave Dúnedain Ranger. The enemy is still attacking."
The Rodel Knight's tone showed no sign of post-victory relaxation, just like the knight's greatsword in his hand, which was still dripping with black orc blood.
This sentence was like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguishing the faint joy in the Ranger Captain's heart. He abruptly looked up, his gaze sweeping over the battlements, riddled with gaps and scorch marks, to the ground below the city wall.
As far as the eye could see, it was still that despair-inducing, churning, grayish-black ocean.
The destruction of the broken wooden ramp had merely created a brief, insignificant eddy in this foul tide of orcs.
More orcs, like endless maggots, were frantically surging towards other remaining siege ladders and climbing points, even beginning to scale the rough surface of the city wall with their bare hands.
And in the distance, from the direction of the smoke-shrouded horizon, even larger orc formations were slowly pressing forward like moving shadows.