I summon all the famous generals in history in another world

Chapter 1505 The Mongol Night Raid on the Kheshig!
As the waning moon dipped westward, it etched the outline of Fengzhou City onto the frozen earth. The high level of vigilance throughout the night had exhausted the defenders' energy, and the sky was beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn.

In another half hour, dawn would break in the east. The soldiers, who had been up for two nights in a row, had eyelids as heavy as lead, and the swords and spears in their hands began to tremble slightly.

At a sentry post in the northwest corner of the city, two young soldiers dozed off against the battlements. Frost on their cotton armor clung to their eyelashes, making their eyes sting from the cold.

They were local farmers from Yuzhou. Just half a month ago, they were farmers holding hoes, but now they had to carry long spears to defend the city. The bloody battles of the past few days had worn away their initial fear, leaving only a deep-seated exhaustion.

Veteran Zhao Laoshuan, who was in charge of the patrol, walked by carrying a lantern. The light from the lantern flickered, illuminating the soldiers' lips, which were purple from the cold. He sighed and couldn't bear to wake them up—the two lads had been on guard duty for six hours straight last night when they changed shifts, without even having a sip of hot porridge.

"Pay attention, everyone! Mongolians are the best at finding bargains!"

Old Zhao shouted in a hoarse voice, his voice drifting away on the empty city wall, but only receiving a few muffled replies in return.

He himself felt his eyelids getting heavy. Yesterday, the Mongols' feint attack seemed loose, but it had been going on for five hours on and off. The muffled thuds of battering rams hitting the city, the sharp whistling of arrows piercing the air, and the cries of the prisoners swirled in his ears like a curse, making it impossible for him to have a moment's peace.

He rubbed his frozen hands, breathed white vapor into his palms, and glanced at the Mongol camp outside the city. It was still deathly silent there, with only the embers of a few campfires flickering in the wind like will-o'-the-wisps.

Just then, a very faint sound came from the foot of the city wall, like the sound of snow being crushed. Zhao Laoshuan's heart skipped a beat, and he gripped the short knife at his waist tightly, raising the lantern even higher.

He squinted and looked down at the city. The night was still dark, but by the dim light of the waning moon, he could vaguely see dense shadows crawling at the base of the city wall, like poisonous scorpions crawling out of the ground, slowly moving along the base of the wall.

"Enemy attack! The Mongols have crept up!"

Zhao Laoshuan's shout instantly shattered the pre-dawn silence. He hurled the lantern in his hand down towards the city walls. The lantern exploded in mid-air, and sparks landed on the dark figures, illuminating their狰狞 (zhengning - ferocious/hideous) faces.

Those Mongol soldiers were all dressed in black felt robes, with animal skins wrapped around their feet. They held scimitars and short axes in their hands, and their eyes gleamed with bloodlust. They were the elite Kheshig troops under Typhon's command!
The soldiers on the city wall were instantly awakened, all sleepiness gone. In a panic, they grabbed their weapons, drew their bowstrings quickly, and shot arrows down towards the city below with a whooshing sound.

But the Mongols were clearly prepared. They moved quickly along the city wall, shield bearers raised their heavy yak-hide shields to deflect the arrows, and the soldiers behind them carried the siege ladders that had been prepared in advance. Under the cover of the shields, they swiftly placed the ladders against the city wall.

"Dang! Dang! Dang!"

The iron hooks at the top of the siege ladders gripped the battlements tightly, emitting a piercing metallic clang. More than a dozen siege ladders rose up almost simultaneously, like a dozen venomous snakes clinging to the black iron walls of Fengzhou City.

Behind them, endless streams of Mongol soldiers climbed upwards like monkeys, the hems of their felt robes sweeping across the frost and snow on the city wall, leaving black streaks. They let out low growls, like a pack of wolves hunting on the grassland, their eyes fixed only on the city and blood.

"Put down the logs! Pour in the oil!"

A centurion on the city wall shouted at the top of his lungs, and several soldiers quickly joined forces to lift a thick log and smash it toward the ladder.

The log whistled down and struck a climbing Mongol soldier. With a sharp crack, the soldier screamed and fell from the ladder, crashing onto the frozen ground below the city, where he fell silent.

But more Mongol soldiers continued to climb, stepping over the corpses of their comrades, their scimitars slashing and deflecting the ropes hanging from the city wall and the falling stones. Some even grabbed the battlements with their bare hands and climbed upwards by force, their fingernails digging into the cracks in the bricks and stones, bleeding without them noticing.

When the first Mongol soldier climbed onto the city wall, the defenders on the wall were not yet fully organized. The Mongol soldier was tall, with a thick beard and a blood-stained bandage tied around his forehead. His scimitar flashed with a cold light, instantly cleaving a defender's spear in two. Then, with a twist of his wrist, the scimitar sliced ​​across the defender's neck, and blood spurted out, staining the frost and snow on the battlements red.

"Hoo-hoo!"

He stood atop the city wall and let out a wild roar.

The Mongol soldiers continued to climb up the ladders, and soon a group of twenty or thirty men gathered. They leaned against the battlements, forming a small defensive circle. With their scimitars in hand, they forced the advancing defenders to retreat repeatedly.

These Mongol soldiers were all elites selected from the Kheshig army. They were all battle-hardened, resistant to hunger and cold, and skilled in close combat.

Having fought wolves and other tribes on the grasslands, they had long since disregarded life and death. Now, climbing to the top of the city wall, they were even more powerful.

A Mongol soldier was struck in the left arm by an arrow, but he paid no heed. He pulled out the arrow with his backhand, put it in his mouth, and continued to chop with his short axe. When the axe fell, it cleaved open the helmet and head of a guard, brains and blood mixed together, a gruesome scene.

"Hold on! Hold on! Don't let them gain a foothold!"

Zhao Laoshuan charged forward with his short knife. He had served in the army in his youth and had seen many tough battles. Although he was old now, he was still brave and fierce.

He dodged a Mongol soldier's scimitar, his short sword piercing the man's ribs. With a twist of the blade, the Mongol soldier groaned and fell to the ground.

But more Mongol soldiers surged forward, their offensive like a storm on the steppe, swift and violent. The defenders gradually lost ground and were forced to retreat step by step. The defensive perimeter on the city walls grew smaller and smaller, and it looked as if the Mongols were about to tear a gap in the walls.

At this critical moment, a series of hurried footsteps suddenly came from below the city wall, followed by a unified shout.

"We support the Japanese army! Kill the enemy and serve our country!"

Pan Mei and Hu Yanzan each led a thousand Japanese soldiers, armed with long swords and shields, rushing from the reserve camp behind the city wall.

These soldiers supporting the Japanese were Zhao Kuangyin's elite troops, each clad in black iron armor and wielding fine longswords. They were well-trained and formed a tight formation, like a moving steel bulwark, charging towards the Mongols on the city wall.

"You barbarian thief, you're asking for death!"

Pan Mei, leading the charge, thrust his spear like a viper's tongue, precisely at a Mongol soldier who was hacking and slashing at the defenders.

The Mongol soldier reacted extremely quickly, swinging his sword to parry, but the immense force of the spear made his hand go numb, and his scimitar flew out of his hand.

Pan Mei thrust his spear forward, the tip piercing the opponent's chest and knocking him off the city wall.

Huyan Zan, standing beside him, held two whips. As the whips were swung, they were like two black dragons, lashing at the Mongol soldiers. The tips of the whips carried a fierce energy that could tear the soldiers' felt robes and flesh together, leaving them covered in blood.

(End of this chapter)