I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 162 Catapult

Waiting often wears down a person's will more than death itself.

After an unknown amount of time, the suffocating silence was finally broken.

"They're here."

Someone whispered something first, and then the sound spread rapidly across the city walls like a plague.

Zig stood by the battlements, his hands casually resting on the rough stone surface.

He squinted, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

Initially, it was just a very thin black line, as if a mischievous child had casually drawn a stroke at the junction of heaven and earth with charred charcoal.

But soon, the black line began to thicken and wriggle, accompanied by a low rumbling sound, as if it came from the ground.

That wasn't thunder, but the resonance of thousands of hooves and boots striking the earth simultaneously, as if even the walls of Skarlitz were trembling.

The view gradually became clear.

It was not just an army, but more like an approaching black flood.

Leading the way were the iconic foreign cavalry.

Even from a great distance, one can recognize the distinctive pointed helmets and lamellar armor of the Cumans.

They numbered about a thousand, and unlike regular knights, they were not arranged in neat square formations, but rather spread out across the plains like a flock of vultures searching for carrion, scattered yet deadly.

Those faces covered with metal masks reflected a chilling luster in the sunlight, sending shivers down one's spine.

Following closely behind were the infantry columns that advanced across the mountains and plains like a forest.

At the very front fluttered the Hungarian royal flag and Sigismund's own flag, with red and white stripes, double crosses, and the coat of arms of Luxembourg and Bohemia mixed together.

But what truly stung Radji were the banners of the Bohemian nobles that followed the royal flag.

A red five-petaled rose on a silver background—that was the emblem of the Rosenberg family, the dominant power in South Bohemia;

A five-petaled gold rose on a blue background—that's the coat of arms of the Lords of Hradec;

There was even a large red flag with silver double-tailed lions, which was originally a symbol of the Kingdom of Bohemia, but now it was being held by these traitors, which seemed out of place and extremely ironic.

"These bastards—" Radji roared, "They have the nerve to hold up the Lion of Bohemia!"

"I don't see any organized Hungarian noble private armies—" Zieg's voice rang out from the side at just the right moment, "In this large army, apart from those thousand Cuman mad dogs, the remaining two thousand or so are all Bohemians."

"Lord Radji, it seems your colleagues are even more eager to destroy you, a royalist, than Sigismund himself."

"Sigismund is a shrewd hunter."

"He left behind the most elite and most loyal Hungarian nobles."

"Prague needs someone to guard it, and the silver mines in Kutenberg need someone to oversee them."

"Those Hungarian nobles had no roots in Bohemia; they could only rely on Sigismund, so they were the most reliable watchdogs."

"As for these people from the Lords' Alliance—"

"In Sigismund's eyes, they were nothing more than a bunch of disposable expendable resources. Sending them to attack Skaritz would serve as both a pledge of allegiance and a way to deplete Bohemia's military strength. A double win."

Radjid remained silent.

Of course he understood the vicious scheme behind it.

"Traitors—a bunch of shameless traitors!"

The air on the city wall seemed even heavier.

The defenders stared intently into the distance.

"What is that?!"

A sharp-eyed young crossbowman suddenly pointed to the rear of the enemy formation, his voice tinged with confusion and unease, "Are those supply wagons? Why are they so long?"

Radji Kobila squinted and looked in the direction the soldier was pointing.

Behind the densely packed infantry ranks, like an ant colony, several heavy wagons, pulled by four horses, were struggling to traverse the grassland.

The wheels sank deep into the mud, leaving two heavy ruts on the ground with each rotation.

The truck was not loaded with grain sacks, nor with ordinary weight.

Those were thick wooden beams that had been cut straight, winches wrapped with hemp rope, axles encased in iron hoops, and counterweight boxes so heavy that they required the combined efforts of four or five people to move them.

Soon, the engineers surrounded the officer amidst his shouts.

This was clearly not the first time they had done something like this.

Some people unloaded the wooden beams, some untied the ropes, some laid out the iron pins and wooden wedges one by one, and others carried the huge throwing arm, trudging through the muddy grass, and laboriously walked towards the position that had been chosen beforehand.

Those parts were not made from rough wood that was hastily cut down.

Every tenon joint, every iron hoop, and every rope bears the marks of pre-polishing and assembly in the workshop.

Once reassembled here, they will become a real siege weapon.

Catapult.

"My God—"

The young soldier's face turned deathly pale instantly, and he nearly dropped his crossbow. "They—they brought all of this?"

A collective gasp of astonishment rippled through the city walls.

Everyone's face turned extremely ugly.

If the enemy were to cut down trees on-site to make such a machine, even the most skilled craftsman would have to spend at least several days.

For the unprepared Skaritz, this was a breather more precious than gold.

But now, that hope has been dashed.

"It was transported from Kutenberg."

Radji's voice was terrifyingly low.

"Only the artisans of Kutenberg could build such siege weapons, and only they had the financial resources to transport these heavy behemoths all the way here."

Kutenberg, the pride of the nation.

Today, every piece of iron and every piece of wood it produces has become a weapon to be smashed against its own people.

Sieg took Shahbaz's bow from his back.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

The enemy was setting up trebuchet positions about 400 meters from the castle.

This distance is still within his firing range.

Four hundred meters away from the city wall, the enemy's engineers seemed to be working in their own backyard.

Even with the English longbow, at 300 meters, one could only rely on luck with hurling; the actual distance at which a precise shot could be fired was far less than that.

Distance is the source of their arrogance.

Radji glanced subconsciously at the enemy army in the distance, then at Sieg holding a bow and arrow, his brows furrowed, his eyes filled with confusion and bewilderment.

"Your Highness?"

Radji couldn't help but remind her, his tone carrying a sense of common sense, "There—it's at least four hundred meters away."

"I know."

Long, slender fingers gripped the bowstring.

"But since the guests are so impolite, as the host, I should at least greet them."

Zieg's eyes were calm as still water, locking onto the distant target through the tips of the arrows.

It didn't take long to aim, or even involve holding your breath and concentrating.

For him, the outcome of that arrow was already predetermined the moment it was nocked.

Zig gently loosened his grip.

collapse-!!!

The armor-piercing arrow disappeared.

The sound had barely reached the city wall when the message of death had already been delivered to the other side.