I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 166 Bloody Siege War

That volley of arrows, which had been so dense and overwhelming that it had pinned the defenders down, was suddenly cut off as if by an invisible pair of scissors.

"Chance."

Radji Kobila pushed aside the shield protecting him and looked out of the city walls.

The Cumans' mounted archery suppression came to a halt.

That means that the Lord Alliance infantry, who were carrying ladders, squeezing through the gaps, and stepping on fallen wooden stakes and broken crossbeams to approach the city wall, had lost their protective umbrella.

They became complete sitting ducks.

"Everyone, stand up!!"

His sword was aimed directly at the enemy infantry below the city wall, and his roar exploded like thunder: "The Cumans' arrows have stopped! Now it's our turn!"

"All archers! Aim at those scum carrying ladders!"

"Shoot them!!"

Radji's roar was like a spark that ignited a fuse, instantly setting off the long-simmering rage on the walls of Skalitz.

"Release the arrows!!!"

With the resounding snap of the bowstring returning to its place and the crisp clang of the crossbow being pulled, dozens of powerful arrows unleashed a vengeful barrage of steel.

The rain, rushing over the battlements, roared down towards the ground below.

This time, without the suppressive fire of the Cuman cavalry, these arrows were able to unleash their full power without restraint.

Below the city wall, the infantry unit that had been chanting slogans and carrying ladders was suddenly struck by a blow.

But they are not the kind of mob that collapses at the slightest provocation.

Those who are sent to the front are certainly not farmers who are just temporarily assigned to make up the numbers with pitchforks.

Leading the way were professional soldiers and mercenaries from the Lords' Alliance, as well as trained town militia.

They wore thick military uniforms, covered with plate armor covered with rivets, and many also had a layer of chainmail on vital areas such as their necks, shoulders, and armpits.

The sunlight shone on their wide-brimmed iron hats and light helmets with sharp tips, reflecting a cold, metallic gleam.

If it were an ordinary hunting bow, shooting it at these tin cans would probably only produce a loud bang.

However, the superior position and the powerful military crossbows in the hands of the Skalitz guards still became their nightmare.

when!

when!

puff!

A series of teeth-grinding impacts resounded around the ladder.

A burly infantryman at the front, who was supporting the wooden frame of the siege ladder with his shoulder, suddenly shuddered.

A thick crossbow bolt, still carrying enormous kinetic energy, pierced directly through the iron-clad wooden shield he held above his head. The arrowhead, still powerful, sank deep into his collarbone—a blind spot unprotected by his plate armor.

"Ah!" The burly man let out a shrill scream, his shield slipped from his hand, and he collapsed heavily to his knees in the mud like a felled log. Blood gushed from his neck, instantly staining his robe red.

"Stay calm! Don't panic!"

"Raise your shields! Raise your shields!"

The sergeant in the ranks was roaring madly.

These professional soldiers from the Lords' Alliance displayed astonishing tactical skills.

Unlike the Cumans, they did not fall into chaos when faced with the rain of arrows raining down from above.

Because they knew that running away with their backs to the crossbows would only lead to their quicker death; their only way to survive was to rush to the blind spot at the foot of the city wall.

The soldiers gritted their teeth, like a group of armored beetles carrying heavy shells, shrinking their necks in the rain of arrows.

Countless arrows clanged and clattered against their helmets and shoulder armor, sending up a string of dazzling sparks.

The stench of blood began to permeate the area beneath the city walls.

It was a foul stench, a mixture of rust, sweat, and the smell of intestines.

Just as a lord's squire wearing half-armor raised his head to give directions, a cunning arrow pierced his eye socket with pinpoint accuracy.

Before he could even make a sound, he covered his face and fell backward.

Even so, the enemy troops, carrying barbed ladders, still stepped over corpses and blood, slowly approaching the stone walls of Skalitz.

A heavy, resounding crash echoed from the city wall.

Amidst a hail of arrows, the first siege ladder was finally carried to the base of the wall by the enemy. A dozen heavy infantrymen exerted their strength simultaneously, and the massive ladder was violently erected, its top slamming heavily against the battlements.

The two barbs, like the fangs of a demon, gripped the edge of the battlements tightly, sending up a spray of flying gravel.

"We got on board!"

"Charge! The first one to scale the walls will be rewarded with one hundred Grosshins!"

Several heavy infantrymen at the foot of the ladder threw away their iron-clad wooden shields like hungry wolves pouncing on their prey, grabbed the rough crossbars with both hands, and climbed up using both hands and feet.

These elite troops had clearly received specialized training in scaling city walls.

Even clad in heavy armor, their movements were astonishingly agile. The heavy iron boots pounded against the crossbars with a dull thud, each step causing the entire ladder to creak under the strain, yet the pace was terrifyingly fast.

In the blink of an eye, the leading enemy soldier had already climbed to the middle of the ladder.

Through the thin slit of the light helmet, one could even see the greed and murderous intent in those bloodshot eyes—the walls of Skalitz were right before him, and the guards there were, in his eyes, lambs to the slaughter.

"Damn it, I can't push it down! It's stuck!"

On the city wall, two militiamen, trying to use their halberds to push aside the siege ladder, shouted in despair.

The iron hooks at the top of the ladder were firmly gripping the battlements, and a group of enemy soldiers were holding onto the ladder's legs below. Several fully armed heavy infantrymen were still desperately climbing up, making it impossible for just two or three people to push it away easily.

"Who told you to push the ladder?!"

A loud shout rang out as a bearded Skaritz veteran shoved aside the militiamen blocking his way and yelled at two guards behind him who were carrying a large, steaming iron pot: "Pour this down! Now!"

The two guards gritted their teeth, their faces flushed, and together they lifted the heavy iron pot to the gap in the battlements.

Acrid black smoke and a nauseating burnt smell instantly filled the air.

"fall!!"

With a command given, the black waterfall of death cascaded down.

The fastest climbing lord alliance heavy infantryman looked up, wanting to confirm how many more steps it would take to reach the top.

However, what met his eyes was not the terrified faces of the guards, but a scorching black sky that seemed to be pouring down on him.

He didn't even have a chance to scream.

Boiling asphalt is not like an arrow that can be deflected by armor; it is a flowing death.

In that instant, boiling oil seeped into every nook and cranny of his helmet through the observation seams and the gaps in his plate armor.

It's sizzling!

The sound was like throwing a large piece of raw meat into a red-hot iron pot, except that what was being thrown into the pot was not meat, but a living person.

"Ughhhhhh!!!"

The soldier let out a piercing howl that sounded inhuman.

He was convulsing violently on the ladder, his hands frantically scratching at his faceplate and throat, trying to scoop out the liquid that was cooking him.

But he forgot he was still in mid-air. The excruciating pain caused him to lose his grip, and he fell straight backward like a red-hot iron.

boom!

His heavy body crashed onto his companion who was right behind him, and the two of them tumbled down the ladder like gourds, knocking down a series of soldiers who were climbing.

But that's not the scariest part.

The large pot of boiling oil wasn't entirely consumed by just one or two people; most of the scalding liquid flowed down the ladder or was directly splashed onto the infantry ranks below, who were huddled together vying for credit.

For the soldiers huddled at the foot of the ladder, it was like a torrential downpour from hell.

"Ah! My eyes! My eyes!"

"It's hot! Help! Take my nail off! Quickly, help me take my nail off!!"

The formation, originally designed to defend against arrows, had now become the most deadly prison.