Roland moved swiftly, nimbly dodging the incoming fire arrows. He sprinted toward the dormitory, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

’Are Demons attacking?’

’No... Demons aren’t supposed to use Arrows...’

In Roland’s past combat experience, Demons like Kobolds and Gnolls all preferred close-quarters combat.

Even the most cunning goblins would, at most, hide in the rear and throw stones. He had never seen them use Long-Range Weapons that required skill, like a Bow and Arrow.

’If it’s not Demons... then it must be a human army.’

’Judging by the number of fire arrows, the attacking army must be quite large...’

As this thought crossed his mind, Roland kept moving.

Once inside the dormitory, he deftly slipped on his Chain Armor, strapped the Short Bow to his waist, secured the Quiver to his back, and, Iron Sword in hand, raced toward the manor’s main gate.

As the saying goes, when the nest is overturned, no egg remains unbroken.

Never mind that the manor was now a crucial base for Roland to increase his Power; he had already formed deep friendships with the people here, from Hawke and Bronson to John and Dalko.

No matter what, Roland could not sit idly by and watch the manor fall, nor could he bear to see his friends slaughtered.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"

The piercing sound of alarm bells echoed throughout the manor.

As Roland ran toward the gate, he saw many servants and Blacksmith Apprentices peeking out from their rooms, their faces etched with terror.

"George!"

Spotting the tall figure standing in the open, staring at the main gate, Roland dashed forward, grabbed his shoulder, and shoved him back toward the building.

"What are you gawking at? Get inside and hide!"

Turning to the other panicked Blacksmith Apprentices, Roland ordered in a low voice.

"All of you, stay inside! Don’t come out!"

"Ro... Roland..."

George’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his voice trembling.

"What in the world is going on?"

"I’m not sure of the details yet..."

Roland’s brow tightened as he listened to the ceaseless whistling of Arrows in the night sky.

"Listen, George, don’t panic. Captain John is surely leading his men to defend the gate. As for you..."

The growing stench of something burning made Roland’s expression even more grim.

"No matter who’s out there, the rain of Arrows has to stop eventually. The moment it does, organize everyone to carry water and put out the fires. Don’t let the blaze spread, understand?"

"Un... Understood!"

Perhaps influenced by Roland’s composed tone, George and the other apprentices gradually calmed down.

"If Mr. Char or Master Hawke comes to give orders, do as they say."

Although he hadn’t interacted much with the old butler, Char, Roland knew from Dalko that the old man was loyal, dependable, and level-headed.

At a critical moment like this, he would surely step up to take charge.

As for Hawke, that went without saying. The old Blacksmith had always been trustworthy.

Sure enough, no sooner had he settled the Blacksmith Apprentices than he heard Char’s firm, powerful commands and Hawke’s booming shouts from nearby.

Under their direction, the servants, who had been a chaotic mess, quickly regained a sense of Order and stopped running around like headless chickens.

Seeing this, Roland quickened his pace and sprinted toward the manor gate.

The closer he got to the manor gate, the more ferocious the fire arrow assault became.

In the darkness of the night, crimson tongues of flame licked everywhere, greedily devouring the wooden structures. The fire was spreading at an alarming rate.

The heavy oak gate groaned in agony under the relentless impacts, its entire frame trembling.

"Captain John!"

Roland pushed through the chaotic crowd to the side of the Guard Captain, who was calmly issuing orders.

He had to shout to be heard over the surrounding din.

"Who exactly are these attackers?"

"Roland?"

John recognized the newcomer’s face in the flickering firelight.

He was about to tell the young man to get to safety, but then he suddenly remembered Roland’s martial skills were on par with his own.

"It’s a mob!"

John explained quickly while directing the Guards to reinforce the gate with debris.

"We don’t know their numbers, but they’re equipped with Longbows and crude siege engines. And what’s more..."

Before he could finish, a deafening crash echoed from outside the manor.

The familiar sound made John freeze for a second, but Roland’s reaction was lightning-fast.

"Look out!"

He took a large step back, simultaneously yanking the burly John from his spot with one hand.

In that same instant, a Giant Stone fell from the sky like a meteor, crashing down right where they had been standing and throwing up a cloud of dust.

When the dust settled, a shallow crater was left in the ground, in the center of which lay a rock the size of a millstone.

"Dammit! It really is a catapult!"

John’s face was dangerously grim.

Roland stared at the Giant Stone, his brow furrowed.

’Catapults, siege engines, Longbows... This isn’t equipment a simple mob could get its hands on.’

As his thoughts raced, he turned to John.

"Captain John, I’m going up to the wall to get a look."

"Be careful, Roland!"

The two exchanged a look of understanding and split up.

Roland’s agile form quickly vanished up the stairs to the wall, while John resumed directing the Guards, occasionally casting a wary eye to the sky.

The moment he stepped onto the wall, his view opened up completely.

In the flickering firelight, Roland gazed into the distance.

Under the pitch-black night sky, a tide of shadowy figures surged forward.

Their steps were shambling, yet their speed was astonishing, carving eerie paths through the Darkness.

On the walls, the defending Guards were desperately drawing their bows to return fire.

With each muffled twang of a Bowstring, a sharp Arrow flew out, blossoming into flowers of blood in the distant Darkness.

However, compared to the enemy’s dense volley of arrows, the defenders’ counterattack was sparse.

Leaning over the edge, an even more horrifying sight met his eyes.

The ground below the wall was already littered with corpses, a bloody testament to the Guards’ resistance.

Yet dozens of raggedly dressed rioters ignored the corpses, shouldering a massive battering ram and slamming it against the manor gate with a near-frenzied rhythm.

Each impact from the massive log made the heavy oak door groan in agony, and stone fragments rained down from the doorframe, as if heralding its imminent collapse.

The Guards fought back desperately, raining Arrows, heavy stones, and logs down from the top of the wall.

But none of it could halt the mob’s insane offensive.

They were like puppets, feeling no pain and fearing no death, advancing over the bodies of their fallen comrades.

’Something’s not right! These are no ordinary rioters!’

Roland’s pupils contracted, his brow knitting into a tight knot.

Though he had never personally experienced a battlefield, either in this life or his last, he knew that for any army, morale was paramount.

In an age of cold steel, even the most elite troops would break and rout after suffering thirty to fifty percent casualties.

But the mob before him completely defied that logic.

They were not only indifferent to the deaths of their comrades but seemed to grow even more frenzied amid the bloodshed, as if driven by some unseen force.

The unnatural sight sent a chill down Roland’s spine.

He took a deep breath, the thick stench of blood rushing into his nostrils. Roland discreetly took a few steps back, finding a perfect firing position.

He calmly drew his bow and nocked an arrow, the Bowstring letting out a low thrum in the night.

WHOOSH!

The Arrow shot through the air, tracing a silver arc in the firelight before precisely piercing the skull of a rioter carrying the battering ram.

The sharp arrowhead burst from the back of his head in a shocking spray of blood.

Horrifyingly, the rioter seemed not to even notice he’d been hit, mechanically continuing the ramming motion.

Only after three or four more impacts did his movements slow, and he finally collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Even more terrifying, before the body had even hit the ground, another rioter from the row behind took his place.

The rhythm of the battering ram didn’t pause for even a second, continuing to slam against the gate with its unnerving regularity.

"What the hell!"

Roland cursed under his breath as he witnessed the scene.

He quickly reached for his waist, pulling out a small glass bottle filled with a pale-yellow liquid.

After deftly pulling the cork, he tilted his head back and downed the Potion in one go.

In an instant, his round pupils constricted into beast-like vertical slits.

The next moment, his vision, which had been shrouded by the night, became as clear as day. Every detail of his surroundings was now perfectly distinct.

Under the magical effects of the Sharp Eye Potion, the features of the rioters below the wall came into sharp focus.

Though dressed in blood-stained rags, their physiques were unusually powerful.

Their faces were unnaturally flushed, the whites of their eyes were murky, and hot white vapor puffed from their nostrils with every breath.

But that wasn’t the most shocking part.

Roland’s pupils constricted violently.

He could clearly see a strange, pale-blue substance bulging from the rioters’ exposed skin.

The translucent material shimmered with a faint luminescence in the moonlight, like some kind of alien crystal.