Ashen Dragon-Chapter 123 - 53: The Besieged City

Within the boundaries of the Rackman Duchy, Trolo City.

This was once the fief of the legendary General Terna Rackman.

This city was also known as the "City of Virile Wind," home to more than ten thousand people. As a military stronghold defending Northwind Castle in the northern part of the duchy, Trolo City had long resisted invasions from the north.

The people here were resilient and brave, or as they said, "steeped in martial spirit." For hundreds of years, they faced waves of invasions from Frost Giants, Orcs, and even a White Dragon, yet none of these had managed to defeat them.

The Skandar People were like an iron nail, resolutely rooted in the central and northern regions of Anzeta.

But now, fear was spreading within this city.

A dark, oppressive army of monsters had surrounded the city for a full seven days. All communication was cut off. No water, people, or food could enter or leave Trolo City.

However, the shortage of supplies was not the most terrifying aspect; it was the resulting unrest among the people.

Having not faced war for decades, the Trolonians had become somewhat lax. They seemed to have forgotten the glory of their ancestors, immersed in years of peace and stability. Their enemies, however, were the formidable and aggressive Ashen Kin.

Even many elite soldiers from the Allied Forces hailed from Trolo City. After that battle, the city was left in ruins, the sound of wailing everywhere, as if the backbone of Trolo City had been broken.

Wyvern Knights swept across the sky, dropping countless fliers urging surrender upon the terrified populace below.

"Will they slaughter the city?"

"What should we do? Maybe we should surrender."

"Even the elite of the Allied Forces have been wiped out..."

"How can we possibly hold out against such an army?"

Such whispered conversations echoed throughout the city.

However, the City Defense Army had already imposed martial law, and the entire city was under strict military control. Anyone who publicly voiced such demoralizing sentiments was arrested by the City Defense Army as a traitor.

The high walls of Trolo City were weathered and had borne witness to centuries of turbulent history.

The City Defense Army stood at their posts, ready for action, but they could not launch an attack, as the monsters were too far away for even the ballistas to reach them.

The current City Lord, Count Dawson Vileir, stood on the city wall, looking solemnly down at the monsters surrounding the city.

"My Lord, we caught another group of traitors."

A City Defense Army captain reported hurriedly.

Dawson’s voice was firm: "Execute them all. Leave no room for these scum."

The City Defense Army captain shivered, then quickly responded: "Yes, my Lord!"

"Again..."

"Have they forgotten the glory of their ancestors?"

Dawson clenched his fist, muttering to himself.

He turned to his adjutant and inquired: "How many days can our food and water last within the city?"

The adjutant pondered for a moment before replying:

"Three days, at most three days."

"Recently, people have started dying of thirst. Their families dragged the bodies to the square, wailing, and were temporarily detained by our guards. But now the situation is becoming uncontrollable, and more and more troublemakers are emerging. The city’s troops are... nearly insufficient."

A heavy gloom settled over Dawson’s face. Could surrender truly be the only option?

No, surrender was not an option.

It was about his honor, the struggle of the Trolonians over the centuries, and the glory of their ancestors.

With this in mind, Count Dawson’s expression turned stern. He told the adjutant: "Gather the citizens, I have something to say to them."

"Yes, my Lord."

Soon, under the supervision of the City Defense Army, the starving and complaining citizens gathered below the city walls.

"I am so hungry..."

"Is Lord Earl going to give us relief?"

"These lackeys of the City Defense, my family starved to death, and they took the bodies away."

"Please, let this be over soon..."

At that moment, a steady and powerful voice echoed from the city walls, and the citizens, or rather, refugees, looked up with hope.

Only to see Count Dawson, looking stern, standing high on the city wall, loudly proclaiming.

"Citizens, Trolo City has reached a life-or-death moment. This is the most critical time in nearly a hundred years!"

"But do not fear, do not retreat. Our ancestors lived here, in this mighty city. Look around, this tall wall has withstood countless terrifying enemies. Giants, Orcs, Dragons, but no enemy has ever conquered us! And this time will be no different!"

A refugee courageously asked: "But what about food? What about water?"

"My Lord, if I may be blunt, our courage needs a material foundation."

Dawson’s expression stiffened for a moment but then he spoke forcefully: "Courage and will are your sharpest spears and swords!"

"No water and food?"

"How could that be! Citizens, don your armor, take up your weapons. They are just outside the city, waiting for you to claim them with your swords!"

This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.

...

While Count Dawson was delivering his impassioned speech, he had no idea that, in the fields several hundred meters away, someone was secretly observing him.

"Boss, can you really use this mortar?"

"It looks pretty shoddy to me."

The Battlefield Wheelchair Man pretended to calibrate the device, speaking to the Iron Madman beside him.

Before him lay a more than two-meter-long metal smoothbore cannon, but it had no artillery mount. Instead, it was supported on the shoulders of a large and strong Ogre sitting on the ground, serving as a makeshift mount.

The Iron Madman leaned in, whispering: "It should still work, at least it won’t blow up. The budget for the mount was diverted to build a mech. But do you really know how to use this thing?"

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"Alright, I’ll give it a shot."

The Battlefield Wheelchair Man, looking at Count Dawson on the distant city wall, spoke with excitement: "Judging by his outfit, he must be a bigwig."

"Bighead, move a bit to the left."

The Ogre moved impatiently to the left.

"That’s too much, about... hmm, the distance of a steak."

The Battlefield Wheelchair Man tried to think of a unit of measurement the Ogre could understand.

"Wait, that’s too much!"

"Yes, that’s about right."

"Load the ammunition—"

Another Ogre clumsily loaded the heavy shell, fumbling with the fuse on the side.

After recalibrating for a long while without finding any clues, the Battlefield Wheelchair Man decided to leave it to chance and shouted:

"Ready—fire!"

"Boom!"

The sound of thunderous cannon fire echoed across the fields.

The shell traced a high arc in the sky but landed in the moat in front of the city wall, exploding into a massive crater.

"Damn it, what happened?"

Count Dawson, in the midst of his speech, felt the earth tremble. He staggered slightly, dirt splattering onto his splendid armor.

"Was it thunder?"

"Is the enemy attacking?"

"Run for your lives—"

The refugees panicked, creating chaos as they jostled and clamored to escape.