Warring States Survival Guide-Chapter 211 - 147 Never Leave!

A large number of ashigaru, drenched in sweat, desperately dug with shovels and picks, piling broken stones and earth before the trench to form a low wall. Suddenly, a whole row of white smoke burst forth from atop the sheep wall, and silvery lead balls slanted downward through the air, striking before and behind the low wall; dirt and rubble sprayed everywhere, several ashigaru screamed as they toppled into the ditch.

The sound of a Dharma conch rang out. From behind the nearby Tushan, countless light arrows with white feathers immediately soared into the sky, followed by two more successive waves. These three volleys of arrows turned and swooped down from high above, targeting the area before and behind that segment of sheep wall. A dense, continuous "thud-thud-thump-thump" filled the air. The arrow-blocking bamboo palisade and bamboo sheds atop the sheep wall bristled with feathered shafts; many light arrows clattered off the hardened wall, ricocheting away, while stifled cries of pain accompanied the chaos.

Further south, a fierce exchange of fire raged as well. A massive iron cannon roared, its enormous shell slamming into the wooden palisade, collapsing half of it. The flying splinters and debris drew another chorus of screams, yet the remaining ashigaru pressed on, pushing the palisade forward, followed by more ashigaru with numb expressions, who hurriedly filled in the trap pits under the urging of the samurai Lang Faction. Not until several palisades were struck by enemy oil canisters and burst into flames did they finally have to retreat back into the trench.

This kind of assault and defense repeatedly played out along the entire sheep wall, only subsiding slowly by sunset, before erupting again at night, the fighting several degrees fiercer than by day.

After a whole day of conserving their strength, large numbers of Imagawa family’s Lang Faction suddenly surged out at the sound of the Dharma conch, swarming along paths cleared earlier by the day’s ashigaru, straight toward the sheep wall.

Arrows rained down from the sheep wall at once, followed one after another by iron cannon fire. The small trebuchets behind the wall lobbed gunpowder jars and oil canisters, ceaselessly knocking down and overturning the attacking enemies, burning their siege equipment, while the samurai Lang Faction behind the enemy unleashed even more furious volleys of arrows, occasionally mixing in flights of fire arrows, forcing the Wanjin Army atop the wall to pay in blood as well.

Time and again, Imagawa troops managed to set up scaling ladders, and under the leadership of heavily armored warriors, stormed onto the wall. Both sides then engaged in bloody close combat over a narrow stretch of the sheep wall, fighting until the Wanjin Army’s reinforcements arrived, and the attackers, no longer able to hold out, finally withdrew.

Once the Imagawa family ceased their assault and dawn approached, a new round of exchange would begin. The moment the Wanjin Army relaxed, the Imagawa family would attempt to send forward supply carts loaded with earth to the foot of a section of sheep wall, hoping to build an earthen slope leading up to it.

At worst, just raising the ground here would mean a few less steps up a ladder in the next assault.

The Wanjin Army dared not slacken for a moment. Whenever an enemy supply cart drew near the wall, someone would have to risk being shot dead on the spot to pour oil down and set it alight. No matter how many carts burned each day, the enemy built new ones to match, as if the process would never end.

These days had already lasted five days. The attacks grew gradually more intense. Once the Imagawa family stopped caring about casualties and willingly traded losses with Harano, Harano had no recourse whatsoever.

This was not in his calculations. From over two years of observation, the daimyos and great clans cared deeply about casualties—after all, their Lang Faction were their productivity, and excessive losses would seriously affect next year’s harvest. Yet the Imagawa family, unlike the Oda family, possessed the lands of the Three Kingdoms, seemingly with manpower to spare; to pull out this single, stubborn iron nail, they did not care how many died.

At the very least, the deaths of one or two thousand seemed acceptable losses to them—they didn’t see them as unbearable—at least six times the strength of Oda Danjo Chonosuke’s household, perhaps they truly had the capital to spare.

This put immense psychological pressure on Harano. Time and again he began to waver inside, emotions of regret and frustration repeatedly surging up, trying to erode his resolve and reason.

Maybe this was all a mistake; maybe he should have simply followed under Oda Nobunaga, become his household retainer—after all, many modern people who traversed into ancient times did the same, knocked their heads and were disciplined until they all behaved like grandsons; bear with it, and life would go on.

Maybe he’d rushed in too eagerly, waiting another year or two would have been wiser; his forces would be stronger, and Oda Nobunaga might not have paid much mind to Wanjin’s ongoing buildup, nor felt threatened by it.

Maybe he was being too paranoid; maybe Oda Nobunaga didn’t care at all who controlled the production of saltpeter, so long as he delivered enough gunpowder each year, he might not do anything to Wanjin.

Maybe he’d already failed—Imagawa family’s determination to take this place was steadfast, and with this degree of grinding attrition, they might be able to outlast him. Perhaps it was already time to flee.

Life after time travel was not easy. He had probably erred again, made yet another mistake in his decisions...

Planning was one thing, but actually facing crushing pressure was something else entirely. Harano sat alone under an arrow-proof lean-to, the combined casualty reports piling up, untouched for the moment. He simply reached up and ran his hand through his hair, only to find he was starting to shed—one casual sweep pulled loose seven or eight strands.

It seemed things were even worse; even his hair seemed to sense the trouble and wanted to abandon him...

"Lord, have something to eat!" A-Qing came in, kneeling down next to the folding stool, and pulled out two warm rice balls from her sleeve.

Harano snapped back to himself, hurriedly flicked the fallen hair away in secret, and asked her with concern, "Have the others eaten?"

"Food’s already been brought up from the rear, everyone else is eating in shifts."