Kingdombuilding: All My Inventions Are Novelty

Cruel wars are always prolonged and gruelling.

After the night raid, Dunmere City and the reavers entered a tug-of-war, each day repeating the same cycle of attacks, retreats, and fresh assaults, leaving the ground littered with corpses.

Aiden went out and returned, negotiated and renegotiated, spouting nonsense back and forth. And every time he left, either the defenders would bombard the reaver camp or another night raid would follow.

By the fifth day, Simon’s firepots were completely exhausted, and the cannons had fewer than three hundred rounds left.

Yet the expenditure of ammunition had achieved its purpose. The reaver regular troops, who had been hiding behind the slave soldiers, finally stepped forward after the expendable fodder had been whittled down.

Soldiers of Brambleford Army had fallen forever, but the auxiliary troops silently donned the armour of the dead, picked up their weapons, and took their places on the walls.

Now, every soldier’s face showed exhaustion, but their eyes burned with a ferocity never seen before.

The crucible of war had transformed them from ordinary civilians into true warriors.

Their spirits were high, their wills unbreakable as steel, and they swore to defend their homeland to the death. ”They’re finally here. Tch!”

Lancelot glared at the reaver soldiers charging toward the walls.

These warriors were cold-eyed, their battle cries thick with killing intent. Unlike the slave soldiers, these true reavers were vicious and dangerous, like starving wolves.

And now, they held the advantage. For days, the slave soldiers had died in their place, allowing them to rest and conserve their strength.

But the defenders of Dunmere had fought relentlessly for over ten days. This was the reavers’ cunning, using tactics despised by the Eldorian Empire; they had conquered city after city, nation after nation.

Benjamin, too, set aside his bow and drew his sword, waiting for the moment the reavers scaled the walls.

Stones were gone. Logs were gone. The boiling oil was gone. Even the arrows were exhausted. All they had left were the blades in their hands.

The reavers seemed to know this, and now, they bared their fangs.

In the camp, Fern smiled, though the expression was bitter.

A mere twenty thousand defenders had held them off for ten days, at the cost of nearly a hundred thousand slave soldiers. This was the hardest battle he had ever fought.

In the past, he might have ordered a retreat. But not this time. An instinct told him that this twelfth Prince of the Eldorian Empire had to die.

If he could achieve so much now, what would happen when he truly matured? For the reavers, it would be a nightmare.

And Fern craved the weapons inside the city. With such arms, no fortress of the Eldorian Empire could stop him.

”Guard! Kill!”

His thoughts crystallised into a single command. Raising his scimitar, he sent his most elite troops charging toward Dunmere.

On the walls, Benjamin roared as the reaver tide surged forward: ”Form ranks!”

Instantly, the Brambleford Army shifted formation, sword-and-shield men at the front, spearmen behind.

”Boom!”

The cannons fired again. Solid shot tore through the reaver ranks, bouncing and carving bloody paths through their lines.

But the reavers were too many. Thirty cannons seemed insignificant now. After three hundred rounds, killing a thousand enemies, the artillerymen grabbed their weapons and joined the fight.

Siege ladders slammed against the walls. Reavers swarmed upward, and the first warrior reached the top.

”Stab!”

A shout rang out. The first reaver was impaled by multiple spears and sent screaming to his death.

Yet more followed, their numbers growing. Some dodged the spears and leapt onto the battlements, slashing at the Brambleford soldiers with their scimitars.

”Clang!”

The blade struck armor and the soldier was unharmed. The reaver froze in shock.

”Die!”

With a furious roar, the soldier decapitated him.

Simon fought alongside his men in full armour. He refused to hide in the city because he knew his presence was a banner that would never fall.

Seeing their lord fighting with them, the Brambleford soldiers fought like demons.

As more reavers poured onto the walls, close-quarters combat erupted.

And now, the invaders realised their mistake. The most terrifying thing on these walls wasn’t the fire-spitting weapons; it was the Brambleford Army’s seamless, impenetrable steel armour.

Their scimitars couldn’t kill in a single strike, and before they could swing again, the Brambleford soldiers cut them down.

Throughout the siege, most Brambleford casualties had come from arrows. In melee? Their losses were minimal. These ’metal cans’ now formed an iron wall atop the battlements.

”Argh!”

A reaver lunged at Simon.

William and Thomas were locked in combat elsewhere, but Simon, though he hadn’t trained much, still had the muscle memory of his predecessor, who had been skilled in archery and horsemanship.

Instinctively, he dodged the scimitar, kicked the reaver down, and drove his sword through the man’s heart.

Blood gushed from the reaver’s mouth. Simon’s expression was icy. The battlefield had hardened him; death, whether his or his enemies’, no longer fazed him.

As he pulled his blade free, his gaze flicked toward the city, where several horse-drawn carts raced toward him, piled high with sacks.

Auxiliary troops below quickly unloaded the cargo and hauled it up the walls.

”My Lord, look out!” William’s voice shouted.

Simon ducked, just as a blade whistled over his head.

He rolled to the side and stabbed the attacker in the ribs.

More reavers surged onto the walls, but Simon could see it clearly: in melee, the Brambleford Army held absolute superiority.

Their plate armour gave them an edge, and the high ground made them unstoppable.

No wonder the ancients said: Never attack a city without five times the defenders’ numbers.

In the reaver camp, Fern’s face darkened.

He had thought scaling the walls would mean an easy victory. Instead, every wave of his soldiers was swallowed by a silver tide of steel.

He turned to Agarth. ”What are you waiting for? Send your men with the powder keg, blow open the gates!”

Agarth nodded and barked orders. Soldiers hoisted a massive wooden barrel and rushed toward Dunmere.

Fern’s next command was colder. ”Cavalry, prepare!”

He was beginning to understand: Without their cavalry’s advantage, they could not win.