Grammar-corrected, expanded smoothly, readable, faithful to your original plot.
Stones tore through the night sky like vengeful ghosts, shrieking as they descended upon the streets of Firegrass Manor. The darkness trembled with each distant thud. Massive rocks, hurled by the Myrish trebuchets, landed with explosive force—cracking walls, smashing roofs, and shaking the ground beneath the defenders' feet.
Yet, for all their fury, the Myr people had not managed to fling these monstrous stones deep into the heart of the manor. Most projectiles struck the outskirts—the walls, the battlements, the parapets, and the tall defense towers. Even so, the constant bombardment made the entire manor feel like it was trapped inside a thunderstorm of stone.
Bloodbeard's army had arranged their siege machines—the Three Daughters trebuchets of Myr—into a perfect killing formation. He kept them firing relentlessly, day and night, turning the assault into a rhythm of terror.
But night was not an enemy to everyone.
In the cover of darkness, the escaped slaves of the Free Army moved like shadows. Their familiarity with the terrain allowed them to strike swiftly, vanish into the forested edges, and reappear elsewhere like ghosts. They ambushed, sabotaged, and disrupted the Myrish forces again and again, giving Gendry's defenders precious breathing room.
Tonight was the Hour of the Wolf—the longest, coldest, and darkest hour of night. For many gathered at the East Gate, this would be the final night of their lives. There was a calmness in the air, the heavy silence before a storm's roar.
Gendry stood at the front, leading four hundred Wolf Pack cavalry. Behind them marched two thousand warriors—four hundred Wolf Pack infantry and sixteen hundred Free Army soldiers. Steel Fist commanded the Wolf Pack infantry, while Gray Wolf led the Free Army warriors. These men had trained under the Wolf Pack Company, the Unsullied, and Gendry himself. At last, they looked like a true fighting force.
Gray Wolf marched at the very front with fifteen Unsullied, their bronze helmets glinting in the flickering torchlight. Each Unsullied carried three Longspears, a short sword on their hip, and a shield strapped across their back. Their smooth, expressionless faces reflected unwavering discipline.
Other warriors guarded the manor's gates:
The South Gate bore the heaviest pressure.
The North Gate remained the quietest.
Once battle erupted, the hidden Longbowmen—spread across the western outskirts—would join the fight, raining long-range arrows when they heard the horn signal.
Holding the manor defensively would have been safer. But the settlement, even with its recent expansions, was not strong enough to endure an endless siege. The slavers' rage was relentless. For Gendry, the only path was forward. Attack before being suffocated.
He addressed his warriors:
"You have trained with me, with Steel Fist, with the Unsullied! You are the best warriors!"
"Freedom! Freedom!" the Free Army roared, their voices trembling with determination. Each of them knew the truth: if they lost, they would be dragged back into chains—if they survived at all. Slavers did not spare escaped slaves.
Gendry continued, raising his voice above the restless murmurs:
"Our plan is set. I will lead the cavalry charge. Once the gates open, ride at full speed. Head straight for their mercenary scum and those trebuchets at the rear. When their ranks try to reform, outflank them! Attack from the sides and the rear. And above all—never charge Longspears head-on."
Longspear stepped forward. "Remember the priority: destroy the trebuchets. We can't hope to capture the Three Daughters of Myr—they're too well-built. Dismantle them, burn them, do whatever you must to stop them."
Steel Fist added, "Kill as many mercenary captains, Myrish nobles, and slave masters as you can. Burn their tents—especially the large ones. Big tents mean important targets."
Gray Wolf raised an arm. "And hear this well—no taking slaves. Slaves are our allies. We fight for them."
Gendry nodded in approval. "Exactly. Now listen carefully. When the cavalry smashes their lines and a gap appears, you follow. Crash through that opening and cut down as many enemies as possible. Spare slaves whenever you can. Focus on leaders, nobles, and officers. And if you're in danger—retreat before being surrounded."
Steel Fist saluted. His four hundred heavy infantry were well-armored and battle-hardened—the backbone of Gendry's infantry assault.
The Unsullied formations were powerful but rigid, requiring time to assemble. The cavalry's job was to buy that time—disrupt, confuse, and delay the enemy until the Longspear formation could be completed.
Gendry lifted his horn. "Listen for this. Charge when you hear the attack horn. Retreat when you hear the retreat horn. The manor still stands, and the enemy dares not step within crossbow range."
"Understand your strengths," he reminded himself silently. Avoid their sharpest edges. Drain them. Strike when they tire. He favored the Dornish tactic known as blunting the spear—sidestepping the strongest enemies, then attacking their weaknesses.
The horizon to the east began to glow softly with dawn's first light. The darkness thinned as if the sky were holding its breath.
Thousands of lives would hinge on the decisions made today.
Gendry slipped on his wolf-head helmet. He tightened his gorget, adjusted his Myrish brocade cloak, and gripped his heavy mace. Its dark surface gleamed coldly in the early light. His shield slid comfortably onto his arm.
He did not pray to the gods—but today, he made an exception. He whispered to the Warrior for strength as fierce as a storm, and to the Crone for wisdom to guide his men.
Longspear raised his weapon high. "Maybe I will die in a woman's arms or on a cold battlefield—but not today!"
The warriors surged forward like a tide of steel.
Knights mounted their horses, tightened straps, and pulled on helmets. The scraping of steel, the clatter of hooves, and the beating of shields merged into a single rising roar.
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
"Kill!" Gendry bellowed, raising his warhammer.
The cavalry charged first—four hundred armored riders diving into the battlefield like a single iron fist.
Bloodbeard hesitated for a moment. Then the seasoned mercenary commander snapped back to instinct, barking orders:
"Free Mercenaries! Charge! Cat's Company—form Longspears! Hold the line!"
He couldn't risk his elite three hundred Knights of the Cat's Company—not yet.
"Where is the Spear Company? Bring the eight hundred Knights quickly!"
"Commander!" a scout shouted breathlessly. "The Spear Company is under attack! The enemy's Longbowmen ambushed them—some of those long-bows shoot nearly 300 yards!"
"Cowards! Useless fools!" Bloodbeard roared. "Did we not have scouts? How did no one find them?"
"They were well-hidden, Commander. The terrain favors them."
Bloodbeard cursed again. He no longer counted on the Spear Company. Perhaps the enemy's attack was only a feint—testing the center and the Second Sons on the flank. If so, he had to hold steady.
Gendry lowered his mace. "Charge the Second Sons!"
This was the main target. Once a proud mercenary band, the Second Sons were now a ragged shadow of their former might. Their armor was cracked, their weapons dull, and their morale shattered.
The Wolf Pack cavalry slammed into them like a tidal wave. The Second Sons' formation collapsed instantly. Warriors screamed, shields splintered, and horses reared as the force of the charge shattered their lines.
The Bastard of the Titan blew the horn desperately, calling for reinforcements. But the chaos around him drowned his efforts. His men tried to reorganize, shouting orders, but fear had already sunk into their ranks.
Gendry's warhorse smashed through their formation. He swung his mace—each strike crushing armor, bone, and flesh. The heavy blows shattered skulls and flattened helmets as if they were made of tin.
The cavalry rode behind him, pouring into the broken ranks, cutting down enemies left and right.
Gendry's path was clear:
Destroy the Second Sons.
Burn the trebuchets.
Outflank and slaughter the enemy's core forces.
The storm had begun—and it showed no mercy.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)