Translator: CinderTL
Roland shifted his weight lightly, his lithe form dodging the incoming rockets. As he sprinted towards the dormitory, he frowned deeply in thought.
"Could it be a demonic beast attack?"
"No. Demonic beasts wouldn't use arrows."
From Roland's past combat experience, kobolds and Hyena-Men alike favored close-quarters combat. Even the most cunning goblins would only hide behind cover and hurl stones—he'd never seen them use bows, which required skill and ranged combat expertise.
"If not demonic beasts, then it must be a human army."
"Judging by the number of rockets, the attacking force is likely substantial."
With this thought, Roland's movements didn't falter.
He entered the dormitory, swiftly donned his chainmail, secured his short bow to his waist, firmly fastened his quiver to his back, and, gripping his iron sword, raced towards the manor gates.
As the saying goes, when the nest is destroyed, no egg remains intact.
Leaving aside the fact that the manor was now Roland's crucial base for improving his strength, he had already forged deep bonds with everyone within its walls—Hawk, Bronson, John, Darco, and the others.
Under no circumstances would Roland stand by and watch the manor fall, allowing his cherished friends to be slaughtered before his eyes.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
The shrill alarm bells continued to echo throughout the manor.
As Roland rushed toward the gate, he saw numerous servants and blacksmith apprentices peering out from the buildings, their faces etched with terror.
"George!"
Spotting the tall figure standing in the open space, gazing toward the gate, Roland sprinted forward and grabbed his shoulder, shoving him inside.
"What are you staring at? Get inside and take cover!"
Turning to the other panicked blacksmith apprentices, Roland barked sternly, "Everyone stay inside! Don't come out!"
"Ro-Roland..." George stammered, his throat bobbing nervously. "What's happening?"
"We don't know the full details yet." Roland frowned, listening to the incessant sound of arrows whistling through the night sky. "Listen, George, don't panic. Captain John is surely guarding the gate with his men. As for you..."
The increasingly acrid smell of burning wood in the air deepened Roland's concern.
"No matter who's attacking, the arrow storm will eventually stop. When it does, immediately organize everyone to fetch water and put out the fire. We can't let it spread, understand?"
"Understood!"
Perhaps inspired by Roland's calm demeanor, George and the apprentices gradually calmed down.
"If Mr. Charles or Master Hawk takes charge, follow their instructions."
Though he hadn't interacted much with Mr. Charles, Roland knew from Darco that the old steward was loyal, reliable, and level-headed.
In such a critical moment, he would undoubtedly be the first to step forward and take charge.
As for Hawk, there was no need to mention him. The old blacksmith had always been utterly reliable.
True enough, as soon as Roland had settled the blacksmith apprentices, he heard Charles's calm, authoritative voice and Hawk's booming shouts in the distance.
Under their direction, the servants, who had been in complete disarray, quickly regained order and stopped running around like headless chickens.
Seeing this, Roland quickened his pace, sprinting towards the manor gates.
The closer he got, the more intense the barrage of flaming arrows became.
In the night, crimson tongues of fire darted everywhere, greedily devouring the wooden structures. The blaze was spreading at an alarming rate.
The heavy oak gates groaned under the relentless pounding, the entire frame trembling slightly.
"Captain John!"
Roland pushed through the chaos to reach the guard captain, who was calmly directing his men. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the din.
"Who are the attackers?"
"Roland?"
By the flickering firelight, John recognized the young man. He had been about to urge him to leave the danger zone when he remembered Roland's skill was on par with his own.
"They're a mob!" John explained quickly, while directing his guards to reinforce the gates with whatever they could find.
"The exact number is still unclear, but they're not just armed with longbows—they've also brought crude siege engines, and..."
Before the words could finish, a deafening roar erupted from outside the manor.
The familiar sound startled John, but Roland reacted with lightning speed.
"Watch out!"
He took a large step back while simultaneously using his right arm to yank the burly John away from their previous position with ease.
Almost in the same instant, a massive boulder descended from the sky like a meteor, crashing heavily into the spot where they had been standing. It kicked up a cloud of dust that filled the air.
When the dust settled, a shallow crater was revealed in the ground, with a millstone-sized rock lying at its center.
"Damn it! It really is a trebuchet!"
John's face darkened, as if a storm cloud had settled over it.
Roland stared at the boulder, his brow furrowed.
"Trebuchets, siege engines, longbows... This isn't equipment that mere rioters could get their hands on."
His mind racing, he turned to Captain John.
"Captain John, I'm going to check the walls."
"Be careful, Roland!"
The two men exchanged a knowing glance and then split up.
Roland's agile figure quickly vanished up the stairs leading to the manor walls, while John continued to direct the guards in their defensive positions, occasionally glancing warily at the night sky.
The moment Roland reached the top of the wall, his vision opened up dramatically.
By the flickering light of the torches, he squinted into the distance.
Beneath the inky night sky, shadowy figures surged forward like a tide.
Their steps were unsteady, yet their speed was astonishing, tracing eerie paths through the darkness.
On the wall, the defending soldiers strained to draw their bows and return fire.
With the dull thrum of vibrating bowstrings, arrows shot through the air, blossoming into crimson flowers in the distant darkness.
But compared to the enemy's dense volley of arrows, the defenders' counterattack seemed sparse.
Looking down, Roland saw an even more horrifying sight.
The ground beneath the wall was already littered with corpses—a bloody testament to the guards' desperate defense.
Yet dozens of ragged rioters ignored the carnage, carrying massive battering rams and relentlessly pounding the manor gates with a near-frenzied rhythm.
Each impact of the massive battering ram sent a pained groan through the thick oak door. Stone chips rained down from around the frame, as if foretelling its imminent collapse.
Meanwhile, the guards fought desperately, their arrows falling like rain, and heavy stones and timbers crashed down from the ramparts.
But nothing could halt the rioters' relentless assault.
They advanced like puppets, heedless of pain or death, trampling over the corpses of their fallen comrades.
"Something's wrong! These aren't just ordinary rioters!"
Roland's pupils narrowed sharply, his brow furrowing into a tight knot.
Though he had never personally experienced battle in either his past or present life, he knew that morale was the most crucial factor for any army.
In the era of cold weapons, even the most elite troops would inevitably collapse and rout after suffering casualties of thirty to fifty percent.
But these rioters defied all logic.
Not only were they indifferent to the deaths of their comrades, but they seemed to grow increasingly frenzied amidst the bloodshed, as if driven by some unseen force.
This unnatural sight sent a chill down Roland's spine.
Roland took a deep breath, the heavy stench of blood filling his nostrils. Without a word, he retreated a few steps, finding a perfect shooting position.
He then calmly drew his bow and nocked an arrow, the bowstring humming softly in the night.
Whoosh!
The arrow shot through the air, leaving a silver arc in the firelight as it pierced the skull of a rioter carrying a battering ram.
The sharp arrowhead emerged from the back of the rioter's head, spraying a crimson fountain of blood.
But what chilled Roland to the bone was that the rioter seemed oblivious to the arrow, mechanically continuing his pushing and ramming motions.
Only after three or four more impacts did his movements gradually slow, finally collapsing like a broken puppet.
Even more terrifying, before the body had fully hit the ground, the rioters behind him immediately filled the gap.
The battering ram's rhythm never faltered, continuing its terrifyingly regular pounding against the gate.
"What the hell?"
Roland cursed under his breath, witnessing the scene before him.
He quickly reached for his waist, pulling out a glass bottle filled with a pale yellow liquid.
With a practiced motion, he uncorked the bottle and tilted his head back, draining the potion in one gulp.
In an instant, Roland's pupils, once round and gentle, narrowed into vertical slits like a beast's.
The next moment, the darkness that had shrouded his vision vanished, replaced by a clarity as bright as day. Every detail of his surroundings became razor-sharp.
Under the miraculous effect of the Sharp Eye Potion, the features of the rioters gathered at the foot of the wall were laid bare before him.
Though their clothes were tattered and stained with blood, their physiques were exceptionally robust. Their faces flushed with an unhealthy redness, their eyes bloodshot and cloudy, and their nostrils constantly spewed out jets of hot, white vapor.
But what truly shocked Roland wasn't any of this.
His pupils snapped shut.
He could clearly see that the exposed skin of these rioters was covered in a strange, pale blue substance. This translucent material glowed faintly under the moonlight, like some alien crystal.
(End of the Chapter)
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