370. King’s Gate Battle (1)
– Boooom!
– Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
The sound of marching trumpets and drums echoed from beyond the horizon, shaking the mountains and rivers as it filled the sky. The narrow path leading to Altberth was trembling under the deafening noise.
Archers standing on the hastily built gallery of King’s Gate wiped their sweaty palms on their pants and stared straight ahead. The enemies seemed endless.
Thirty thousand. A number comparable to the population of a mid-sized town, all armed and marching with murderous intent. The archer on the gallery unconsciously glanced around, checking his sides and back.
No one looked better than him. Everyone was pale, trying hard to steel their resolve. At a glance, their numbers didn’t exceed a hundred. Even with the reserves, it was only double that.
Moreover, the people here were serfs or, at best, free peasants. They had never held a bow or sword in their lives, and the closest they had come to war was village disputes.
“Lord…”
The serf archer swallowed dryly and whispered softly. Suddenly, someone grabbed his arm firmly. Startled, he turned to see a prince clad in full armor.
“The Lord cannot help us.”
“Ah, Your Highness…!”
“Only you can help us. Do not fear. This is Altberth, and the bloodline of King Dane has never been defeated here, not even for a moment.”
The prince’s eyes gleamed brightly beneath the lion-shaped visor of his helmet. The serf nodded unconsciously and bit his lip.
“Behind you are your parents, your children, your brothers and sisters! Even if the enemy is numerous and their momentum fierce, will you retreat? Will you beg for your lives, handing over your children and parents?!”
The prince shouted roughly. The gallery was so narrow that his voice echoed loudly beyond the city walls. The militia’s eyes focused on him.
“No!”
“That’s right, no! We will spit at death and say, ‘Give me the death meant for my family! Take me instead!'”
A boy, barely old enough to be called young, lifted a greatsword as tall as himself and shouted. His body trembled with a strange excitement.
All noble children of Dane grow up reading tales of knights’ romances. They dream of the great deeds and lives of their ancestors. This boy was no different.
Now, the boy held a sword to write his own romance. A crumbling nation, a burning land, and leading helpless refugees.
“If the death meant for our families and neighbors comes for us, we will greet it with a smile! When that moment comes, remember this one thing: your prince stood with you, arms wide, facing the same death on the same day! You will not die alone! Our death is the life of our families!”
“Eric!”
“Eric!”
“Eric!!”
The peasants cheered at the prince’s words. Yes, this would do. The prince, feeling somewhat fatigued, looked at the enemies approaching the walls. Supplies, troops, everything was lacking. But at least morale was not.
If history were to depict this scene, regardless of victory or defeat, the people of Dane would be remembered as truly brave. That alone was enough. With Altberth, the hall of their ancestors, at their backs, they had at least become descendants their forebears would not be ashamed of.
“A splendid speech, Your Highness.”
A guard knight approached and whispered quietly. Eric shrugged without answering.
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“I am. In fact, I want to run.”
“Haha, well. It might not be too hard to carve a path for just you, Your Highness.”
“My father entrusted my mother to me. How could I run away alone?”
Eric grumbled, thrusting his sword into the ground and closing his eyes.
“Besides, ‘Choose a death worth living over a life worse than death.’ That is the family motto my father taught me.”
“His Majesty Vicente would be proud of you.”
“Yes, I miss my father.”
Eric grinned fiercely and gripped the sword hilt.
“So let’s survive until my father arrives. All of us.”
“Your will be done.”
* * *
“That kid’s got quite the mouth, huh?”
Zigismund chuckled at the sounds coming from the city walls. The desire to be remembered as a tragic hero. A childish mindset, but understandable. Everyone is like that at that age.
“Who among you will teach that boy the ways of war?”
“Sir Georg will show that brat the solemnity of military discipline, Your Majesty!”
“Send the gods! Sir Jurgen will present that brat’s head to Your Majesty!”
His generals were eager to earn merit. The dragon’s majesty was formidable, but if they could breach the walls, only serfs and refugees awaited beyond.
How many troops could one dragon hold back? Excluding its fire breath, the area it could cover in a single charge wasn’t that large.
Moreover, if they could breach the walls, they could take the people hostage and block the dragon’s flames.
“Haha, how could I not know of your bravery? What about the mages? How long will it take to break their spells?”
“Half a day will suffice, Your Majesty.”
“Good. Listen up!”
Zigismund stood up, clearing the command tent, and shouted. Looking at the backs of the advancing soldiers, he smirked.
“In half a day, the dragon’s flames will cease. After the slave troops block the first wave, we will begin the siege! Sir Jurgen!”
“Yes, Your Majesty! Command me!”
“You will lead two thousand infantry after the dragon’s first breath and breach the enemy walls! Sir Gunter!”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
“You will advance with Sir Jurgen and break the gates!”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
“I won’t order any complicated tactics. Aside from the dragon, they are just a handful of militia standing on a flimsy palisade!”
Prepare the catapults, march the slaves, blow the horns, and sound the drums! Zigismund trembled with excitement, feeling a surge of power coursing through his veins.
The dragon’s breath cannot target everyone at once. If the dragon chooses to defend, it can only project its flames at the approaching enemies.
The Siege of Altberth, Zigismund’s first move.
It was a gradual deployment of slave soldiers to exhaust the Dragon’s Breath.
* * *
“They’re coming!!”
“Archers, ready!! Ready!!”
The enemies, who had just been reorganizing their ranks, began their advance again. Soldiers clad in thick armor stumbled forward, holding up hastily made wooden shields that didn’t match their gear.
It was a clumsy advance, with no formation or morale to speak of. Even the militia could tell how sloppy it was. The royal knights and the prince frowned at the sight.
“Your Highness, their sovereign is sending sacrifices. They’re likely prisoners or hastily assembled militia… It seems they’re trying to gauge and deplete our strength.”
“Haha, even their hastily made sacrifices outnumber our troops.”
Eric let out a bitter laugh as he watched them approach. They occasionally glanced back, waving their weapons menacingly as they walked.
Then, a booming voice echoed above their heads.
[If they’re sending pawns to exhaust you, do you really need to step forward?]
“Great Mother…!”
Abel, who had quietly approached the city walls, growled as she spoke. She turned her head toward the slow-moving army.
She was right. While the Dragon’s Breath wasn’t infinite, breaking the enemy’s vanguard and boosting the morale of their own troops was a necessary step.
The Dragon’s Breath would serve as a powerful symbol for both the enemy and their allies. The royal knight nodded heavily and said, “We leave it to you.”
[What is there to leave to me?]
Abel smiled softly as she spoke. No matter the enemy’s scheme, the defenders’ strategy was always simple: break the enemy’s momentum, defend the walls with minimal losses.
The most powerful weapon isn’t one you hoard. Just as the enemy’s strategy was textbook, her response followed the same logic.
The dragon’s mouth opened.
* * *
-Kugugugugung!!
The ground trembled for a moment. Pebbles and dirt clattered noisily as they collided. The slave soldiers, who had been advancing fearfully with their weapons raised, instinctively stopped in their tracks.
‘Hot…?’
It was late autumn, with early winter just around the corner. No matter how much armor they wore, it shouldn’t have been this sweltering. The soldiers were bewildered by the sudden change in temperature.
Their hands were bound to their weapons, so they couldn’t remove their heavy helmets or armor.
But one slave, sensing something wrong, managed to lift the visor of his helmet.
Only then did they realize what the sticky heat meant. The overwhelming presence that greeted them as they removed their helmets.
A mythical dragon was opening its mouth toward them. Though still far away, its massive size made each crimson scale visible to the naked eye.
“Oh… Lord…”
One soldier collapsed to the ground. Sweat poured down his forehead, perhaps from the heat. A white haze rose from the dragon’s mouth in the distance.
“Great Mother…!!”
Muffled screams and groans escaped from beneath the helmets. And then—
-Kwaaaaaaang!!!
A blinding light engulfed them. Liquid flame poured down over their bodies in an instant. A thousand slave soldiers. More than half vanished without a trace.
The ground they stood on turned to glass, shimmering. Those who narrowly survived the Dragon’s Breath, missing limbs, gasped for air with scorched lungs.
For a moment, the surroundings fell silent, and then.
“Waaaaah!!!”
The Dane soldiers on the walls cheered for Abel’s prowess. The overwhelming spectacle, something only described in their myths, was unfolding before their eyes.
The soldiers’ morale soared. Abel smiled faintly and took to the skies once more.
* * *
Watching this, the Phaeirn generals shuddered. It was an era where even the last dragon’s disappearance was barely a legend.
In this moment when vague fantasies and legends became reality, the Phaeirn generals felt a terrible fear. This wasn’t just a matter of will—it was the fear of humans facing a predator. No, it was closer to the fear of mortals facing a natural disaster.
Even the bravest general trembled as he looked at the dragon. Were they really supposed to point their spears at this ancient creature from the age of myths?
Then, a tearing laugh erupted from behind them.
“Haha, hahahaha!!”
“Your, Your Highness?”
Zigismund coughed and wheezed from laughing too hard. After a while, he wiped the tears from his eyes and managed to speak.
“Dane’s guardian deity has burned its own people! Hahaha!! Do you understand what this means?”
“Your Highness, we don’t quite…”
“That thing is no god! You fools! How can you call yourselves men of Phaeirn if you’re cowed by a beast that can’t even recognize its own people? What are you doing! Send the soldiers! Advance as planned! Are the catapults ready? Fire! Fire! Fire!! Don’t stop!”
Zigismund roared as he stood up.
“Legends, myths—what does it matter! There’s no place for such ancient tales here. Catapults! Fire! Teach that thing what it has burned!”
How could the Phaeirn army, which had to land as quickly as possible with their elite forces, have organized slave soldiers? Of course, they had no such thing.
Those were civilians who hadn’t managed to flee and local militias who had resisted to the end. They were forced to the frontlines with old, hastily made weapons tied to their arms, driven by whips.
They were meant to be sacrifices, but what did it matter? There were countless sacrifices beyond that narrow wall. Zigismund laughed merrily as he sipped his wine.
* * *
“Catapults! Your Highness, take cover below the walls! It could be dangerous!”
“Wait, that’s not a rock… is it?”
A black trajectory cut across the midday blue sky. Eric, standing on the wall, squinted and only realized what was flying toward them when it got close.
“What on earth…?”
It was a person. The one launched by the catapult flailed their arms, screaming, before crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. Blood splattered, and the armor they wore clattered noisily.
Everyone was speechless at this horrific, senseless assault. Even a hastily built wall wouldn’t collapse from human bodies being hurled at it, and this area was mountainous. There were plenty of rocks to throw.
Their confusion was soon resolved in the most horrifying way. One of the people launched by the catapult fell onto the wall, limbs shattered but still barely alive.
As a nearby soldier removed the thick helmet of the fallen, a faint voice escaped from swollen lips.
“Your… Highness…”
It was the distinct accent of the Dane Kingdom’s people. Eric looked at the broken shield and sword bound to the man’s hand, then at the bodies left where the Dragon’s Breath had passed. They wore the same uniforms and carried the same weapons.
[These… bastards…!]
-Thud!
The dragon’s claw crushed a corner of the sacred vessel.
![[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return](https://i3.wp.com/novelhitam.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/TS-Obsessed-Gamer-The-Ultimate-Return2.png?resize=85,105 "[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return")
