Chapter 424: Chapter 425: Blood and Steel
The defenders within the fortress immediately responded to the assault. Their trebuchets and ballistae roared to life, hurling massive stones skyward before they came crashing down with devastating force.
Some stones landed in open spaces, bouncing forward and carving bloody furrows through the advancing ranks.
Others struck soldiers directly, leaving behind horrifying sights too gruesome to behold.
Though these stones lacked the explosive force of primitive black-powder cannonballs, they were no less deadly in their impact.
As the attackers began scaling the walls, the cannons in the rear had to cease firing to avoid hitting their own forces.
Without the covering fire from the artillery, the pressure on the defenders eased considerably. Archers, spurred on by shouting officers, rose from behind the parapets and unleashed volley after volley of arrows.
But by now, the southern army had reached the walls.
Ladders were raised, and the soldiers of the south began to climb.
Ironically, the low, thick walls designed to resist explosives and cannon fire made it easier for attackers to employ traditional siege tactics.
The defenders had traded one vulnerability for another.
Soon, southern soldiers began to breach the walls, only to meet a hail of spears and swords.
The defending force, comprised of Westerlands' elite troops, proved their mettle. Despite the earlier bombardment, they stood firm, their resolve and physical prowess unshaken.
But the attackers were equally determined. Among them were soldiers who had once been stationed at this very fortress but had retreated after being routed. Their pride stung, they fought with fervor to reclaim the ground they had lost.
Leading the charge was Ser Selwyn Tarth, freshly ransomed and eager to prove himself. Clad in heavy armor, he fought at the front lines, a steel-clad juggernaut. At his side was his daughter, Brienne of Tarth, who matched her father's ferocity blow for blow. Together, they were like tigers unleashed, carving a bloody path through the defenders.
Their valor inspired the southern soldiers, who surged forward with renewed vigor.
Before the battle, Samwell had personally devised a meticulous rewards system for acts of valor. With his unmatched reputation and history of generosity, his soldiers trusted that their contributions would be rewarded.
For commoners, military achievements were often the only way to ascend the rigid social hierarchy.
Knights, too, sought glory and land, knowing that the Seven Kingdoms' turbulent state would soon bring a reshuffling of power.
The prospect of gaining titles, estates, and wealth stripped from fallen enemies spurred the soldiers into action.
This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to change their fate drove them to scale the ladders despite the rain of arrows and the threat of death.
Some screamed as they fell, but their comrades pressed forward undeterred, determined to claim glory through bloodshed.
---
The battle raged with unrelenting ferocity.
The clash of weapons and the cries of dying men filled the air. Arrows flew like locusts, and sunlight gleamed coldly off swords and spears.
The once-peaceful town was transformed into a horrific grinder of flesh and blood.
Bright red streams of blood poured down the walls, creating a chilling, macabre sight.
Such was the reality of siege warfare: bloody, brutal, and unforgiving.
Human lives were reduced to mere numbers, spent like coins in a deadly transaction.
From high above, Samwell rode his white dragon, circling the battlefield. Yet his gaze was not fixed on the carnage below; instead, he stared toward the north and the Blackwater River.
He was waiting—waiting for Tywin Lannister to make his decision.
Would Tywin attempt to cross the river to aid his forces, or would he abandon the southern garrison?
On the ground, eight hundred elite cavalry stood ready on either flank of Samwell's forces. Their riders soothed restless horses, awaiting their chance to charge.
Their orders were clear: If the defenders attempted a sally, the cavalry would countercharge and crush them. If Tywin's forces tried to cross the Blackwater, these riders would intercept and harry their advance.
Despite the overwhelming noise of battle, the northern banks of the river remained eerily silent.
Was Tywin biding his time, or had he already made the call to abandon the southern garrison?
From his aerial vantage point, Samwell could see clearly. Nearly ten thousand soldiers were stationed within the fortress, and their performance thus far had proven them to be seasoned and disciplined. These were not expendable conscripts but Tywin's elite troops.
If Tywin could so easily abandon such a force, Samwell wouldn't know whether to admire his ruthlessness or mock his shortsightedness.
Regardless of Tywin's decision, this small southern town would undoubtedly keep the old lion awake at night.
---
As the attack began to lose momentum, Samwell patted his dragon's neck and signaled for it to return to camp.
Once on the ground, he ordered a retreat.
Sieges were grueling, drawn-out affairs. Against a determined and well-prepared defender, it was impossible to succeed in a single assault.
The low rumble of retreat horns echoed across the battlefield as Samwell's forces withdrew like a receding tide.
The battleground quieted for the moment, leaving behind a grisly scene of mangled corpses and pools of blood. But for both sides, this was only the beginning.
The southern army would continue its relentless assaults, probing for weaknesses. The defenders, meanwhile, would tirelessly reinforce their positions and try to wear down the attackers' strength and morale.
War, for all its chaos, was often a contest of patience and attrition, with little room for shortcuts.
Though eager to reach King's Landing, Samwell knew better than to rush and lose focus.
---
Back in his command tent, Samwell sipped wine as his officers delivered casualty reports.
Siege warfare, though infamous for its brutality, often resulted in fewer deaths than open-field battles.
The earlier probing attack had cost only two hundred lives—far from catastrophic.
Even so, Samwell was determined not to waste lives carelessly. He would maintain steady pressure, conserving his forces while gradually wearing down the defenders.
His true target was not the fortress but Tywin's army on the northern bank.
As the casualty report concluded, a messenger entered the tent, presenting a letter:
"Your Majesty, this letter arrived three days ago at Storm's End. It's from King's Landing."
Samwell raised an eyebrow. In his mind, there was only one person in King's Landing who would write to him—Madame Chataya.
Taking the letter, Samwell discovered it contained two messages.
One bore no words, only the image of a spider with eight legs drawn in exquisite detail.
The other was a letter from Chataya, explaining the circumstances of its delivery.
Samwell read both, lingering over the cryptic spider illustration.
Eventually, he chuckled coldly.
"An olive branch? A warning? Or perhaps another scheme?"
Without further comment, he crumpled the paper and tossed it into the fire.
Rising from his chair, he strode out of the tent, his expression unreadable.
Facing the distant fortress, he raised his hand and issued a command:
"Rest for an hour, then resume the assault."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
(End of Chapter)
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