Bab 423: Chapter 424: The Battle Begins
The small town on the southern bank of the Blackwater River had transformed into a genuine military fortress.
After retaking it from Caesar's forces, House Lannister had reinforced the defenses. The walls, though only about twenty feet high, were built with a broad and solid foundation, almost trapezoidal in shape, like a levee.
Samwell knew the enemy had made these modifications to counter his previous tactic of using explosives to collapse walls.
The wide and sturdy base ensured stability, so even if the lower section were blown up, the entire wall would not collapse.
It was clear that House Lannister had studied Samwell's strategies extensively and developed effective countermeasures.
However, such measures came at a cost. While the walls were now resistant to explosives, they were less effective against traditional scaling assaults compared to tall, vertical walls.
The ramparts were also heavily outfitted with ballistae, clearly meant to counter dragons.
It was evident that the Lannisters had gone to great lengths to prepare for Caesar, employing every method to limit his key advantages: explosives and dragons.
Despite this, Samwell was determined to take this stronghold.
If ingenuity wouldn't work, then brute force would.
No matter the cost, Samwell had to capture this fortress—not only because it was strategically positioned at the intersection of the Rose Road and the King's Road, making it impossible to bypass on his northern advance, but also because he needed to ignite the flames of war and galvanize his nobles and knights. Once blood was shed, doubts and hesitation would be burned away.
From a rational perspective, this was far from the ideal time to start a war.
But while this moment was difficult for Samwell, it was even more challenging for Tywin.
Samwell's ultimate enemy wasn't House Lannister. Tywin was powerful, but not someone Samwell truly feared.
His real enemy lay beyond the Wall—the White Walkers, the true threat to all humanity.
Before the long winter fully descended, Samwell needed to end this civil war and unite the Seven Kingdoms to face the true apocalypse.
Thus, on the day his vanguard reached the stronghold, Samwell issued the order to attack.
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It was a rare sunny day after days of autumn rain. The bright sunlight bathed the land, momentarily giving the illusion of summer's warmth.
But it was just an illusion. Summer had long been buried, and winter loomed ever closer.
As Samwell's orders spread through the camp, his army formed attack lines. Officers moved among the ranks, shouting commands and rallying morale with final speeches.
Inside the fortress, plumes of smoke rose, and piercing alarms rang out. Westerland soldiers swarmed onto the walls, forming defensive lines and readying for battle.
A tense and uneasy atmosphere filled the ramparts.
The arrival of Caesar's army brought immense psychological pressure to the Westerland defenders.
This pressure came not only from the massive white dragon circling in the skies but also from Caesar's fearsome reputation.
The Storm King's meteoric rise was already the stuff of legends. Even his enemies couldn't deny the speed, terror, and unstoppable momentum of his conquests, rivaled only by Aegon the Conqueror three centuries earlier.
No one dared take Caesar lightly.
Standing on the ramparts, Ser Davon Lannister gazed at the army beyond the walls, his expression complicated.
He vividly remembered just three years ago when the Storm King had been his defeated opponent. Looking back now, Davon felt that the tournament on the Arbor had been steeped in conspiracy.
That "victory" brought him no satisfaction.
Over the years, Davon had longed for another chance to face Caesar. He wanted to prove that if he had once unseated this man with a single lance, he could do so again—despite Caesar's now fearsome reputation as an undefeated general.
Never had Davon desired so deeply to prove his strength with his rival's blood.
"House Lannister will prevail!" Davon raised his sword high, shouting fiercely.
"Victory! Victory! Victory!"
The Westerland soldiers echoed his cries, pounding their chests and brandishing their weapons, determined to defend their position.
Outside, Caesar's army continued its disciplined preparations, seemingly indifferent to the defiance on the ramparts.
Finally, a long horn blast sounded, marking the beginning of the battle.
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Samwell mounted his white dragon and soared into the sky. From above, he observed his troops like swarming ants, shields raised and ladders carried as they advanced toward the fortress.
Once within range, archers on the ramparts loosed their arrows, a rain of death falling upon the attackers.
Fortunately, Samwell's forces were well-equipped. Even the lowest-ranking soldiers wore full leather armor, which often stopped the arrows after they pierced the outer garments.
But the ramparts also held dozens of ballistae.
Originally intended for dragons, the defenders now aimed these massive weapons at the advancing army.
With a sharp, piercing whistle, the enormous bolts streaked through the air, arcing visibly before slamming into the attackers.
No leather or steel armor could withstand these projectiles. A single hit meant a soldier was torn apart.
Screams and blood marked the first casualties of the assault, opening this grim and brutal battle.
The drumbeats intensified, and Samwell's forces rolled forward with trebuchets and cannons.
Yes, Samwell had succeeded in developing mobile cannons with the help of Qyburn. These cannons were smaller than the ship-mounted versions, making them easier to transport, though less powerful.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The first volley of cannonballs and stones arced high and crashed into the fortress walls, producing resounding thuds.
Yet these walls, specially reinforced to withstand explosives and artillery, merely trembled under the assault, holding firm.
While the projectiles did little structural damage, they had a significant psychological effect on the defenders.
The thunderous sound of massive stones and cannonballs flying through the air, followed by their violent impact, shook the courage of the soldiers on the ramparts.
Especially the cannonballs, which were explosive shells designed to detonate upon landing. When one fell into the fortress, it erupted in a fiery explosion, obliterating nearby soldiers in a gory shower of blood and limbs.
The gruesome sight of blood mist and scattered remains struck fear into the defenders.
The battle had truly begun.
(End of Chapter)
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Power 
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