When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#674 - Two-Headed Snake Fortress and the New Army of Black Snake Bay

Dark green poisonous smoke permeated the battlefield. Within the billowing clouds, one or two divine magic orbs occasionally burst forth, landing on the defending soldiers.

These soldiers, clad in chainmail and wielding spears, trembled behind the battlements. Only a few archers dared to peek their heads over the crenellations, firing a single arrow into the sky before hastily retreating behind the wall.

Despite the scarce number of Black Serpent Bay sword-and-shield soldiers in animal-hide robes visible on the bridge and open ground before them, the Church's soldiers remained on high alert.

"They're coming!" the sentry on the arrow tower shrieked, his words punctuated by a terrifying screech that pierced the heavens.

With a resounding thud, every soldier and sergeant instinctively ducked their heads. The entire city wall vibrated, sending rubble and bricks flying through the smoky air, clattering against the soldiers' helmets.

"Damn it," a knight who had stumbled rose to his feet, gnashing his teeth in fury. Stepping over cracks in the wall, he charged to the edge of the breach. "You cowards who only know how to use catapults, come here! Face me one-on-one! Don't hide behind your siege engines!"

The knight's roar echoed across the wall, but the soldiers remained huddled together, heads bowed in numb silence.

In days past, some would have echoed his sentiment, but now, not a single person responded.

The roaring did not affect Mormont's actions. Standing on the deck, the river wind ruffled the white paper on his writing board, forcing him to hold it down with his elbow.

Glancing at the pocket watch hanging from the writing board, Mormont looked up again, his gaze fixed on the Church's bridgehead across the river.

The high walls, built from dark gray bricks, stood cold and steadfast. Though thin wisps of smoke rose from the battlements, there was no sign of imminent collapse.

The Ibe River marked the boundary between the Central and Western Counties. The eastern bank was controlled by the Secret Society, while the western bank was under the Church's dominion.

However, the Church had constructed fortresses on both sides of this vital bridge, effectively blocking the Northern County's transportation routes to the Southern County.

Over the past few days, the Salvation Army's gunboats had advanced south along the Ibe River, bombarding the Church's fortresses along the bank while subjecting the Black Serpent Bay's new army to grueling marches.

In roughly half a month, following the fall of Fort Frazier, three more Church fortresses had been captured. The only ones that remained impervious to cannon fire were the twin fortresses known as the Two-Headed Serpent.

This was hardly surprising. Unlike the Northern County's fortresses, the Western County, being the long-established home of the Church of Law and the Witch Hunters, had never been short of funds.

Having to constantly contend with the Red Dragon's breath, this fortress was built with double-layered walls, roughly three times the thickness of ordinary walls.

Until Horn's 24-pound and even 48-pound cannons were completed, it would be difficult to take these two fortresses in a short time.

However, the continuous bombardment from Gryphon Cannons and Sparrowhawk Cannons had rendered the bridgehead fortress useless for guarding the bridge.

In the past few days, the wizards had already destroyed the central span with fire ball crossbows and acid orbs, leaving the eastern fortress isolated.

As long as the river channel could be continuously blockaded by the inland river warships, the fortress's surrender was only a matter of time.

Noting down a number on the writing board with his quill, Mormont took a deep breath and announced in a clear, authoritative voice: "Adjust the firing angle to eleven degrees! Load the spring chamber!"

Several artillerymen from the Godslayer Legion quickly stepped forward, operating the 12-pound cannon under the command of a Salvation Army artillery officer.

These new recruits wore brand-new standard uniforms, chest-armor-style jackets that reached the knees, the same as the Salvation Army's, primarily in dark gray and black, with neatly arranged buttons on the chest.

Due to the climate of Black Serpent Bay, their uniforms were made of a linen blend fabric weighing around 210 grams, much thinner than the Thousand River Valley uniforms weighing around 320 grams, but identical in design.

Having been outfitted with uniform attire and subjected to rigorous disciplinary training, these new troops had gradually distanced themselves from the Black Serpent Bay warriors in their leather robes and cloaks.

They stood and marched stiffly, their movements mechanical and impassive, while the surrounding Black Serpent Bay warriors wore rough cloth, their daggers and rune pendants clinking under their cloaks.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, a new recruit frantically cranked the screw, his eyes fixed on the scale, trying hard to recall the mark representing the number.

Only when the number written in white paint was covered by the crossbar did the new recruit poke his head out and give a thumbs-up to the rear.

The soldiers behind him immediately hammered a triangular wooden wedge into the junction between the rear of the barrel and the gun carriage, stopping only when it could be hammered in no further.

"Is it in position?" Mormont asked, his gaze never leaving the direction of the cannon.

"Reporting, Gun Captain, in position!" the gunner shouted, wiping sweat from his brow after loading the spring chamber and cannonball.

"Very good." After a quick scan to confirm, Mormont raised his right hand and swiftly brought it down. "Fire."

Hooking the latch, a soldier used the improved Holy Wind Lever, pressing down on the H-shaped fulcrum, leaping up and pressing down with all his weight, pulling the pin from the spring chamber with a "pop."

With a deafening roar, the Gryphon Cannon spewed a blurred black shape and a swirling gust of air from its muzzle.

The hull of the ship shook violently, water splashed, and even the stern of the gunboat kicked up sharply, as if about to leap from the water.

The surrounding soldiers and warriors gripped the railings tightly, the deck planks groaning under the strain.

Mormont was not distracted by the ship's shaking. Gripping the railing, his eyes followed the cannonball through the air.

Until the coal-black, rough iron ball arced through the sky and struck the castle wall with precision.

In the next instant, bricks shattered, rubble scattered, and dust billowed into the sky, as if a small earthquake had erupted.

The tattered flag on the arrow tower was torn to shreds by the concussive blast and barely clung to the bent flagpole, swaying in the wind.

The surrounding Black Serpent Bay warriors watched Mormont's actions and the destroyed battlement. Though it wasn't the first time they had seen it, their eyes were still filled with surprise and incomprehension.

Regardless of their incomprehension, it didn't stop them from cheering every hit.

"The meteor struck again."

"Eat shit, priests!"

Mormont lowered his head, calmly recording the screw's setting, the time, and the effect of the shot, completely ignoring the reverent gazes of those around him.

Only when he raised his head again did his gaze inevitably fall on the cheering Black Serpent Bay warriors around him.

Mormont frowned slightly, a hint of bitterness and helplessness rising in his heart. Did his fellow countrymen really understand what he was doing?

More than once, these Black Serpent Bay wizards had inquired, both overtly and covertly, about the secrets of this "ritual magic," asking why they performed the same actions, even obtaining black iron pipes and cannonballs, but couldn't fire them.

In their eyes, this Gryphon Cannon was less of a precision spring-powered cannon and more of a magical device, capable of casting Meteor Strike as long as a set of prescribed actions were performed.

In the past, Mormont would have cheered and rejoiced with them, but now he found it difficult to integrate, as if a thick barrier had formed between them.

The Thousand River Valley War not only changed the Thousand River Valley but also changed everyone who participated in it.

After the Thousand River Valley War, Mormont received Horn's recommendation and entered St. Angier Military Academy to study mathematics, astrology, and officer's manuals.

But reality did not afford him much time. He didn't even have time to complete a full academic year before he had to rush south to support his hometown, Black Serpent Bay.

When he first returned, Mormont felt a complex sense of joy—but this emotion was quickly shattered by reality.

He had to use the theories he had just learned from the manuals to train a new Black Serpent Bay army in two months, or even a month and a half.

Two-thirds of these soldiers had never even touched a musket. In such a short time, Mormont only taught them how to line up and obey orders, and then had to send them to the battlefield to learn combat and gunnery directly through practice.

Although the situation in the Southern County was precarious, he wished he could stay in the Central County for a few more days every time, at least to let these new recruits master the sixteen forms of the long spear manual.

After completing today's quota, Mormont whistled, and the gunboat he was on slowly docked.

As his leather boots struck the dock's plank road with a crisp sound, a messenger who had been waiting for a long time immediately stepped forward and saluted. "Lord Mormont, His Eminence requests your presence!"