Upon seeing that, the siege troops hurriedly loaded the ballistas.
Barcas wrapped one arm around Tork's neck and pulled the reins with all his might. At the same time, massive arrows resembling javelins shot out from three or four ballistas.
Tork nimbly dodged the arrows rushing in like the wind, crossed the field in an instant, and lightly jumped over the fences lined up in a row.
Immediately afterwards, the massive forelegs of a warhorse slammed heavily down onto the heads of the soldiers surrounding the siege weapon.
The soldiers who saw their comrades' bodies being crushed under iron hooves screamed and scattered in all directions.
Barcas swung his sword without delay. The heads of three soldiers who were scrambling to draw their weapons from their waists fell off simultaneously.
Fresh blood gushed from the severed neck and spread in all directions like a red mist. Barcas's blade, advancing through the foul air, sliced through the breastplates of the enemies as they swiftly regrouped.
"Garkash!"
A middle-aged man with a tanned face let out a monstrous scream in the language of the Old East. It was a term referring to a ferocious monster appearing in the legends of the Khan tribe.
Barcas blocks the huge double-edged axe flying toward him with the flat part of his sword, then spurs his horse and crushes the man's torso.
With the dull thud of bones being crushed, blood splattered in all directions. Tork immediately charged toward the next enemy.
Barcas swung his sword ceaselessly, sweeping rapidly through the battle lines. As the cavalry closely pursuing him broke through the flank of the siege force, the seemingly solid enemy ranks collapsed helplessly.
However, the momentum of the overwhelming advance did not last long. The raiders, who were spread out, began to surround Wolfram's cavalry in a circle.
Barcas snatched up the halberd that a spearman had dropped, and quickly sheathed the sword he was holding in his other hand into his waistband.
Pole weapons were much more suitable for dealing with a large number of enemies. Grasping the lower part of the spear shaft with both hands, Barcas swung his weapon widely toward the enemies closing in on him.
The axe blade, surging in a massive parabola, instantly swept away the bodies of the plunderers charging with spears and swords.
The pagan warriors, having witnessed five or six men being torn apart, armor and all, in an instant, hurriedly distanced themselves. Barcas did not miss that fleeting moment and charged into the heart of the ranks.
At that moment, a strong impact was felt on the shoulder.
Barcas turned his head and frowned as he discovered the arrow lodged in the gap of his armor. Fortunately, it did not appear to be a bone injury, but the arrowhead seemed to have penetrated the muscle.
Grasp the arrow shaft with one hand, drew it without hesitation, and turned his horse's head straight toward the archer. Seeing this, the archers hurriedly drew their bowstrings.
However, Tork's legs were one step faster. Barcas's axe blade, having instantly closed in on the enemy lines, struck vertically into the torso of an archer.
Another archer, seeing his comrade's body split in two, hurriedly threw down his arrow and raised his sword from his waist.
However, it was a moment too late. The tip of the widely swung spear shaft struck the archer's temple with precision.
As the soldier fell screaming, Barcas rode his horse over him and immediately aimed his spear at the next enemy. However, the enemies surrounded him in layers and refused to step within firing range.
Thanks to that, Barcas gained a brief moment to catch his breath and surveyed the battlefield with a sharp gaze.
Wolfram's cavalry was also engaging in combat while surrounded by the enemy. Barcas gritted his teeth as he watched some of them fall from their horses. They could not hold out like this any longer.
'Should I secure an escape route even now?'
As he soothed Tork, who was breathing heavily, and looked around at the enemies closing in, the enemy ranks suddenly shook violently, and a scream was heard from afar.
Barcas turned his head toward the source of the sound. He saw something pitch black surging like a tide through the scattered enemy ranks.
Barcas was relieved for a moment, thinking that reinforcements had arrived, but he opened his eyes wide when he realized that it was dozens of direwolves that had destroyed the rear of the enemy lines.
Beasts as big as calves were biting and tearing at the raiders indiscriminately, instantly turning the battlefield into chaos.
He was frozen in shock for a moment, but he immediately broke through the collapsed ranks and charged into the heart of the enemy lines.
Even while panting heavily, Tork ran unhindered across the battlefield, trampling enemy soldiers with fierce ferocity.
How many times did he cut and cut like that?
Not long after, he realized that the wolves were specifically targeting and attacking only the raiders.
Barcas paused his swinging halberd for a moment and quickly scanned the beasts roaming the field.
The giant wolves were moving very systematically, breaking down the barbarian formations.
There was no room for doubt. Something was manipulating the wolf pack.
Before he could even ponder the implications of that fact, the tide of battle turned rapidly again. A thunderous horn rang out from a distance, and armored cavalry appeared on the hill.
At the appearance of a massive army of over ten thousand men, the looters instantly lost their will to fight and began to flee.
Barcas, holding his spear high, shouted in a booming voice.
"Do not let a single one of them escape alive!"
No sooner had the order been given than Wolfram's elite unit pursued the scattering enemies at a terrifying speed.
While the mounted warriors, having instantly overtaken the enemy and cut off their retreat, mercilessly swung their swords, the armored cavalry stormed the rear of the enemy lines and swept away thousands of enemy soldiers.
What happened afterward was closer to a massacre than a battle.
The Zramw people fell helplessly to the indiscriminate attacks of the mounted warriors. After about two hours had passed, the corpses of the pagans, trampled by the hooves of warhorses, piled up like mountains on the field.
"Your Excellency! We have annihilated every single enemy positioned in the south as well!"
Just as the battle was reaching its final moments, Darren, who had remained at the South Gate to clear out the enemy, came galloping in on his horse.
Only then did Barcas lower the weapon he was holding.
The wolf pack had vanished before they knew it. Only a few individuals, killed by the raiders, lay limply amidst the pile of corpses.
He stared down at it for a moment, then plunged the spear into the ground and leaped off the saddle. It was to lighten the burden on Tork, whose physical strength had already reached its limit.
"What is the extent of the damage?"
"We would have to count the exact number, but it appears that roughly 400 people have died."
Darren, naturally taking the reins from his hand, answered in a heavy, subdued voice.
"If you include the security forces, I think it would be double that amount."
Although the damage was considerable, considering the entire city was on the verge of falling, it was a result that could only be described as a stroke of luck.
He let out a weary sigh and looked up at the sky where the sunset was beginning to set.
A dry wind reeking of blood swept roughly across the bloodstained face. Barcas roughly swept his disheveled hair back, turned toward the North Gate, and spoke.
"Have the bodies of the deceased been moved to the cathedral, and hold the funeral rites tomorrow?"
"All right."
He soon crossed the field and stepped into the fortress.
The corpses of looters and soldiers lay scattered haphazardly around the collapsed castle walls. After watching the guards diligently clearing them away for a moment, he approached the battlement, about half of which had crumbled. It was to assess the exact extent of the damage.
Now that the looters who had been running rampant for years had been completely wiped out, there would be no further danger for the time being, but the damaged facilities needed to be repaired promptly to maintain order in Kalmor.
'It looks like it will take at least four months to rebuild it completely.'
Barcas, scanning the severely cracked walls and collapsed watchtowers one after another, soon moved along the path leading to Raedgo Castle.
Then, he spotted a group of people gathered at the base of the fortress tower connected to the outer wall and stopped abruptly.
A woman sat slumped in front of the pile of debris from the collapsed building, wailing loudly. About fifteen guards pushed her aside and hurriedly began clearing the fallen rocks to one spot.
Barcas, who had been staring blankly at the scene, grabbed the shoulder of the guard closest to the group.
“What’s going on?”
"Your Excellency, the Grand Duke..."
The guard, who was moving a large stone piece to the side of the outer wall, looked up at him with a pale face.
A strange chill brushed against the back of his neck for a moment.
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