WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Abood

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◈ Friedrich's Battlefield

Chapter 84: Battle of Arnsberg Fortress (2)

“They’re bringing in siege weapons!”

A soldier gave the warning from atop the watchtower.

But hearing it didn’t mean much to those below. All they could do in the face of an incoming, powerful blow… was brace themselves.

Moments after the cry rang out, ballista bolts and projectiles launched from catapults came crashing down inside the fortress. Some hit the central plaza directly, others struck the barracks or the storage buildings.

Immediately after, flames burst forth from the points of impact.

“There’s a fire!”

“Put it out, now! It'll spread!”

The tents for conscripts set up in the plaza. The piles of supplies that had already been taken out from the warehouse. The wooden sections of various buildings. Blazes erupted around these areas, and support personnel scrambled to extinguish them.

“…Tch. Oil and distilled liquor, huh.”

Turning his gaze across the fortress interior, Diethelm clicked his tongue and muttered with a grimace.

The tips of the ballista bolts had been wrapped in cloth and set alight, along with bottles of distilled liquor strapped to them. On impact, the bottles shattered, spreading the burning alcohol. The catapult projectiles were likely clay jars filled with oil. Those too had cloth-wrapped ends set ablaze, so when they landed, the jars burst and the oil ignited on the spot.

This was the result.

The tents and supplies had been placed with enough space between them in case of fire, and most of the buildings were made of stone, so there was no risk of the entire fortress going up in flames. Still, the attack had done its job by disrupting the rear and forcing troops to waste time on recovery. A troublesome tactic, no doubt.

Diethelm turned to glance back at the main keep and was relieved to see it unharmed.

Not because he was concerned about the safety of Ambassador Christopher Langford, who was inside. Far from it. His only concern was that if the ambassador were injured, the blame would fall squarely on the Kingdom’s army.

Despite the intense barrage, the casualties were surprisingly minimal. Only one soldier unlucky enough to take a ballista bolt straight through the chest, remained standing, skewered into the ground, his body consumed by flames. That appeared to be the only fatality. A few others had suffered minor burns from stray fire, but nothing more.

Still, the psychological toll of a fire attack couldn’t be ignored. No human being is immune to the instinctive fear of being burned alive. Some soldiers were clearly shaken.

“It’s just for show! It looks worse than it is, ignore it!”

“Eyes forward, all of you! Focus on the enemy right in front of you!”

Joseph followed Diethelm’s lead, shouting at the top of his lungs. His forceful voice cut through the chaos, driving the men back to their senses.

・・・・・・

“Archers, ready the fire arrows! Ballista and catapults, prepare for another volley!”

Robert gave the order, and the units moved at once. The frontline archers took up arrows tipped with cloth soaked in oil, lit them using the prearranged flame sources, and nocked them into position.

Arrows of uniform length and true shafts good enough to meet military standards were never cheap. Fire arrows, made with high-quality oil that burns clean and strong, were even more costly.

Yet now, they were launched without hesitation, as if declaring this was the decisive moment. A brilliant rain of fire poured down upon Arnsberg Fortress.

At the same time, the siege weapons in the rear fired another coordinated strike. Judging by the rising black smoke, some of the projectiles had found fuel to ignite within the fortress. Perhaps due to the confusion, the enemy’s counterfire noticeably weakened.

Robert wasn’t under any illusion that they had inflicted serious damage. At most, they’d burned a few tents… maybe some food or fodder stacked outside, spare arrows, or the wooden parts of a few buildings. Nothing more than that.

Still, the very fact that they had set fire to Arnsberg Fortress and forced black smoke into the sky counted as a form of success. That sight, smoke billowing from the enemy’s fortress, would be etched into the memories of knights and soldiers alike. It would be retold. And through that, the Kingdom of Arelia could claim it had delivered a blow to Edelstein.

Given their limited forces and the impossibility of a full-scale invasion, this alone gave the Arelian royal family a justification to appear strong before their people.

And perhaps more importantly, it gave the conscripts who knew little of war the impression that they were winning.

“Look! Arnsberg Fortress, once said to be impregnable, is in flames! The enemy is shaken and weakened! Now’s the time, charge forward and flood into the fortress! Claim victory with your own hands! Do that, and you’ll be rewarded. You’ll be hailed as heroes, respected by all!”

Not a hint of doubt crossed the conscripts’ faces. Their morale surged. They began to imagine themselves basking in glory, showered with gold and praise. Their eyes gleamed as they stared down the fortress. Fear gave way to something stronger, greed.

“Men! Charge!”

With that cry, the conscripts surged forward. They sprinted through the gaps between the frontline archers, shouting their battle cries as they climbed the hill toward the fortress. Gripping their worn, hand-me-down weapons from the Royal Army, some carried the long siege ladders. They truly believed they could take the fortress by storm.

Watching them rush ahead, Robert turned his eyes to the advancing units of regular soldiers of his own direct command, as well as troops from the domain forces of the nobility.

“Listen up men… don’t overdo it. Just enough to make it look good.”

Robert smirked, and the soldiers responded with cocky grins of their own before breaking into a run.

They knew full well that this force couldn’t possibly capture Arnsberg Fortress. Which is exactly why they didn’t strain themselves like the conscripts. Instead, they moved swiftly and lightly up the hill.

What awaited the conscripts ahead was a harsh welcome: a barrage of crossbow bolts and a hail of thrown stones from defenders atop the fortress walls.

“GYAAAAAAAAH!!”

“Guh—”

“H-hey, are you alright—?”

“Leave him! Keep moving!”

Some took crossbow bolts straight to the chest and crumpled to the ground. Others, lacking even helmets, were struck in the head by thrown stones, blood and brain matter scattering into the air. The number wasn’t large, but the casualties mounted steadily.

Some conscripts froze at the sight of a fallen comrade from their hometown. But others grabbed their arms and pulled them forward. Together, they pushed on, desperate to keep going.

Until they reached the towering fortress walls, and what awaited them was a dry moat.

It was deep enough to swallow a grown man whole while standing upright, and wide enough that no running start could carry one across. Sharpened stakes had been placed at intervals throughout the trench. The dry moat hadn’t been clearly visible during the uphill charge, and the conscripts at the front skidded to a panicked halt, only to be slammed into by those behind.

“W-Wait—UWAAAAAAGH!”

“Stop! Stop moving!”

“Screw that! You go first! Get down there, get between the stakes!”

One conscript was shoved and tumbled into the trench with force, only to be impaled through the torso on a thick stake. Another, trying to hold back the flow from behind, was instead pushed forward and lost his footing on the steep slope.

Struggling to navigate between the stakes, they wasted time and lives. Still, the conscripts pressed forward. At last, they reached the fortress walls. Clumsily, with fumbling hands and in a disorganized mess, they planted ladders and began the climb.

・・・・・・

“Knock them down! Don’t let a single one through!”

“UWOOOOH!!”

Joseph’s cry of encouragement rang out, and the knights and soldiers atop the wall responded in unison.

Large stones, each the size of a man’s head, were hurled down at the enemy soldiers climbing the many ladders leaning against the wall. Forced to advance in a state of near-total vulnerability, the enemy had no way to protect themselves. One after another, they were thrown off the ladders. Some were impaled on the stakes below. Some fell wounded and tried to crawl away. A few, in rare shows of bravery, rushed the ladders again.

One soldier finally managed to weather the storm, he reached up close enough to lay a hand on the wall.

Diethelm cut him down with ease.

Without missing a beat, Diethelm kicked the ladder away, yanking it off the wall. The enemy soldiers still climbing it screamed as they plummeted, crashing to the bottom in a heap.

“Conscripts, all of them... Listen up! If even one of these pathetic weaklings sets foot in the fortress, it’ll be a disgrace!”

The soldiers around him responded with battle cries of their own. Each man held his ground, cutting down enemies at his station, piercing, slamming, throwing them back or over the edge.

Elsewhere along the wall, knights and soldiers defended with steady discipline under the command of the infantry captains from their respective regiments. The conscript force of the enemy only continued to suffer losses, none made it onto the wall.

Arrows from both sides whistled through the air above the battlements. Occasionally, a strike from the enemy’s siege weapons would crash into the fortress.

The enemy’s archers weren’t just targeting the interior of the fortress. They aimed for the wall too, sending volleys that didn’t hesitate to hit their own conscripts if it meant breaking Edelstein’s defense.

This was a damn nuisance. Clicking his tongue, Diethelm scowled.

“HAAAAAAA!”

At that moment, a soldier broke through. Climbing the ladder with speed that clearly set him apart from the conscripts, deflecting blows with a metal helmet and breastplate, he finally vaulted onto the top of the wall. A quick glance showed several others had made it up as well.

Diethelm narrowed his eyes at the one before him. A regular infantryman of the Kingdom of Arelia, clad in full standard-issue gear. But the aura he gave off, this one was elite. On his cuirass was an emblem shaped like a serpent, likely denoting his unit.

Then, the enemy’s arrow fire ceased.

It was clear now, these elites weren’t meant to be carelessly expended.

“You look like nobility! I’ll have your head!”

“…Try it you filthy grunt, if you think you can!”

They had reached the fortress wall. Even if it was only a handful of elite soldiers, the fact remained: Diethelm now had one right in front of him, calling him out and challenging him. That alone was enough to irritate him.

He accepted the duel.

And it seemed the enemy troops were targeting only those who would earn them the most glory, commanders and nobles. Joseph, protected closely by his guards, appeared untouched. But the enemy was going after captains and above, anyone in impressive armor or with a noble house crest on their cloak.

The enemy before Diethelm approached with a solid, flawless stance.

And he had the skill to match his arrogance, his blade came down in a swift, deadly arc. Diethelm parried it with ease.

He stepped back as if to reset his footing, but instead launched forward, thrusting with explosive force.

On the narrow wall, the enemy soldier moved with precision, deftly dodging Diethelm’s thrust. At the same time, he raised his sword high and brought it down toward Diethelm’s head.

Diethelm deflected the blow with the round shield in his left hand, then slammed his shoulder into the enemy. The enemy didn’t try to avoid the hit, he took the blow square in the torso, using the impact to recoil backward, falling into a defensive stance that denied Diethelm the chance to follow up.

No one around them could interfere in the clash.

If they did, they risked getting in Diethelm’s way, or worse, getting caught in the enemy’s attacks and dying themselves.

“Eyes on your own posts! Don’t let another one through!”

Shouting the order, Diethelm launched into a flurry of attacks.

The soldier in front of him was skilled, no doubt about that. But Diethelm was stronger.

On top of that, the enemy clearly didn’t have the resolve to risk his life. He wouldn’t commit to an offensive. The moment Diethelm pushed forward, the man did nothing but defend.

There was no way Diethelm was going to hand over his head to someone like that. If anything, he’d take his instead.

With that thought, Diethelm swept his sword in a powerful horizontal arc. The enemy caught it with his own blade—

—only to be knocked off balance and fall backward right off the wall, outside the fortress.

He hadn’t been knocked off because he failed to block the attack.

Diethelm could tell that it was deliberate. The man had used the force of the blow to throw himself backward.

Frowning, Diethelm peered over the edge of the wall. Below, the enemy soldier had landed squarely on top of a ladder, as if he’d planned it all along. With smooth, practiced movement, he scrambled down, slipped through the dry moat, and vanished into retreat.

The other enemy soldiers who had made it onto the wall were also withdrawing—either pulling back of their own accord or lying dead where they had fallen. From a quick scan, it seemed none of the Edelstein knights had lost their heads.

“…Tch. Just a damned headhunt.”

Clearly, this hadn’t been a serious attempt to take out the officers and turn the tide of battle. Whether they were following a direct order or charging in on their own hoping for glory, it had all been for show, for the chance to snag a trophy head they could boast about later.

And the moment they realized none of the officers would go down so easily, they pulled back without hesitation. That alone made the intent obvious.

While Diethelm and the others were fending off the attackers, the rest of the knights and soldiers had also fought well, holding the fortress with steady hands.

The enemy force, meanwhile, was still mostly made up of conscripts. Few even made it halfway up the ladders, let alone reached the top of the wall.

There was no sign the battle would shift any further. The outcome was all but decided.

Footnotes:

Moat: a deep, wide ditch surrounding a castle, fort, or town, typically filled with water and intended as a defence against attack.

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