The Northern soldiers, momentarily paralyzed by Dzhambul's explicit order not to fire the first arrow, were given no time to recover from the sight of their comrade collapsing with an arrow in his skull.
A furious, primal roar erupted from the rampart. "Now! Kill them!"
Dae led the charge, his face a mask of desperate vengeance. The bows of the Ginmiao—not Hmagol's Eastern troops, but the former enemy soldiers who had sworn fealty to Chinua—suddenly blazed to life. A blinding blizzard of arrows tore down from the wall, striking the tightly grouped Northern infantry holding the battering ram. The impact was instant and devastating. Shields clattered uselessly as men screamed, ripped from the formation by the sheer force and velocity of the volley.
From the relative safety of the rear, Prince Dzhambul watched the massacre unfold. His jaw locked, but it was not just the casualty count that ignited his fury. His eyes narrowed on the figures raining death upon his men: they were the Ginmiao—the dogs of the Eastern General's infamous clemency.
"The Ginmiao are defending the city?" Dzhambul hissed, his voice lethal and cold. "They dare to fight for her!" His political calculation had been fatally flawed; he expected resistance from Chinua's Hmagol loyalists, not a fanatic defense by his former enemies. This defense was not just treason; it was a personal, savage insult.
He surged to his feet, discarding all pretense of a measured siege.
"FULL FORCE!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "Crush them! I want the city flattened! Kill every Hmagol traitor and every last Ginmiao dog!"
At his command, the Northern army—fresh, massive, and eager for blood—shattered its passive formation and surged forward, arrows flying in a dark cloud toward the ramparts, transforming the standoff into a brutal, full-scale assault.
The massive, dark cloud of Northern arrows, released by Dzhambul's full force, descended upon the rampart with a sound like tearing silk. It was a terrifying answer to Dae's defiance.
The Ginmiao soldiers, positioned at the edge of the wall and stripped of their heavier armor, were devastatingly exposed. The initial volley was horrific. Arrows pierced through leather tunics and thin shields with sickening force.
One shaft caught a young soldier high in the chest. The impact snapped his body backward, the force of the arrow driving him against the parapet before he crumpled, lifeless. Another arrow struck a man's exposed forearm, tearing through muscle and bone with a loud crack before burying itself deep into his shoulder. Screams of agony erupted as dozens of men and women fell, their blood spattering the stone and mixing with the rain-slicked wood.
In that instant of chaos and death, the Eastern Magoli soldiers were poised to retaliate. Their fingers twitched on bowstrings, their training demanding immediate retribution.
But Dae's voice, though strained with pain and grief, cut through the din. "Stand down! Hold your fire! This is our fight."
Zhi's eyes were wide with a savage mixture of grief and fury. He saw a Hmagol recruit beside him fall, a shaft feathered crimson protruding from his neck. He knew that if he didn't give an order soon, his own soldiers would be nothing more than targets. "Mayor! They are slaughtering you!"
Dae gripped his wounded arm, his eyes blazing with desperate urgency. "He wants you to attack!" Dae roared, forcing the Hmagol soldiers to look at him. "He wants your crime of treason to be absolute! Don't give that murderer the justification he needs! Let them spend their arrows. We will defend the citizens, because they are our people and this is our home! We will not let anyone come knocking at our door without our invitation. So, Captain! You and your men, stand down!"
The Hmagol soldiers, paralyzed by the sight of the Ginmiao soldiers' will to fight, their bleeding wounds, and the chilling logic of Dae's command, could do nothing. They watched, helpless, as the second volley of arrows tore through the already weakened ranks of the Ginmiao, a grim, calculated sacrifice to preserve Chinua's fragile political defense. The silence of their non-retaliation was an agonizing act of strategic endurance, bought with the lives of the very people they had just promised to protect.
"Fuck this shit," Drystan snarled, snatching a bow from a soldier's hand, and began shooting down at the Northern soldiers on the ground.
"Drystan!" Zhi shouted.
"I know! I am not a fucking soldier!" Drystan shouted back, grabbing another arrow from the quiver at his foot and releasing it, his personal rebellion beginning.
Just as the Northern arrows began to rain down with devastating consistency, Khunbish, Jeet, and Naksh arrived at the southern gate, having rushed with their soldiers. The sheer number of dead and wounded Ginmiao soldiers already littering the ramparts—a testament to Dae's agonizing order of non-retaliation—shocked them.
The three men did not hesitate. Their first priority was the gate, which groaned and splintered with every sickening impact of the battering ram.
Khunbish took immediate command of the gatehouse defense. He shouted orders to the remaining Hmagol soldiers to brace the gate with every available beam, barrel, and piece of heavy debris. He organized shifts to pour boiling water or oil (if available) from the murder holes, aiming to slow the ram team.
Jeet, with his immense strength, became the lynchpin of the physical defense. He worked side-by-side with the soldiers, personally wedging massive logs against the shuddering gate, his face set in grim determination. His knowledge of engineering and fortifications proved invaluable in identifying weak points and reinforcing the structure.
Naksh moved with the controlled intensity of a hunter. He organized the few available reserves, managing the distribution of quivers and ensuring that wounded Ginmiao soldiers were swiftly moved off the ramparts so their bows could be taken up by the Hmagol recruits.
As the second devastating volley struck, tearing through the Ginmiao lines and sending fresh blood spattering onto the stones, Khunbish looked up at the rampart. He saw the Ginmiao sacrificing themselves to preserve Chinua's political standing, and the Hmagol soldiers paralyzed by Dae's desperate strategy.
"They won't die for nothing," Khunbish growled to Jeet. "We hold this gate, and kill anyone who walks through."
Jeet smiled grimly at Khunbish and said, "That's the plan."
Just as the Northern forces were surging forward under Dzhambul's command, the entire remaining Eastern Military Camp arrived at the front lines.
From outside the city walls, near the northern flank of the battle, Haitao and Khenbish led the charge. They were followed by Och, Chaghatai, Erden, and Terbish, who had managed to escape Dzhambul's tent and regroup the forces camped outside the city. They brought with them the last intact reserves of the Eastern military—nearly five thousand soldiers.
This was not a planned arrival; it was a desperate, chaotic breakthrough. The Hmagol Eastern soldiers, who had been held hostage and separated from the main battle, tore into the Northern army's flank with savage fury and were ready to carve a bloody path straight towards the city gates if they must. Their sudden, devastating appearance halted the Northern soldiers' attack, as Dzhambul realized that he was being surrounded by two groups of royal soldiers loyal to Chinua.
From the city wall, the Ginmiao were able to breathe a sigh of relief as the Northern soldiers quickly retreated toward Dzhambul.
"Haitao..." Dzhambul smirked, trying to maintain his composure. "You dare to challenge the royal decree?"
"Your Highness," Haitao said, politely, but his tone was firm. "I do not dare to challenge His Majesty's royal decree, and I do not dare to not follow a direct order from my Commander. General Chinua had given me the order to protect Nue-Li City, and I will stand by this order."
"So, are you going to fight with us if we insist on taking Nue-Li City?" Dzhambul said, breathing angrily through his nostrils.
"Yes," Haitao said strongly. "Not just me, but every single soldier stands behind me."
Dzhambul looked at Haitao with gritted teeth. In the past, he had always looked down on Haitao, calling him weak. But as Haitao stood here with the soldiers behind him, Haitao's determination to protect Chinua's order only made Dzhambul angrier.
In his heart, he had sought loyal, royal men, yet those willing to lay down their lives to protect an order were not his, but his enemy's.
Dzhambul turned to look at Lixin and said, "Bring my order to Batzorig, that now is the time for him to bring his soldiers and kill anyone who was not abid by the royal decree."
Haitao watched as Lixin mounted his horse and took off. He turned his attention back to Dzhambul, his eyes full of disappointment. He said, "Now I understand why His Majesty did not choose you as the Crown Prince even with massive support in the royal court." His eyes met Dzhambul's. "Because you would rather bring a civil war upon the people than bring them peace."
From miles away, Chinua, Hye, Chong, and the others could hear the sounds of the siege, but as they got closer to Nue-Li City's northern gate, the sound of the siege suddenly died down.
Worried in her heart, Chinua rushed to whip her horse again. She knew that the civil war had already begun, and for it to suddenly stop, it meant two things: either Nue-Li City was taken by Dzhambul, or her soldiers had overwhelmed Dzhambul's forces.