Augusto quickly ducked down, seeking cover among the trees as arrows flew over his head, slicing through the air with a menacing sound. Beside him, Erondir, calmer and more observant, followed the arrows' trajectories, trying to understand the enemy's strategy. They both knew they were facing something unusual. The arrows weren’t just regular archer shots. They were giant darts, fired with tremendous force and deadly precision, piercing through the formation of their archers.
"These darts... they can only be fired by giant ballistae," murmured Erondir, his eyes scanning the wall line ahead. He noticed that somehow, the arrows were coming from within the wall, making it difficult to return fire. "Miguel prepared for this. He anticipated it. And it seems he has a new weapon at his disposal."
Augusto huffed in anger, his face contorted with frustration. "Those damned ballistae," he muttered, watching as his archers, once in formation, were now dispersing, trying to shield themselves or retreating to the safety of the trees. The line of archers was broken, and with it, the pressure they should have been exerting on Drakmoor’s wall dissipated.
Miguel, noticing the enemy's situation, ordered his own archers to begin firing. Drakmoor’s arrows soared through the sky, forcing the duchy’s army to further protect themselves, raising their shields over their heads in a desperate attempt to avoid being hit. For many, the only option was to follow Augusto and Erondir’s lead and seek shelter among the trees, where the projectiles couldn’t easily reach them.
Erondir, always analytical, turned to Augusto and said, "This attack... Miguel must have been waiting for us. He's using these giant ballistae to dismantle our formation and keep us at a distance."
Augusto, red with rage, clenched his fists tightly. "We have to do something," he shouted, his voice laden with frustration and despair. "We can't just sit here while that bastard destroys us!"
Hearing this, Erondir, maintaining his usual calm, cautioned, "It’s risky to advance now without knowing the extent of the weapons Miguel has at his disposal. He’s clearly prepared for heavy defense."
"We have no choice," retorted Augusto, his eyes burning with determination. "If he had more weapons, he would have already used them." He stood up abruptly, turning toward the battlefield. "I’ll order an attack with a shield wall. We’ll advance straight to the gates and bring them down! Prepare the battering ram!" he shouted, his words echoing across the field.
At his command, soldiers began to move, abandoning their protective positions and quickly forming a tight shield wall. A large battering ram was brought to the front, a sturdy log reinforced with metal at its ends, being readied for the attack. The men lined up behind it, forming a solid and impenetrable wall, ready to advance under enemy fire. Each of them knew the risk they were taking, but Augusto’s order was clear: they would march, face the danger, and break Miguel’s defenses once and for all.
Erondir watched the formation preparing to advance, his eyes narrowing as he pondered Miguel’s next moves. Something inside him made him uneasy. He knew the frontal attack was necessary, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Miguel still had something in reserve. Something that could turn the tide of the battle in an unexpected way.
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The shield wall moved in unison, advancing toward the wall, the battering ram at the front, the soldiers’ faces hardened by determination and fear. The sound of boots pounding the ground, shields creaking, and shouted orders filled the air as Augusto’s army prepared to launch its decisive offensive.
Miguel stood atop the wall, observing the enemy army’s movements below. The sky was heavy, laden with gray clouds that threatened to unleash at any moment, reflecting the tense atmosphere of the battlefield. The sounds of war trumpets still echoed in the air, as the duchy’s soldiers retreated slightly, reorganizing and seeking cover under their shields. Drakmoor’s archers’ arrows continued to fly, slicing through the air, some hitting their targets with lethal precision, while others embedded uselessly in the ground or were deflected by shields.
Miguel narrowed his eyes, watching the duchy’s soldiers regrouping, forming a dense shield wall that moved slowly and methodically toward the wall. “What are they doing?” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. The shield wall seemed impenetrable, with the soldiers crowding into a cohesive formation, like a giant steel serpent advancing toward the main gate.
Ricardo, who had just returned after organizing Drakmoor’s troops, joined Miguel on the wall. He followed Miguel’s gaze and saw the enemy formation below, the lines of soldiers marching in unison. “They’re up to something,” Ricardo said, his voice tinged with concern.
Amélia, standing beside her brother, looked at the enemy formation with a sharp gaze. “They’re probably bringing a battering ram,” she said, her voice calm but full of certainty. “They’re going to try to breach the gate.”
Miguel observed the shield wall with renewed attention, analyzing the distance and density of the enemy formation. He quickly calculated the distance. “They’re exactly 200 meters away and advancing,” he said, feeling a wave of urgency. The formation, composed of at least 500 men, advanced like an unstoppable force, the sound of their boots echoing on the ground as they moved.
“Ricardo,” said Miguel, turning abruptly to him. “Order the four catapults to fire. The first two should launch the ceramic spheres filled with flammable oil. Immediately after, fire the spheres with gunpowder and shrapnel.” He spoke quickly, knowing that every second counted.
Ricardo nodded, grasping the gravity of the situation, and ran off to carry out Miguel’s orders. Within minutes, the catapults were ready. The tension in the air was palpable, and Drakmoor’s soldiers braced themselves to witness the power of the new weapons created by Miguel. The catapults, powerful and imposing, were adjusted with precision and launched their first volleys.
On the battlefield, Erondir stood beside Augusto, watching the shield wall advance with fierce determination. He noticed the movement of Miguel’s troops on the wall, but before he could react, he saw something strange. Ceramic spheres flew through the air, crashing down on the shields of the front-line soldiers. When the spheres shattered on impact, a viscous liquid spilled over the soldiers' shields and armor.
“Something’s wrong...” murmured Erondir, feeling a chill run down his spine. He barely had time to process what was happening when another wave of spheres was launched, but this time the effect was devastating. A violent explosion echoed across the field, so loud that it made the ground shake. The explosion was followed by a series of others, in quick succession. The flammable oil spread by the first wave of spheres intensified the subsequent explosions, turning the shield wall into a chaotic inferno of fire and shrapnel.
Soldiers screamed in panic, their formations destroyed in a matter of seconds. Shields flew through the air, bodies were tossed like rag dolls, and the smell of burning flesh and gunpowder filled the air. The sudden attack shattered the shield wall with relentless brutality, and what remained of the formation was now in complete disarray, soldiers running in all directions, desperate to escape the hell that had formed around them.
Erondir watched in shock, his mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. He had never seen anything like it in all his years of battle. “What the hell was that?” he muttered to himself as he saw the soldiers retreating in disarray, some of them still on fire, others falling to the ground, mortally wounded.
Augusto, who was hiding behind the trees, was stunned to see the destruction caused in such a short time. His eyes filled with hatred. “Miguel... damned bastard...” He whispered through gritted teeth, feeling his anger grow as he saw the damage Miguel’s weapons had inflicted on his troops.
Erondir, still in awe, knew that this was not magic, but something much more terrifying, something that could turn the tide of war. And for the first time, he began to fear that perhaps, just perhaps, Miguel had a power they still could not fully comprehend.