By the sixth day, Enrique, the "Head Wolf," felt the crushing weight of the situation. From his base camp to the tribal leaders under his command, and even among the grassroots soldiers, doubts about his leadership were growing. While Ironwall City had also endured a prolonged siege without being taken, it was a large city—more than ten times the size of the small town before him. Enrique could feel the change in the army's morale. This was a hastily assembled force, and this sense of doubt was the first sign of collapse.

"I can’t wait any longer!" Enrique knew this was his moment to prove himself. Even if he couldn’t achieve greatness, at least he had to get the job done. It was a matter of simply throwing more lives at the problem. If one thousand men weren't enough, then two thousand. If two thousand fell, then three thousand. Even if all ten thousand of his soldiers were lost, the mission had to be completed.

With this mindset, the barbarians launched a brutal attack, disregarding their soldiers' lives entirely. The reason Enrique was known as the "Head Wolf" was not just for his leadership, but for his ruthlessness and cold-blooded nature. Even his own men were expendable. When a small group of barbarians refused to join the battle, fearing they would be slaughtered, Enrique immediately ordered his personal guards to drag them to the front lines.

"Execute them," Enrique commanded. The rebellious small leader, realising the gravity of the order, panicked and tried to justify himself.

"I am the young patriarch of the Bomir tribe. Who dares kill me? My father will avenge me. Enrique, you have no right to do this. I'll have you tried before the grand commander. I’ll have you executed."

Enrique’s face darkened. His personal guards paid no attention to the man's status. As long as military orders hadn’t changed, they carried out their duties without hesitation. The young noble was executed in front of the men, and his death quickly silenced any dissent. The remaining barbarians saw the city wall before them crumbling, and they realised there was no point in resisting.

Meanwhile, Derek, observing the scene from inside the city, quietly retreated with Baron Palmer. The soldiers defending the city walls were replaced by militiamen, and their resistance weakened. However, the barbarians mistook this as a sign that the Lockes were on the verge of collapse.

"These Lockes can't hold on much longer," one of the barbarian leaders declared, as he rushed up the wall and easily cleared a space.

More barbarians followed, and Enrique, watching from a distance, finally allowed himself a breath of relief. Despite the heavy losses, it seemed the tide had finally turned in his favour.

"Prepare yourselves. This time, we will break through!" Enrique ordered coldly. He knew that the soldiers' morale had been deeply shaken by the ongoing siege, and he had to act quickly to prevent any further unrest. His order quickly spread through the ranks, and all soldiers surged forward in a frenzied rush. They knew the city was almost within their grasp, and if they hesitated, they might lose everything.

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In a matter of moments, the barbarians had stormed the city walls, and the city gates were quickly opened.

"Kill! Loot!" they shouted, rushing into the city. Although the Lockes had set up a makeshift barbican to slow them down, the barbarians were too numerous to be stopped. The hastily constructed defences were no match for the overwhelming wave of attackers.

Within fifteen minutes, three or four thousand barbarian soldiers poured through the gate and flooded the open area. Some barbarians even began to scale the barbican, and Enrique watched with satisfaction. He couldn't see the situation inside the city, but experience told him that once a large number of soldiers had breached the walls, victory was all but assured.

"We need to eliminate the last resistance quickly. The base camp is counting on us. We need to join forces with the main army and destroy the Lockes’ reinforcements," Enrique thought to himself, already planning his next move. He believed that a significant victory in the next battle would erase the losses he’d suffered here.

Meanwhile, Derek had seen enough. With a cold gesture, he ordered, "Set fire!"

Torches soaked in grease were hurled from the city walls, igniting piles of firewood and flammable materials strewn across the ground. At first, the barbarians didn’t notice the danger, but those nearest the piles of firewood began to realise the potential catastrophe.

"Stop pushing! This is a trap!" one terrified barbarian shouted. "These are just piles of firewood!" But his warnings came too late.

The Lockes had already begun their retreat, and as the flames erupted, the entire barbican was consumed in fire and smoke. The fire spread rapidly, fuelled by the grease-soaked timber, and in just seconds, the entire U-shaped city wall was engulfed. Many of the barbarians who had entered the city were caught in the inferno. The few survivors ran in panic, some collapsing as the flames consumed them.

Inside the city, Derek donned his helmet and pulled down his visor. Baron Palmer’s face turned pale as he heard the distant screams of those trapped in the fire.

"Knight Derek, this is getting too dangerous. There’s no need to push further now. You’ve already achieved great things. You’ve earned your title, maybe even a fiefdom," Palmer said, anxiety in his voice.

"Opportunities like this come once in a lifetime. If we don’t seize it now, it will be lost forever," Derek replied, mounting his horse. His knights were eager, their anticipation palpable. Though war was brutal and its cruelty unimaginable, the rewards for victory were enough to drive them forward.

With the cavalry leading the charge, the infantry followed closely behind. Derek had kept a fresh reserve of troops, and now they were ready for battle. The Lockes' forces, though fewer in number, were well-prepared and hungry for victory. They had been playing the long game, and now was their moment to shine.

As the Lockes poured out of the east gate, the few remaining barbarians stationed there were caught off guard. Their main forces had crowded around the south gate, unsure of whether they had already breached the city. The sight of fresh troops charging toward them was too much for the barbarian soldiers. Their ranks faltered, and before they could react, the Lockes smashed through their formation.

By the time Enrique saw the flames rising in the distance, it was already too late. The city was lost. The inferno consumed everything in its path, and a small number of survivors fled, screaming in terror. Enrique quickly realised the full extent of the disaster. It was over.

After the heavy losses from the siege, and the devastating fire that had wiped out most of his troops, eighty percent of his temporary legion was gone. The remaining survivors were of little use, and losing a third of his southern soldiers meant this campaign was a complete failure. All his previous efforts were in vain.

Enrique was done for. He had failed. His commanders, his soldiers, and even his own men would soon demand his head.