The people of Westflow City all knew that their city had two great "war generals." Their personal combat strength might not have been the strongest, but their ability to command legions was exceptionally brilliant. One was Luos, the "Star of Westflow City"—decisive and ruthless. It was a pity that he had his head cut off before he could fully display his abilities. Looking down on one’s opponent always exacts a price, especially in war, where the price is often death.

  Besides him, there was another man known as the "Glitter of Westflow City": Montreal. People said these two had upheld Westflow City’s dignity for sixty years, their presence serving as the greatest deterrent to the petty villains who lurked in the shadows, eyeing Westflow City.

  At this moment, Montreal stood on a high ground outside Pramisburg. A foul stench emanated from the nearby grass, and a large area was soaked in dark red. His golden shoulder-length hair swayed gently in the wind, and the heroic aura between his brows seemed almost tangible. He was a very handsome man, standing over 1.8 meters tall with a striking appearance, making him a well-known figure in Bell Province’s noble circles.

  Ironically, his fame had nothing to do with military strategy. People were more interested in his scandalous affairs—whose wife he slept with today, which noble lady’s boudoir he crept into tomorrow. He was like a scandal factory, continuously providing fodder for idle gossip.

  Now, he finally revealed another side of himself.

  "I hear Baron Arno has dug numerous ‘horse traps’ in this wilderness," he said. "I must say, it’s a brilliant tactic. Whether we know their location or not, they can hold us off for several days." At Montreal’s order, conscripted laborers were searching inch by inch for pits hidden beneath the withered grass. Arno’s pit-digging was no secret, and for the Bohr family, as long as people had desires, they could afford to pay the price for information from the commoners of Pramisburg who were willing to betray him.

  While Arno had mobilized nearly all available forces, he had naturally offended a small faction. These people hid like wounded coyotes, waiting to bite him at the critical moment. Intelligence from within the city flowed to the coalition through various covert channels—they knew exactly where Arno was, how many words he spoke, and even the content of his conversations.

  Facing such an unequal war, Montreal still did not let down his guard. Luos had underestimated these commoners, and it cost him his life. Montreal would not make the same mistake; he would treat this war with the utmost seriousness.

  He turned to glance at the leader sent by the Horton family. "Are the siege engines prepared?"

  The Horton family was renowned across Bell Province for their artisans, and even people from other regions would place large orders with them. Arno’s exclusive trade policies had the least impact on them—they were here because the Horton family’s clan leader could not refuse the price Terman offered: a price no one could reject.

  The Horton family’s leader resembled a carpenter far more than a warrior. Clad in leather armor, he had a simple and honest appearance with messy flaxen short hair. While he gave off an air of honesty, the occasional glint in his eyes revealed a common man’s cunning. He thumped his chest and said loudly, "As you wish, sir! One battering ram and four scaling towers are all prepared and can be moved at any moment."

  The battering ram was like a wheeled house covered in steel plates, with a massive ram at the front. It utilized the Mage Guild’s latest "Arcane Impact" solidified magic array—each activation would launch the ram’s base with an arcane surge, generating enough force to shake city gates and walls. This was one of the most conventional siege engines.

  The scaling towers were large devices similar to fire trucks with ladders in another world, featuring sixty-meter-long ramps capable of reaching any city wall. The flat, chain-equipped ramps could support over twenty warhorses galloping across them.

  These siege engines came at a high cost, each costing thousands or even tens of thousands of gold coins. The most expensive components were the solidified magic arrays and various alchemical products.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Montreal nodded, highly satisfied. He looked at the sun directly overhead and instructed, "Eat at four o’clock, start the siege at five."

  Someone asked, "Why not attack now?"

  It was already noon, leaving over four hours until five o’clock.

  Montreal explained, "The city-defending soldiers have just been replaced with a fresh batch who are well-fed and full of energy. Attacking now would cause heavy casualties. By four o’clock, the soldiers who’ve been guarding the walls all afternoon will be drastically drained of strength and energy, and the relief soldiers in the city won’t have had time to eat yet." He smiled brightly as he spoke. "I believe you’d rather fight hungry soldiers than a group of well-fed, restless fighters looking to release their energy in battle."

  A sharp glint flashed in his eyes—he had a hidden plan up his sleeve.

  This straightforward explanation was easy to understand. Putting themselves in the enemy’s shoes, everyone preferred to fight on a full stomach rather than go into battle hungry.

  Scholars who specialize in war have statistically proven that the physical exertion of combat far exceeds any manual labor. A person can endure a full day of heavy labor before collapsing, but on the battlefield, the energy expenditure of combat can drain even a well-trained soldier’s strength within ten minutes of fighting.

  The physical toll of combat is more severe than imagined.

  Consider the gladiators in arenas, accustomed to battle and combat—even they can barely move after four or five minutes of high-intensity fighting, let alone the more brutal environment of a real battlefield.

  On one side stood the Bohr coalition with high morale; on the other, Pramisburg was shrouded in gloom.

  The city’s long-maintained order was on the verge of collapse again. Amid the atmosphere of an approaching army, some who couldn’t bear the pressure began venting their fear by harming others. Some with ulterior motives, after making numerous promises, deliberately created panic. After all, the ones defending the city were its residents, not professional soldiers from other cities.

  Patrols of law enforcement officers shuttled through the streets, dragging people out to be beheaded by the roadside from time to time. The sight of unclosed eyes on the beheaded heads intimidated some, but it also drove others to madness.

  Within Pramisburg, signs of chaos were already emerging. Facing an uncertain future, not everyone shared the same firm resolve as the city lord.

  Richard wore a bear fur coat and rubbed his plump hands, fear hidden in his eyes but his face flushed due to obesity. Alma also wore a worried frown—the pressure from the 6,000-strong army outside was almost crushing them.

  "Lord, the situation outside is growing more chaotic. Some are openly resisting the city mansion’s rule, and the law enforcement team has already killed many. Shouldn’t you appear in public to pacify the people?" asked Cooper, the only one maintaining calm and composure. It made sense—he had experienced far more terrifying and miserable situations, so this was not enough to shake his resolve.

  Arno sat calmly in the chief seat, rubbing a copper ring on his index finger. The strange symbols on the ring felt peculiarly familiar, as if he should recognize them, yet he couldn’t recall their meaning no matter how hard he tried.

  He looked up at Cooper and sneered twice. "Don’t you think this situation is actually beneficial to me? Without external threats and pressure, these people would only hide among my subjects, sabotaging my plans in some dark corner I’m unaware of. Now that they’ve jumped out, it suits my purpose—I want to see how many will emerge. One by one, I’ll kill anyone who shows their head, even if it means a river of blood." He lowered his head again. "Just ensure the city’s order and don’t let these people cause disruptions."

  Arno then turned the conversation to the other two. "What are you doing here? Have you finished your tasks? Charlie, are the streets in the West District repaired? Have the dilapidated homes been rebuilt?" Charlie shook his head nervously. "Then why are you standing here idle? Go do your work!"

  "Alma, you should be monitoring for any ‘rats’ in the city and cooperating with Cooper, not drinking tea here."

  "Remember: if we win, all is well; if we lose, it won’t be your turn to suffer. What are you worried about? Go work!"

  The three looked at each other and finally left.

  Sitting alone in the empty hall, Arno clenched his fists.

  Was he not nervous?

  Of course he was. Outside stood 6,000 trained and well-equipped soldiers, while he had nothing but a motley crowd.

  But he couldn’t afford to be nervous. If he showed weakness, all would be lost.

  A slightly cold small hand pressed onto his fist. He smiled, holding it in his palm and kneading it gently.

  "Don’t worry. Dark clouds will disperse, and sunlight will eventually shine on the world," Arno said, his emotions fluctuating violently. His calm and reason had begun to crack due to tension. He didn’t know if those damn nobles would honor their pact—it was a gamble with everything on the line. He reached out to wrap his arm around the girl’s soft waist, pulling her onto his lap and burying his head in her chest. "Just watch, Celeste. From today onward, I will be the king of Pramisburg—its eternal and only king!"

  Seemingly surprised by this rare display of vulnerability from the always-strong man, Celeste gently hugged his head with pity. "Yes, you will be the king of everyone. I firmly believe it!"