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  In addition to the arrow volleys, Paul ordered the molten iron sprinklers to be brought into position.

  These strategically placed devices held reservoirs of searing liquid iron, designed to be unleashed upon any force attempting to breach the gate.

  The executioners stood ready, prepared to activate the sprinklers at a moment’s notice.

  From above, Taran’s forces looked like a formation of turtles pushing forward.

  The enemy archers rained arrows down without pause, aiming for any exposed targets and attempting to disrupt the advance—though Taran’s shields deflected most of the incoming fire.

  Tension on the battlefield intensified. Both sides were acutely aware of what was at stake.

  “Almost there, boys!!” Taran shouted.

  “This is terrifying, Captain,” one of his soldiers muttered.

  “Look in the mirror—your grin could make a lion cower,” Taran snapped, drawing laughter from his men.

  Peeking through a gap in their shield formation, Taran saw that—for now—the path ahead was clear.

  “Move! They’re out of arrows!”

  With that, they broke formation and charged forward.

  It took only ten steps before they reached the gate.

  The gate had two massive doors, built from thick wood reinforced with iron.

  They quickly regrouped into four tight rows.

  The area before the gate wasn’t large, and the two middle rows were left open intentionally—for the battering ram.

  The siege weapon was a thick log encased in iron, its head sharpened and reinforced with steel plating.

  Five men carried the battering ram.

  They stepped back, bracing for impact, awaiting the command.

  “Break it down!!” Taran ordered.

  They slammed the ram forward in unison.

  CRASH!!!

  Meanwhile, the two outer rows stood guard, watching for enemy movement.

  Without rest, the team kept slamming the ram against the gate, determined to bring it down.

  Suddenly, four soldiers in the front line screamed out.

  “AARGHH!!”

  “It’s burning!!”

  Taran’s eyes widened as molten iron rained down on them from above.

  His soldiers scattered in panic.

  Looking up, Taran spotted two large openings above the gate—funnels.

  He quickly analyzed the situation.

  “Turtle formation again! Protect the battering ram!”

  The troops swiftly regrouped into the turtle formation and advanced once more, stepping over the corpses of their fallen comrades near the gate.

  Their bodies had hardened—coated in cooling iron.

  They tried again.

  CRASH!!!

  CRASH!!!

  Again and again, searing liquid rained down on them—poured precisely through the openings designed to block siege units.

  The molten iron hissed like red-hot irons, splashing against shields and ground, sending up clouds of steam.

  The soldiers lifted their shields high, forming an impenetrable dome against the scorching liquid.

  They packed in tight, overlapping their shields in layers.

  Yet despite their efforts, some of the molten iron seeped through the cracks, bringing agony and burns to those underneath.

  The relentless iron assault made their advance excruciating.

  Packed tightly in turtle formation, they struggled to breathe—the air thick with steam and rising heat from the boiling iron.

  “Hold the line! Isn’t this what you’ve all been waiting for?!”

  Taran shouted from the middle row, slamming the ram again.

  “Are you blind?! We’ve been smiling this whole damn time!!”

  a soldier shouted back, followed by roars of laughter from the others.

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  Eran had separated himself from the main group, observing the chaotic battlefield from a distance, not far from the camp.

  Many Lonewolves seemed to have joined this mission—they had already gone ahead to attack.

  Whether they were still alive or not depended solely on fate.

  After completing his analysis and identifying a gap in the chaos of the battle,

  Eran rose from where he sat, dusted off his clothes, and pulled the black cloth around his neck up to cover his mouth and nose.

  He lifted the hood attached to his cloak, letting his black hair fall, swept by the wind.

  Dressed entirely in black from head to toe, in the darkness of night, Eran blended perfectly into the shadows—only his glowing red eyes gave him away.

  He darted forward through the shadows, unseen by friend or foe.

  From a distance, he noticed Theo’s troops had joined forces with Aldrich and Taran’s men to support the siege.

  Refocusing and narrowly dodging a stray arrow, Eran sprinted toward the far right side of the castle wall.

  Once there, he stepped back a few paces and tightened his grip on the daggers in both hands.

  Taking a deep breath, he launched himself forward, scaling the ten-meter-high wall with speed and agility.

  Using his daggers as footholds, he plunged them alternately between the stones to assist his climb.

  Reaching the top, Eran crouched low, hiding behind the edge of the battlement.

  He paused to assess the situation.

  From his vantage point, not far from where he hid, he spotted around twenty archers, all busy aiming and firing—none of them aware of his presence.

  Eran scanned for their leader. His eyes searched the far right side of the wall—there he was.

  Paul, overseeing and issuing commands from the right battlement.

  This meant Eran had a window of opportunity, at least until Paul noticed.

  Without wasting time, Eran seized the moment.

  He moved in silence, merging with the darkness as he struck the group of archers.

  The nearest archer felt something cold against his neck.

  Before he could react, Eran’s dagger slid cleanly through his throat.

  Without pausing for even a second, Eran silenced the next soldier by stabbing his dagger into his neck.

  With swift and deadly precision, Eran continued cutting down the remaining archers on the left flank.

  Amidst the growing confusion, Eran noticed a coiled rope tied to a crack in the wall.

  Without hesitation, he tossed three of the ropes over the edge of the battlement.

  Theo, who had been watching Eran’s movements closely all along, immediately understood the signal.

  He quickly ordered his unit to scale the ropes Eran had thrown down—taking advantage of the breach created by the Lonewolf’s stealthy infiltration.

  As Eran hurled the third rope, one of the remaining archers on the left noticed him.

  “Intruder!!” the archer shouted.

  But Eran was already in front of him, plunging both daggers into his chest and ripping them upward, spraying blood across himself.

  “Keep firing!” shouted one of the archers as he threw aside his bow and drew his sword.

  Two more soldiers emerged behind him.

  “You damned Golden!” one of them roared, launching an attack.

  As the sword came down, two arrows flew from behind the soldier toward Eran.

  Eran used the dying soldier still impaled on his daggers to block both the sword and the arrows.

  “Bastard... You’re using our comrade’s body as a shield. Let him go!!” the swordsman shouted furiously.

  “As you wish,” Eran said as he suddenly hurled the corpse toward the enraged soldier.

  The older man's focus was momentarily broken, and Eran seized the opportunity.

  He rolled forward past the swordsman, aiming directly at the two archers behind him.

  Rising swiftly between them, he drove his blades into their stomachs.

  Before they could even process the pain, Eran slashed both of their throats clean.

  His assault wasn’t over. Without a pause, the Lonewolf turned around and drove his dagger into the neck of the swordsman from earlier.

  Some of the remaining archers caught a glimpse of the fight amid their own attacks.

  Fury overtook them as they realized Eran was a serious threat.

  Several of them abandoned their bows, drawing their swords, and charged toward Eran for close combat.

  A fierce battle broke out. Eran, swift and precise with his twin daggers, deflected and countered their attacks.

  It was as if his body moved on its own, until he found himself surrounded by fallen enemies—he had cleared out the archers on the left flank of the battlement.

  The moment felt like a flash of lightning—fast, brutal, and unstoppable.

  Eran gave his enemies no chance to breathe, let alone strike back.

  Bodies collapsed one after another, blood splattered across the stone floor.

  His face now matched the crimson glow of his eyes, smeared with the blood of his victims.

  His next target: the two men who had been pouring molten metal in the middle of the stronghold.

  Without hesitation, Eran launched a surprise attack, appearing out of nowhere and catching them off guard.

  One of them let out a startled cry, drawing the attention of the archers on the right side of the wall.

  But it was too late—Eran was already upon them.

  Despite their efforts to defend themselves, they couldn’t keep up with his relentless strikes.

  His agility overwhelmed them, and within moments, they too fell.

  In the middle of chaos, the battle raged on, and Eran continued to play a key role in disrupting the enemy's defense.

  His actions opened a critical gap for Theo and his troops to push forward and seize control of the stronghold.

  The tide of battle shifted as Eran’s daring attack turned the momentum in their favor.

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