Chapter 45 - 43: Soaring Levels
On the city walls, day and night were indistinguishable.
Soaring flames dyed the lead-gray sky a strange, dark red. The thick stench of blood and burning flesh hung in the air, a nauseating mix that threatened to turn one’s stomach inside out.
An Imperial Guard soldier had just parried a scimitar with his shield. Before he could even catch his breath, the man beside him was run through the chest with a long spear. The comrade let out a short, muffled grunt and collapsed.
His eyes bloodshot, the soldier roared and plunged his long saber into the enemy’s gut. A swift kick sent the man tumbling from the battlements.
As far as the eye could see, the once-majestic city wall had become a meat grinder.
Severed limbs and chunks of viscera were strewn everywhere.
This was the seventh day of the siege by the grassland barbarians.
To wear down the defenders, Yelv Boyang forced the tribes he had conquered and the conscripts he had captured along his march to assault the city walls. They charged in relentless waves, a human tide.
These slave soldiers were nothing but cannon fodder. Retreat meant death at the hands of the supervising Grassland Wolf Riders. But charging forward offered a sliver of a chance at survival on the walls.
Driven by desperation, they fought with astonishing ferocity, fearlessly hurling themselves at the Capital City’s defenses.
Below the walls, the corpses were piled so high they nearly reached the top of the battlements.
By contrast, Chen Ye’s side, protected by high, thick walls, had suffered far fewer losses. But the defenders’ nerves were stretched to the breaking point, and their consumption of defensive supplies—arrows, rolling logs, boiling oil—was staggering.
Even the martial artists from the Eight Great Sects of the Martial World had shed their usual garb. Now, they wore Cotton Armor and wielded swords and sabers, fighting alongside the soldiers on the walls.
Fang Tao, the Young Monarch of the Rong Character Sect, kicked an enemy off a siege ladder. Wiping the blood from his face, he grinned at a young woman from the Colorful Character Sect bandaging the wounded nearby, revealing a mouth full of white teeth.
"CLANG—CLANG—CLANG—"
The gongs signaling the retreat finally rang out. The tide of attackers slowly receded, leaving a scene of utter devastation in their wake.
On the walls, the surviving soldiers were completely spent. Many collapsed into the pools of blood, panting heavily.
Relieved to have survived another day, all eyes turned as one toward the figure standing on the gatehouse tower.
He wore a Bright Yellow Dragon Robe with a suit of Cotton Armor over it. He stood silently in the wind and snow, like an immovable deity.
It was this very figure that gave them all the courage to carry on.
Chen Ye gazed impassively at the carnage below, sighing internally.
’War has always been the cruelest of meat grinders.’
’On the battlefield, a living, breathing person is reduced to just a number.’
"Your Majesty."
Tong Lei, Commander of the Imperial Guard, strode over, his armor still splattered with fresh blood. His voice was hoarse with exhaustion. "Our army has over three thousand casualties, but we can still fight. The problem is our supplies. We’ve used a huge amount of arrows, rolling logs, and other munitions. If we aren’t resupplied, we can hold out for five days... at most."
Five days. The number landed like a millstone on the hearts of every general who heard it.
Chen Ye nodded, his expression unchanging. "Relay my decree. Order the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Works to use any means necessary to replenish our supplies. Tear down civilian houses, melt down iron tools, whatever it takes. Also, bring up the reserves to relieve the frontline soldiers. Have them rest in shifts."
He issued the orders to deploy his troops methodically, his voice calm and steady, as if completely unfazed by their dire situation.
His calm demeanor helped put the surrounding generals at ease.
After handling military affairs, Chen Ye returned to the makeshift command tent inside the gatehouse.
Dinner was simple: a bowl of meat broth and a few steamed buns.
The attendant eunuch looked heartbroken, as if it were sacrilege for Your Majesty to eat such a meal. Chen Ye, however, paid it no mind and ate heartily.
As he ate, Chen Ye opened his system panel.
[Profession: Thousand-Faced Thief Saint (Level 3)]
[Talent: Soul-Stealing Shadow]
[Skills: Skillful Hand (Level 10), Fast Blade (Level 10), Wall-Climbing (Level 10), Stealth (Level 10), Throwing (Level 10), Bone Shifting (Level 5), Sound Mimicry (Level 5)]
’These seven days of bloody battle, the experience of commanding the Central Army and holding the lives of tens of thousands in my hands, have actually raised my Thief Saint profession by two levels.’
’I guess it’s related to my role-playing as the Emperor.’
’On top of that, Bone Shifting and Sound Mimicry have reached Level 5, and Stealth and Throwing have shot straight to Max Level.’
’And this surge in power gives me more confidence for what comes next!’
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「Outside the city, Grassland Army Camp.」
Yelv Boyang, the Lord of the Grasslands, was growing increasingly agitated.
He’d never imagined the Capital City would be such a tough nut to crack. He had assumed it would fall within a few days, or that the sheer might of his Grassland cavalry would intimidate Great Zhao’s emperor and court into surrendering.
The reality, however, was completely different.
The Emperor of the Great Zhao, Yang Zhao—rumored to be a coward lost to wine and women—seemed to have become a different man entirely. He was now decisive, ruthless, and highly strategic.
All of this presented a thorny problem.
What made him even more anxious was that while his elite troops had suffered few losses, their consumption of provisions was a bottomless pit.
The men of the Grassland could tolerate bloodshed, but not starvation and endless waiting.
For now, he was relying solely on the authority he’d built over many years to keep them in line. But once that patience was exhausted, his tens of thousands of ferocious riders would become uncontrollable beasts, perhaps even turning on their own master.
’I can’t wait any longer...’ A vicious glint flashed in Yelv Boyang’s eyes.
Night fell, and the brutal fighting finally ceased for a time.
Both sides had tacitly ceased their attacks. On the city walls, however, torches blazed brightly, and the patrols dared not relax for a moment.
But in a blind spot hidden from their view, a dark figure slipped out of the shadows like a phantom. After a few silent leaps, it vanished into the snowy night.
Chen Ye reverted to his true appearance. Clad in black infiltration gear, he moved swiftly through the snow, making almost no sound.
He hadn’t spent all his time commanding from the gatehouse tower. He had slipped out several times at night to scout, so he had a decent understanding of the Grassland army’s layout.
Chen Ye didn’t head for the Central Army Tent.
He knew its defenses would be ironclad. Even with his Max Level Stealth, escaping an encirclement there would be nearly impossible.
’My goal is to cause as much chaos as possible, then decide what to do next.’
Bypassing the heavily guarded front camp, Chen Ye appeared at the rear of the encampment.
Security was more lax here. A few drunken Grassland Soldiers were bullshitting around a bonfire.
Chen Ye soon locked onto his target: an unlucky bastard who had wandered off alone to relieve himself. He followed quietly.
The moment the man turned behind a tent, Chen Ye moved.
One hand clamped down hard over the man’s mouth and nose from behind. The short blade in his other hand drew a quick, precise line across his throat.
The Grassland Soldier went limp without so much as a grunt.
Chen Ye quickly dragged the body into the shadows. In a few deft movements, he stripped off the man’s hide coat—which reeked of unwashed sheep—and put it on.
With a mere thought, a faint popping and cracking echoed from Chen Ye’s bones. In just a few seconds, his build and facial features had transformed to become identical to the dead man’s.
Once that was done, he hid the corpse, straightened his collar, and adopted the crude, swaying gait of a Grassland native. Then, he staggered toward a brightly lit and heavily guarded area.
That was the army’s lifeline: the supply depot.