Giant Dragon Lord: Starting from Daily Intelligence-Chapter 164 - 158: Profiting Within the Rules

Makeshift catapults launched millstone-sized boulders that howled through the air toward the city walls. But upon impact, they burst in a halo of earthy yellow light before powerlessly crumbling and tumbling away, leaving only faint white marks on the crimson rock.

Several siege towers and a dozen or so scaling ladders, pushed by soldiers, slowly approached the walls.

From atop the walls, arrows rained down, a dense black cloud that hammered against the tower shield defensive line with a staccato of sharp thuds.

From time to time, a soldier would be struck by an arrow and fall with a short, sharp scream, only to be immediately trampled underfoot by his comrades behind him.

The tallest siege tower finally, arduously, docked against the wall, its top drawbridge slamming down.

"For glory!"

A Knight squad leader roared, the first to charge out.

However, what greeted him was not the blades of the enemy, but a cauldron of molten iron.

It was molten iron, carrying a destructive heat as it poured down from above.

The Knight’s shriek was so piercing it barely sounded human. His Refined Steel armor instantly glowed cherry-red, and his entire body became a living torch as he fell stiffly from the siege tower.

The few Knights right behind him didn’t escape either; they were splashed by the molten iron and writhed on the ground in agony.

This scene brought the ensuing soldiers’ assault to a grinding halt.

Within the walls, the Valen Family defenders displayed a tenacity and precision that seemed at odds with their status as blacksmiths.

Unlike regular soldiers who loosed their arrows indiscriminately, they operated in teams of three, specifically targeting commanders and Heavy Armor units.

Nearly every whistle of an arrow slicing through the air was accompanied by a muffled grunt or a cry of pain.

The siege raged from noon until dusk.

The setting sun, the color of blood, cast a tragic, heroic hue over the entire battlefield.

The ground beneath the walls of Red Iron Castle was already carpeted with corpses and shattered war machines.

The air was thick with the nauseating stench of blood, scorched flesh, and the sour tang of sweat.

Viscount Andrew’s face was as black as thunder.

As night fell, he did not order a retreat. Instead, he had torches lit and launched an even more frenzied night assault.

He believed that after a full day of fighting, the defenders’ morale and stamina must be at their breaking point.

However, he had underestimated the blacksmiths’ resilience.

The people of the Valen Family were like the steel they forged: hard and unyielding.

The chaos of the night battle did not throw them into disarray. On the contrary, relying on their familiar defensive structures, they inflicted even greater casualties on the besiegers.

Shouts of battle, screams of pain, and the clang of steel against steel rang out for the entire night.

Only when the morning sun pierced the clouds on the second day did Viscount Andrew sound the retreat.

The Allied Army soldiers withdrew like a receding tide, every man wounded and utterly dejected.

The medical officers’ tents were already overflowing, and the groans of the wounded merged into a single, heart-wrenching chorus.

Raylo stood on high ground, using a spyglass to observe Red Iron Castle, which still stood tall and defiant.

After a night of bitter fighting, the banner bearing a crossed hammer and anvil, though blackened by smoke, still fluttered stubbornly in the morning breeze.

A messenger stumbled into Viscount Andrew’s tent, reporting in a hoarse voice.

"Lord Viscount... the casualties... the casualty report is in."

"Speak!"

Viscount Andrew slammed a fist onto the map.

"In... in one night, we... we lost over a hundred Knights, more than four hundred and seventy soldiers... Three siege towers were destroyed, and the catapults are..."

The messenger’s voice trailed off.

Viscount Andrew swayed, his face instantly turning deathly pale.

A hundred Knights lost!

Even if they had won, it would have been a pyrrhic victory. What’s more, they hadn’t even breached the outer walls.

The morning sun dispersed the smoke of battle from the sky, but it could not dispel the gloom that hung over the Allied Army’s camp.

Inside Count Gao Wen’s command tent, the atmosphere was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

The noble lords of the Northern Territory sat on either side of a massive sand table, upon which a model of Red Iron Castle stood stubbornly, as if mocking their incompetence.

"Gentlemen."

Count Gao Wen’s voice was hoarse from a sleepless night as he scanned the room.

"Last night’s assault... we failed."

No one spoke.

Viscount Andrew’s face was livid, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look like a caged, irritable beast.

He had spent the entire night listening to the wailing of the wounded and the reports from the quartermasters, each number a hammer blow to his pride.

The few Barons who had participated in the attack were even more restless, shifting in their seats as if sitting on thorns.

In the silence, Viscount Andrew suddenly turned his gaze to Raylo, who sat calmly in the corner.

"Baron Raylo."

His voice sounded as if it were being squeezed through clenched teeth.

"Your Black Stone Army is strong and well-equipped. They’ve rested for a full day and night and are full of energy."

Lillian’s eyebrow twitched slightly as she glanced at her brother.

Raylo lifted his eyes to meet Viscount Andrew’s bloodshot gaze.

"What is your proposal, Viscount?"

"Simple."

Viscount Andrew’s palm slammed down on the sand table, making the small castle model tremble.

"Our two forces will join together. We can undoubtedly crush Red Iron Castle before sunset today! Once it’s done, I’ll give you half of all the spoils in the castle!"

As soon as he said this, a collective, quiet gasp went through the tent.

Half the spoils!

The accumulated wealth of a family that held a century’s worth of core forging techniques was immeasurable.

Every Lord present knew that Viscount Andrew was paying a hefty price, and that he was using this profit to force Raylo’s hand.

In Andrew’s eyes, this was a massive concession; the young Baron had no reason to refuse.

However, Raylo simply shook his head.

"Viscount, I appreciate your generosity."

His tone was as mild as if he were discussing the weather.

"But Black Stone Territory’s foundations are too shallow; we truly cannot afford such losses. You’ve seen how tenacious the Valen Family is. If I throw away several hundred more lives, I won’t be able to face the wives of my Knights."

Viscount Andrew’s face instantly turned a furious shade of purple.

He thought he had offered an olive branch, but to his shock, the other man had snapped it in two right in front of him.

"Raylo! This is cowardice!"

He shot to his feet, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword.

"Don’t forget, we are an Allied Army! Do you intend to stand by and watch us bleed here while you reap the rewards?"

"Viscount, I suggest you watch your words."

Lillian’s cool voice rang out as she moved to stand by Raylo’s side.

The atmosphere in the tent crackled with hostility.

Raylo raised a hand, signaling for Lillian to remain calm.

He knew the value of Red Iron Castle better than anyone.

’But what he wanted was never "half."’

According to the rules set by Duke Luke, Commander-in-Chief of the Northern Alliance Army, on the lands of the Fiery Sun Kingdom, whoever conquers a castle claims everything within it.

This was an ironclad rule—and the opportunity he had been waiting for.