Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 837 - 86 Defending the City_2

Chapter 837: Chapter 86: Defending the City_2 Chapter 837: Chapter 86: Defending the City_2 After less than twenty uses, the best quality third-generation wooden cannon was scrapped at a rate far exceeding Mason’s expectations.

Demon Ons led his men to deliver the wooden cannon to a row of crude wooden sheds by the riverbank.

This was Revodan’s weapons workshop. Although it was winter, the inside of the workshop felt no coldness.

Wearing only a single layer of clothing, the blacksmiths were sweating profusely, and the dull sound of the hammering never ceased.

Gangchalov, wearing a leather coat full of tiny holes burned by iron filings, was forging a large yellowish ingot on the hydraulic hammer.

Seeing that his eldest brother had flattened the ingot into a cylindrical shape, Gangchalov’s two younger brothers immediately lifted a chisel-like tool to secure it just above the iron column.

Accompanied by the continuous pounding of the hammer, the iron column was penetrated from top to bottom. After removing the chisel, they replaced it with an iron rod poked inside.

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The hot forged iron ingot was “strung” on the iron rod and then continued to be forged into an iron tube.

Throughout the process, the Gangchalov brothers remained silent, yet their coordination was so seamless it was as if a giant with six arms was at work.

After the entire procedure was completed, Gangchalov returned a roughly one-foot-long, one-inch-thick iron tube to the furnace for reheating.

This iron tube needed to be welded with three other iron tubes of the same size to finally obtain a long-bore cannon barrel.

Upon seeing Demon Ons, Gangchalov asked straightforwardly, “What happened?”

“Cracked,” Demon Ons simply answered, “It’s scrapped.”

With cannons booming in front, and iron being forged in the back, neither side had the energy for pleasantries.

“No way around it,” Gangchalov guzzled down a large jug of salt water, panting heavily, “Cannon barrels cobbled together like this are bound to have problems sooner or later.”

“What about the items the Civil Guard Officer asked you to prepare?” Demon Ons furrowed his brow and asked.

Gangchalov’s face turned pale, “They’re ready… but who would dare use them?”

“It’s none of your business,” Demon Ons coldly replied.

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On the other side, in the Terdon soldiers’ gun position, small-eyed slaves were forced to reload the cannon.

The small-eyed slave struggled to push the cannonball into the gun barrel, and the other captives looked on indifferently as the slave served his new master, no one coming forward to help voluntarily.

The captives simply pretended to be busy under the scolding and whip lashes, staying as far away as possible.

The four long cannons of the Terdon Tribe were bought from the Red River Tribe, ones Mason had previously used, nailed shut and then sunk into the river—truly second-hand.

Nailing shut the cannon not only plugged the fire door but also caused nearly imperceptible cracks and deformations in the cannon barrel, necessitating a secondary reinforcement with iron hoops.

The loading of the shell was rough, a dangerous sign.

Upon re-examining the cannon barrel, the small-eyed slave noticed that the high temperature had caused the black paint to become somewhat sticky, and the iron hoops around the cannon barrel showed fine silvery cracks.

“This cannon won’t work!” In a total panic, stripped of his prior arrogance, the small-eyed slave looked at Hong Lingyu and pleaded, “This cannon really can’t be used!”

Although he couldn’t understand what the small-eyed slave was saying, Hong Lingyu understood the slave’s meaning.

Unable to contain his anger, Hong Lingyu slapped the small-eyed slave across the face, grabbed the linstock, and pressed it against the fire door.

From behind the city walls, Mason saw two plumes of white smoke rise from the distant enemy’s gun position. The cannonballs flew only a short distance before impotently falling to the ground, and faint cries could be heard.

“Sir, what’s wrong with the barbarians?” a militiaman asked, puzzled.

“It might be a burst barrel,” Mason frowned slightly.

Amidst the smoky gun position of the Terdon people, whether it was the gunners or the supervising Terdon soldiers, everyone was dizzied by the blast.

The burst cannon’s barrel burst wide open, and the collapsing fragments shot out like lead bullets.

The largest fragment made direct contact with Hong Lingyu’s forehead, smashing his skull inward before disappearing.

The burst barrel accident sounded like a starting signal, spreading the news in all directions as the Terdon army mobilized.

The war drums roared, four shield carts removed their camouflage, and each was pushed by six or seven people, advancing side by side towards the collapsed triangular fortress on the outer wall.

Following the large shield carts were several small hand-pushed carts filled with earth, and Terdon archers also emerged from the trenches, shooting arrows at the city wall.

“Beat the drums!” Mason ordered, “Everyone to the battlements!”

The small drums began to sound, and the militiamen hurriedly ran out of their cover, scrambling up the wooden scaffolds behind the city wall.

Seeing the barbarians suddenly reveal their fangs, the foul-smelled blood dripping one drop at a time from their sharp teeth, the militiamen, who had just gotten used to the low-intensity artillery battle and were grinning, were suddenly overwhelmed.

Silence fell over the city wall, the militiamen’s mouths dry and their tongues parched, eyes wide as they watched the Terdon people approach.

Hearing Mason explain the tactics, the various militia captains realized: in the end, the barbarians resorted to their signature prowess.

The Terdon people used the resources at hand, adopting a “hybrid” siege method: approaching with trenches, focusing the limited artillery to break down the wall, then resorting to their standard tactics—shield carts, filling trenches, climbing the city walls.

“You’ve gone mute? What are you afraid of? Did you think war was play?” Mason patrolled along the arrowhead fort, harshly scolding the silent militiamen, “Even if you stand on a hundred-meter-tall wall, you can’t escape the ordeal of fighting for your life! From now on, all of you are dead men! Only if you win can you earn the right to live!”

As the Terdon shield carts reached thirty meters, the two wooden cannons on the arrowhead fort roared.

The small iron pellets wrapped in parchment paper burst open midair, scattering.