The Orcs outside the city let out a deafening cheer and swarmed toward the gate tunnel.

They rushed inside, only to find themselves in the barbican.

The walls on both sides of the barbican extended forward, creating a semi-enclosed killing zone.

On the walls, the defenders' rolling logs, rocks, Ice Burst Potion, and arrows fell like rain.

The inner gate of the barbican was also a purple-quality gate, standing perfectly intact at the very back.

The Orc War Lord hovered above the barbican, his crimson eyes staring at the defense runes flickering on the inner gate, and remained silent for a moment.

He looked up at the sky; the sun had already set behind the snow-capped mountains, and the twilight was deepening.

He waved his hand, his low voice echoing in the air: "Withdraw. Retreat 20 li and rest."

The Orc Army receded like a tide, leaving behind a ground covered in corpses and burning siege engines.

The defenders on the walls slumped to the ground; some cried, some laughed, and some held onto the corpses of their comrades, refusing to let go.

Liu Zhenshan stood atop the gate tower, watching the receding Orc Army, and said solemnly, "They will come again tomorrow."

Lin Feng sheathed the Wildfire Spear back onto his back, watching the green tide slowly receding into the western twilight, and said nothing.

He looked down at the Ring of Deceptive Wind and Shadow Exchange on his wrist, its faint silver light flickering slightly in the twilight.

...

Lin Feng walked slowly along the city wall.

On the west wall, a wounded soldier lay every few steps.

Some leaned against the battlements, some lay on stretchers, and some were placed directly on the ground with only a thin blanket beneath them.

The air was thick with the scent of blood and medicinal herbs, the two mixing into a suffocating stench.

A logistics worker knelt before a County Soldier, washing the wound on his left arm with clean water.

The wound was deep, a gash from shoulder to elbow, with the flesh torn open to reveal dark red muscle.

The logistics worker took a jar of Golden Sore Ointment from a wooden box, unscrewed the lid, and evenly sprinkled the grayish-brown powder onto the wound.

The County Soldier gritted his teeth, the veins on his forehead bulging, but he did not make a sound.

The logistics worker took out a roll of bandages, skillfully wrapped the wound, patted his shoulder, and stood up to move to the next wounded soldier.

Lin Feng stood a few steps away, looking at the jar of Golden Sore Ointment in the worker's hand.

Golden Sore Ointment, for external application, stops bleeding and promotes muscle growth; it has a slow recovery time but is plentiful and cheap.

The cost of a basic potion that could restore 100 health points within 10 minutes was too high, costing one gray energy crystal per bottle.

With so many people injured on the battlefield, the territory's finances wouldn't last a few days using that kind of potion.

Therefore, most people only used Golden Sore Ointment on their injuries and waited slowly for the wounds to heal.

He continued forward; every so often on the wall, a small group of people huddled around a campfire for warmth, the firelight casting flickering shadows on their faces.

Some were drinking water, some were eating dry rations, some were staring blankly, and some were whispering in low voices.

A Delhi Sultanate Elite Infantryman had fallen asleep leaning against a pile of stones, still clutching a scimitar with its sheath covered in dried black blood.

Lin Feng's gaze swept over those faces.

Exhaustion, numbness, relief, fear—every face showed them, but no one backed down.

The County Soldiers suffered the heaviest losses; their level 9 rank was like paper in front of the level 15 Orc Infantry.

But during the afternoon battle, not a single squad of County Soldiers withdrew from the wall.

They gritted their teeth and used their lives to hold back the Orcs' first wave of offensive.

Today was the first day, tomorrow would be the second, and the day after, the reinforcements from Russia would arrive; that would be the time for the final battle.

He turned around and slowly walked down the gate tower.

On the open ground inside the city walls, carts transporting supplies formed a long line, stretching from the west gate to the east gate.

People were unloading, some were counting, and some were distributing.

Arrows, stones, Ice Burst Potion, and Golden Sore Ointment were delivered box by box to the people who needed them.

The main street was crowded, and stretcher teams carrying wounded soldiers jogged past Lin Feng.

Some of the soldiers on the stretchers were groaning, some were unconscious, and some stared at the sky with hollow eyes.

The wheels of the supply carts rumbled over the stone slabs, making a rolling sound that mixed with the clanging from the distant city walls.

A few Adventurers stood by the roadside, wearing white leather armor and carrying white weapons.

Watching the wounded soldiers being withdrawn from the walls, the expressions on their faces changed from excitement to solemnity.

As Lin Feng passed them, he heard one of the young Adventurers say, "The City Lord didn't let us go onto the walls today; was he afraid we'd just be throwing our lives away?"

"Obviously," another older Adventurer said, leaning against a wall with his bow in his arms.

"We're only level 5; one axe blow on the wall and we'd be gone. Wait until the street fighting starts; if the city falls, you'll have to go up whether you want to or not."

"Then... can it be held?"

"I don't know," the older Adventurer shook his head.

"Even if we can't hold it, we have to try. If we run, the Tieba Kingdom will be gone."

The Adventurers fell silent.

Lin Feng didn't stop and continued toward the inner city.

There were many such conversations on the main street—some pessimistic, some optimistic, some talking about fighting to the death, but none talking about running away.

The roads of the inner city wound upward, stretching from the foot of the mountain to the mountainside.

The magic lamps on both sides of the road were already lit, their orange-red glow appearing exceptionally warm in the twilight.

Lin Feng walked up the stone steps at a steady pace, one step at a time.

The inner city gate looked particularly tall in the twilight; the purple gate was tightly closed, and the crescent and star emblem on the lintel sparkled under the lights.

The guards in front of the gate stood straight, scimitars hanging at their waists and round shields on their backs.

Lin Feng pushed open the door to the Council Hall; it was empty, and no one had arrived yet.

The tea set on the long ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) table was already prepared, steam rising from the teacups, and the aroma of tea wafted through the air.

He sat down in a seat by the window on the left, leaned the Wildfire Spear against the chair, and took a sip of tea.

The tea was warm and tasted sweet.

He waited for about half an hour.

Hamza was the first to arrive; when he pushed the door open, he was still wiping blood from his scimitar with a cloth. Seeing Lin Feng, he nodded and sat down across from him.

Hassan followed behind him, his lips moving slightly as if he were chanting something.

Zayn and Zala entered one after the other; Zayn was expressionless, while Zala grinned at Lin Feng.

Liu Zhenshan was the last to enter through the door, his hair slightly damp, clearly having showered before coming. He greeted Lin Feng upon seeing him.

Lin Feng nodded in response.

Ali Khan arrived last, looking less majestic and more tired than he had during the day.

He walked to the head of the table and sat down, leaning his hands on the table, his gaze sweeping over everyone.

"Everyone is here. Let's first talk about today's results," Ali Khan began.