The Eve of the Final Battle
On the second day of battle, the morning sun bathed the Northson Plain in golden light. The heat remained oppressive, yet both armies had already formed up on the field, their ranks poised for the coming clash.
This morning, Snitch, after receiving a stern admonition from Old Sha the night before, finally steadied his resolve. He came to a deep understanding of the weighty responsibilities upon his shoulders and the tasks he must fulfill.
I am the general of the Black Banner Army, the supreme commander of this defense of Highcourt. I will always stand at the forefront, never to falter, no matter what!
At dawn, he convened an impromptu meeting, reviewing the entire defensive layout for the city. Hank led the eight hundred Black Banner soldiers still fit for combat as the reserve. The main force facing the enemy consisted of Victor’s reservists and Johnny’s city garrison. One-Eyed Snitch himself, as the commander-in-chief, remained in command at headquarters.
...
The lid of Snitch’s right eye twitched ceaselessly; he could feel with certainty that the enemy’s all-out assault was imminent. It was, after all, his own reckless decision the previous evening that had hastened the date of the decisive battle.
Had Snitch insisted on holding off the attack last night, Xue Hui would have chosen to bide his time for a couple of days, allowing the growing anxiety to ferment among the ratfolk. As the attacker, Xue Hui—a veteran of countless campaigns—knew well that his side still held the absolute initiative. He could have waited, letting the tension gnaw at the defenders, before launching a furious assault after a period of rest.
Meanwhile, the ratfolk would have spent those two days in agony, their nerves fraying, each moment dragging on interminably. Such is the benefit of holding the initiative: one can choose the timing of battle entirely to one’s own advantage.
To Xue Hui, Snitch’s rashness the previous day revealed a grave weakness—the ratfolk were beginning to panic! This was a dangerous sign, but for Xue Hui, it signaled the perfect moment to attack with full force.
...
A band of dwarven warriors, their torsos bare, strained to push the massive trebuchet they had assembled overnight. The sun beat down on their dust-caked skin, sweat pouring from their bodies in streams.
“One, two, three—heave!”
“One, two, three—heave!”
“One, two, three—heave!”
With the combined effort of these dwarven laborers, the gigantic siege engine was finally secured in its designated position—less than one hundred and fifty meters from Highcourt’s walls!
Earthworks hastily dug by the dwarves now encircled the trebuchet, forming a barrier capable of withstanding a hail of crossbow bolts—a precaution Xue Hui had considered from the outset.
War is not mere brute force; siege warfare in particular demands tactical coordination. In ancient times, so-called miracles of city defense were nothing more than the result of clever and resourceful use of available resources—true miracles were rare. Those cinematic spectacles are misleading; better not to trust them.
Once the trebuchet was fully assembled, a dwarven master with a mane of white hair and a vest of beast hide began directing the others in loading the weapon.
“Kevins! How many times have I told you not to use such irregular stones? The accuracy is terrible!”
“I’ll get right on it, old man!”
“Odie, what on earth are you doing? The base is all crooked! This is your handiwork, isn’t it?”
“I’ll fix it right away, old man!”
“And why is the axle stuck again? Luchi? Luchi? Where’s that boy?”
This white-bearded old dwarf, Gru, was the finest engineer of his people, a wooden mallet in hand as he pounded and inspected every inch of the trebuchet. His temper was as volatile as a keg of gunpowder.
He was used to strutting about Ironforge, rarely exchanging more than three words before erupting in curses. None of his apprentices had ever lasted a month under him.
Yet as fierce as his temper was, so too was his technical prowess. After a round of hammering and cursing, Gru managed to uncover and solve a host of technical problems.
After half an hour, five hundred men working for seventeen hours finally finished the assembly—just barely.
“Kevins! Load it up!”
At Gru’s shout, a black-haired dwarf as hairy as an ape hauled over a rock the size of a basketball and heaved it into place.
Gru closed his right eye, raised his left hand with a gesture as precise as the Lorentz force, and aimed at the ratfolk’s ramparts more than a hundred meters away.
“A finger to the right! Add another stone’s weight!”
“All set, old man!”
“Release!”
At his signal, the apprentices pulled the ropes. With a teeth-grating screech, the stone was flung skyward.
...
“Spread out! Take cover behind the crenellations!”
Johnny barked his orders. If struck by a stone hurled from over a hundred meters away, not even the gods could save them.
But the target of the trebuchet was not the ratfolk warriors themselves, but the ballistae mounted atop the walls—those posed a mortal threat.
Thud!
The boulder crashed into the earthen ramparts. Even standing twenty meters away, Johnny felt the wall tremble.
At this level of technology, a giant trebuchet was nothing short of a king among siege weapons. Fortunately, the enemy had only one—for now.
But even one was enough to exert enormous psychological pressure on the ratfolk.
“Commander, they’re aiming for our ballistae!”
Hank, watching from the battlements, was absolutely sure—the trebuchet’s target was the ballistae fixed along the wall.
“Should we pull them down? Otherwise, sooner or later the dwarves will smash them to pieces!”
Johnny was visibly anxious. The ratfolk lacked the skills to manufacture such weapons themselves; they had all been delivered by Wu Fan’s 'special delivery' last time. Once destroyed, they could not be repaired.
One-Eyed Snitch did not reply immediately. He looked up at the blazing sun, then answered, “Have some of the rats remove four of the ballistae and bring them back. Let them smash the rest.”
“Pass on my orders: everyone is to take cover. No pointless heroics!”
“Understood!”
...
Fifty meters from the wall, Gru continued to make meticulous adjustments to the trebuchet’s trajectory.
Only on the eighth shot did they finally succeed in smashing one of the enemy’s ballistae.
“Whoa!”
A precision strike from one hundred and fifty meters away; the main axle of the ballista was split in two.
A roar of triumph erupted from the dwarven ranks.
Gru punched the air in satisfaction—this was the result he wanted.
Outside the central command tent, the dwarven officers too burst into celebration—everyone except Xue Hui, who stood with a furrowed brow.
“Pass on my orders: everyone is to rest well tonight. At dawn tomorrow, we launch the full assault!”
As soon as Xue Hui had spoken, he turned to leave, but the celebrating officers were instantly taken aback.
“Big brother, weren’t we going to attack today? Why the sudden change?”
“Yes, constantly changing orders is no good.”
They crowded around Xue Hui, bewildered.
He halted, simply pointing to the sky.
“The ratfolk are stalling. If we attack this morning, we’ll have the sun at our backs. But I didn’t expect these dozen or so ballistae to take so much time. Now it’s nearly noon—if we attack, the blazing sun will soon be shining directly into our faces. We lack both the advantage of time and terrain. Once we’ve cleared the ballistae, we’ll strike at dawn tomorrow.”
His explanation made everything clear; there was no need for a forced assault without the advantage of time or terrain. The officers dispersed to make preparations.
Surrounded by his guards, Xue Hui returned to his tent. He had a nagging suspicion—had the ratfolk changed commanders at the last minute?
...
Upon Highcourt’s walls, One-Eyed Snitch noticed the human alliance forces dispersing before their positions.
“Tomorrow at dawn—judgment day!”
“Have Old Gil redistribute the weapons and equipment. Everyone rest well tonight. At dawn, we fight to the finish!”
“Understood!”
With that, One-Eyed Snitch turned and descended the battlements.