[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations":3,"chapter-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-85":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The Nation of Ten Thousand Nations",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2333053,4562,"Chapter 85: Assault the City! (5) Extra Chapter for 12,000 Favorites!","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-85",85,"\u003Cp>Baldwin paid no attention to Arthur; since their arrival, too many people had been subtly probing him about Cesar, and he immediately saw that Arthur was trying to recruit Cesar—this allowed him to gauge that Arthur’s origins were anything but ordinary. A common knight lacked the strategic mindset of a commander or general; Arthur’s eagerness stemmed solely from recognizing that Cesar was not merely a knight, but someone capable of leading troops in battle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such a person either came from a lineage steeped in military tradition, with father or elders guiding him in person—like himself—or else possessed a divine gift, an innate talent and wisdom bestowed by God; the latter was especially rare.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Enough, Arthur,” Blundel observed his expression and interjected at the right moment: “We should return to prayer.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Every night before battle, knights and clerics prayed; lords, nobles, and kings held masses and made sacrifices—all to show God their piety and effort. Meanwhile, knights loved to shout and brawl, and the camp was always thick with smoke and noise from livestock, merchants, and women…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But on the morning the battle truly began, as dawn spilled across the flat ground between Fostat and the attackers, an unusual silence descended.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The defenders within the city seemed to know today was the day; they held their breath, waiting until the last mist cleared, revealing the towering monstrosities—massive siege engines, giant trebuchets, triangular scaling ladders, “turtles” and “mice,” and siege towers rising into the clouds—like the fangs of beasts bared before them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The King made his final charge before his army; no words were needed. Every man, every horse, every machine here knew its duty. He raised his hand, then brought it down hard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Drummers beat their drums, horns blared, and messengers sprinted with banners toward every position.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The infantry formed the vanguard, moving in small groups spaced apart, holding up willow-shield walls—the very ones Baldwin and Cesar had seen—hiding their bodies and heads as much as possible behind them. At first they ran fast, then slowed as they neared the range of the city’s archers—knights’ daily taunts weren’t just for show; by the time these men stopped and set their shields before the trench, losses remained minimal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another group of peasant soldiers quickly pushed two-wheeled or single-wheeled carts forward, dumping soil and rubble into the trench.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that moment, the King’s Gate burst open, and a squadron of Saracen cavalry charged out—but the King had anticipated this. A pre-positioned force of knights met them head-on, engaging in fierce combat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The trench was rapidly filled—not because the Saracens had been negligent or lax in their defenses, but because Amalric I cared nothing for wealth or lives. Though some arrows from the walls pierced the shield walls, peasant soldiers and infantry continued to fall, replaced without pause by fresh men; soil, rubble, carts, even corpses were all shoved into the trench.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Fostat has no moat. That’s a good thing,” Raymond said to those beside him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But not easy to bite through,” said Bryce Gerard, father of Damara and head of the Gerard family. Damara’s affection for Cesar had long troubled him, but now he had to set aside his daughter’s concerns and focus entirely on the battlefield.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that moment, a messenger arrived, gasping for breath, bearing the King’s command—“Attack!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This time, it was no longer just orderly but sparse infantry lines. The monstrous machines lined up before the positions began to move slowly forward amid the soldiers’ roars. Their bases were fitted with wheels, pushed by dozens, even over a hundred men. Throughout the advance, commands to “fire” rang out incessantly—stone projectiles hurtled through the air with terrifying whistles, striking the walls in straight arcs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But these projectiles weren’t powerful enough to destroy the walls; their high frequency and speed served only to suppress the defenders. Alongside the trebuchets, siege towers, and battering rams came dense ranks of infantry, wielding longswords and shields, advancing steadily and slowly through flying debris, dust, and flames.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yes, the defenders on the walls also deployed trebuchets, launching stone balls wrapped in flame—but their primary target wasn’t men, but the siege towers, towering like moving fortresses.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If this viscous flame landed on wood or flesh, it ignited fiercely at once—but only one or two siege towers caught fire. Inside each tower, water and sand were prepared to extinguish flames; leather sacks filled with earth and water hung from the outer walls, and those inside would put out fires, while soldiers outside did the same.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“They’re moving!” a knight assigned to observation shouted. The saint had granted him extraordinary vision—he saw distant things like a hawk. Even from the King’s camp, he could see fully armed knights sprinting across the drawbridge connecting Fostat and Laude Island.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The King could have sent cavalry to counter them, but after a brief hesitation, he told his messenger: “Tell Baldwin to prepare!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The young men waiting in the tent instantly stirred with excitement. They murmured prayers, crossed themselves over their chests—they were barely teens or early twenties, at their most passionate and purest stage, and their friendship with Baldwin was most sincere. Since they had come to Baldwin’s side, if they survived this battle with honor, they would surely remain in Arasal, becoming Baldwin’s trusted men.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Using the cover of a reed marsh, they reached a spot not far from the bridge. The Saracens had built an arrow tower at each end of the bridge—simple but sturdy. About a man’s height above ground, the base was solid mudbrick, possibly packed with rubble; above it, wooden beams were mortised together, draped with damp leather to guard against fire.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the platform atop the tower was made of wood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They waited until the Saracen cavalry crossed the bridge toward the front lines, then charged out—so as not to meet reinforcements head-on.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin’s Polax led all of them, his bright lance taking shape in his hand. The Saracens on the tower saw this and knew he was a knight touched by the Prophet. They immediately raised a cry, raised their crossbows, and fired at him, hoping to slow him down—or better yet, kill him beneath the tower.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But no matter how powerful their crossbows or how sharp their arrows, not one pierced him. For Cesar followed close behind, his power stronger and heavier than at the Battle of Tortosa—like another layer of scales covering himself and Baldwin, yet weightless and unobtrusive.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin’s lance, amid the shouts—Saracens from fear, Christian knights from exhilaration—pierced the junction between wood and mudbrick like a wedge through flesh, shattering it instantly. Stone and earth tumbled, wood splintered—Baldwin reined his horse around, and Cesar twisted his body and slammed into it!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This blow shook the tower’s foundation. Its structure was always heavy below, narrow in the middle, wide above. Though the lance and shield’s impact didn’t topple it immediately, it sent the men atop into panic. The young knights surged forward, firing burning arrows into the platform and gaps. The tower surely held water for extinguishing fires, but arrows rained down thickly; some knights even shot arrows at the walls and the tower’s peaked roof.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And for some reason, even when the Saracens brought water, they struggled to douse the flames—it only grew fiercer. They screamed “Greek fire,” covered it with mud and sand, but to little effect. The fire spread, blazing fiercely. Saracens inside leapt into the river; others, consumed by flames, lost control and jumped straight onto the bridge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that moment, a group of Saracen infantry charged from the other end of the bridge, carrying round shields and bows. Seeing the knights rushing onto the bridge, they immediately fired arrows—but these knights were chosen by Baldwin, blessed by God; ordinary arrows could not harm them. The lead Saracen shouted something, and they raised their round shields again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Javelins!” Baldwin understood their words and warned instantly. The shields dropped, and javelins rained down like a storm. Two knights and their horses fell at once—but Baldwin had no time to spare for them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His “Spear of Saint George” hummed, lengthening steadily until it reached the length of a standard lance. Polax galloped at full speed; wind swept past his eyes, yet he felt no sting. Without looking, he knew Cesar was beside him, behind him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This is God’s will!” he shouted, then charged into the Saracen shield wall, where javelins and scimitars gleamed behind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Like a hill swallowed by floodwaters, the Saracens facing Baldwin felt only a furious hurricane or collapsing boulders—some force beyond human resistance. They fell backward, split apart to either side, blood spraying, flesh torn, some thrown far away only to be found dead upon landing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And this force wasn’t one—it was two. When Cesar spurred Castor over their bodies, no one dared raise their courage to resist. They either fled back to the fortress or ran toward the other arrow tower.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Baldwin!” Cesar called. When he scouted earlier, he’d sensed this tower differed slightly from the last. Now he knew: the base of this tower had an opening, concealed by wooden planks coated in mud, facing the fortress—so at a glance, it was invisible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin dismounted and thrust his “Spear of Saint George” hard into the entrance. Arrows rained down, stones were hurled, even torches—each one blocked by Cesar.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After about ten breaths, Arthur arrived, furious he hadn’t joined the real fight—mainly because Baldwin and Cesar moved too fast. He saw Baldwin had already charged inside, and he… he got stuck. The entrance was narrow, piled with planks and corpses…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing this, Cesar dragged him out and went in himself. The narrow tower was ill-suited for knightly combat. Baldwin had drawn his short sword and fought Saracens wielding scimitars. Of course, with Cesar present, their battle was nearly unfair.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin had just killed the last Saracen and shoved his body off the tower when he saw Blundel leading a group pushing a scaling ladder. This ladder had no support and wasn’t tall enough, but its base had iron spikes to pierce the ground, and its top had iron hooks to latch onto the battlements—perfect for this low fortress.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin ran down the tower and, with his companions, pushed the ladder against the fortress wall. Some reinforcements fought off Saracens charging from the fortress; others, led by Arthur, held steel shields and thick oxhide to shield them from boiling water, burning oil, and scalding excrement poured down by the defenders.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You won’t get to go first this time!” Arthur shouted, utterly unconcerned as filth splattered his face. Baldwin and Cesar remained silent, stepping aside to let him climb first. But then Baldwin nudged Cesar—Cesar understood: Blundel had already told Baldwin… this Arthur might be a scoundrel who’d just fled from another battlefield.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The first man to climb the ladder faced the greatest danger. Before he even showed his head, he was surrounded by Saracens who hacked and slashed at him, shouting wildly. But Arthur didn’t care—he had already prayed, seeking Saint Paul’s favor. The saint’s radiance allowed him to feel no pain, no weakness, no matter how severe his wounds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But this time, his sensation was especially strange—hard to describe. If before, battle had felt like swords cutting through grease, now it felt like slicing through silk. He saw people screaming, their faces twisted in terror, blood spraying, entrails spilling—but all of it felt distant, as if unrelated to him. He simply pushed forward, forward, forward!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1902,"2026-06-20T20:58:34.857Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","1cabed4492863c4a42668a90f53a677c58efc1e935f28c12bd3cfa3cde2657b3","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-86","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-84",168,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-cover.jpg"]