Lord: Starting from the Pit-Dwelling Courtyard

Chapter 127: Internal Strife

In a moment of crisis, Tecott forcefully lunged to the right.

The crossbow bolt, originally aimed directly at his back, tore his entire arm apart.

The crossbow bolts, still powerful, remained embedded in the parapet of the horse-face wall.

The butt of the gun was still vibrating violently.

Frederick swallowed hard; if he were shot, it would definitely pierce right through him.

Frederick was surprised for less than a second before he raised his axe and stabbed at the ground-based Tecott.

Ignoring his injuries, Tecott rolled several times, then braced himself with his right arm on the ground to vault over the parapet. The next second, a crossbow bolt was driven into the spot where he had just been lying, and shards of rock splattered all over his face.

He grabbed a broken ladder in mid-air and used it to fall to the ground, the blood from his severed arm flying in an arc as he landed.

Two goblin heroes rushed over, grabbed him, and dragged him backward. A third crossbow bolt followed, piercing the chest of the hero who was dragging him.

As Frederick looked out from the parapet, he saw Tecott being escorted by a group of goblin heroes as he fled towards the camp.

The eight crossbows on the north wall seemed to have collectively turned their arrows around, continuously firing arrows at the squad where Tecott was located.

The power and speed of the Eight-Bull Crossbow are beyond question; they are not something that a mere goblin hero can withstand or dodge.

Along the way, seven or eight more goblin corpses were left behind.

Before Frederick could even sigh, he heard a painful groan.

The Wyvern, the pride of the Wyvern tribe, fell, with more than twenty crossbow bolts stuck in its body.

The sound of retreat horns echoed from the goblin camp.

The goblin army, suffering heavy losses and with its morale wavering, began to retreat.

A deafening cheer erupted from the city wall.

As the goblins retreated into the camp, two giant catapults specially made by Ron slowly rose up, followed by the falling of a huge counterweight box.

The entire city seemed to tremble.

The fifty-pound stone projectile was flung out by the throwing arm, flew over the heads of all the militiamen on the city wall, over the still-burning wreckage of the battering ram outside the barbican, and flew toward the goblin camp before beginning its descent.

The moment they landed, a visible shockwave, carrying debris and severed limbs, exploded outwards from the ground of the goblin camp.

The stone didn't stop; it smashed through the sand on the surface of the camp, bounced up to about half a person's height, and then continued to roll forward with its momentum.

A cowhide tent was flattened, and the sound of the tent poles breaking was swallowed up by the muffled thud of rolling stones before it could even be heard.

Several goblins who were sharpening their knives by the tent were caught in the trajectory of the rolling stone projectile. The whetstone and dagger flew several feet away, leaving only a shallow, bloody ditch in their place.

The stone bullet rolled for another ten meters before stopping, embedding itself in a pile of overturned supply crates, its surface covered in mud and black blood.

Along the entire strip of earth it dragged behind, there wasn't a single intact tent, nor a single standing goblin.

The noise in the camp was put on hold for a moment.

The retreating goblin warriors stood there dumbfounded, their mouths agape as they stared at the suddenly empty space around them.

A goblin archer knelt on the edge of the crushed earth, clutching half a broken bowstring in his hand, with an unrecognizable pile of his companion on the ground in front of him.

He knelt for a few seconds, then let out a scream that wasn't a battle cry, threw down his bowstring, and turned to run deeper into the camp.

The second stone then fell, hitting the wolf rider stakes on the west side of the camp.

Several giant wolves that were still on their reins were overturned by the shockwave, and the sound of breaking chains mingled with the howls of wolves.

A dire wolf, having broken free of its leash, ran wildly through the camp, dragging half a chain behind it and knocking over braziers and weapon racks along the way.

Embers were poured onto the tents, and flames suddenly shot up from several tents, filling the air with thick smoke mixed with the stench of burning meat.

Iron Fang stood in front of the central command tent, his right eye wide open, his severed claw clenched until it turned white.

He wasn't unfamiliar with catapults; he had seen those wooden frames used to smash stones more than ten years ago when he followed the previous chieftain to attack Gorubak Fortress, but those catapults could only hit a few hundred paces at most.

He deliberately set up camp in a depression a kilometer away from the city wall, thinking that this distance would be safe enough.

The crater from the second stone's impact was only a few dozen steps away from his tent.

"Withdraw the main camp to the rear." Tieya's voice was low, but the messenger next to him had already scrambled out.

The reason this incident terrified them was because it happened in the camp, a place they considered relatively safe.

But even this place isn't safe now. The goblins, who have just suffered a defeat, don't even have a safe place to rest. How desperate they must be.

This is a very serious blow to morale.

Pertour lay on the animal skin mat in the tent, black blood seeping from his seven orifices, his fingers still twitching unconsciously.

The mental backlash from Feilong's death prevented him from casting spells for at least three days.

The clan chief personally led the army to attack the city, and he has now temporarily taken over as the highest commander of the camp.

Beneath the dragon flagpole, goblin elites were desperately trying to hold back the frightened giant wolf.

The call to retreat had already been sounded, but the chaos was even greater than during the siege.

The casualties during the siege occurred at the foot of the city wall; the bodies were dragged away and replaced by others, and the ranks still maintained their formation.

The panic in the camp was now invisible. The goblin warriors were not afraid of dying on the city walls, but they could not understand this kind of death that came from the sky, a kilometer away.

A goblin covered in the blood of his comrades squatted at the edge of a crater created by a stone projectile, looking down at the still steaming rubble at the bottom of the crater, muttering a single word over and over.

Upon returning to camp and witnessing this scene, Tecott could no longer suppress his anger and spat out a mouthful of blood.

When Iron Fang saw the chieftain in such a miserable state, his expression changed slightly. He quickly led the chieftain's personal guards to protect Iron Tete closely.

After retreating to their camp, many of the goblin heroes who had participated in the siege began to have their eyes gleam when they saw the pitiful state of Tecott.

Many of the skilled squads that Tekot led to the siege were members of the tribe who were dissatisfied with Tekot.

They submitted to Tecott out of fear of his power. Now that Tecott has been severely injured and his strength greatly reduced, some cunning goblin heroes are starting to stir.

Just as Iron Fang snatched Ironcot away and shielded him behind his back, two goblin heroes walked towards him at the same time.

The leader of the mad wolves revealed a ferocious smile: "Iron Fang, get out of the way. We have something to say to the chieftain."

Iron Fang shook his head. He knew very well that once he stepped aside, the situation would be irreversible, and the clan leader would be in mortal danger.

It was because that's how Tecott got to know the old patriarch back then, and then twisted off his head.

Just as tensions were running high, a large hand landed on Iron Fang's shoulder.

"Leave the rest to me!"

Upon hearing the familiar voice, Tieya patted his chest and respectfully withdrew.

Seeing Tecott approaching, Mad Wolf was not afraid at all. He was the pinnacle of goblin heroes and was only one step away from becoming the Goblin King.