Ashen Dragon-Chapter 378 - 302: Siege and Song

Chapter 378: Chapter 302: Siege and Song

Fayol City was not a significant city, just a small border town in the Sveno Duchy, but it was the last city under the control of the Northern Kingdom.

The North had already fallen completely.

Count Jacob led his brave and fearless “Scania Legion of Glory” in campaigns across the land, raising the banner of the Northern Kingdom, gathering exiled nobles and their private armies from various regions, expanding the legion to tens of thousands of men, and even recapturing several cities in succession.

Supporters of the North, both openly and covertly, were immediately invigorated. They all believed that a miracle was about to happen, that the legendary hero would appear once more to lead them to a glorious victory.

But they hadn’t anticipated this to be the last flicker of life for the North.

Marshal Dolores of the Ashen Kingdom mobilized forces from all across the land to launch an all-out assault on the so-called “Legion of Glory.”

It’s said that for several days and nights, the sound of cannon fire never ceased, and even the ground had been shaved three feet lower, while Count Jacob and his army were forced to retreat bit by bit, suffering severe losses.

In the end, Count Jacob led his last three thousand battered and exhausted men to Fayol City, withdrawing and hunkering down in what was the last city of the North.

…

Sveno Duchy, Fayol City.

The battle-scarred city walls, tattered flags, and dirt-covered soldiers.

A land full of scars, whistling cold wind, and the Ashen Legion occupying the distant wilderness.

Atop the cracked watchtower, Count Jacob stood with his sword as he solemnly gazed at the mottled waves in the distance, his expression unspeakably heavy.

The “Great Wall of the North” was clad in heavy armor, stained with blood and dust from the cannon fire, even peppered with small bullet holes and embedded with shrapnel.

But he still stood tall, like a sturdy pine in the wind and snow.

“Is the North really going to perish?”

He murmured to himself in a voice just loud enough to hear.

Jacob Rosas’ will was firm, he had gained fame in his youth, and his deeds were illustrious. He possessed almost all the qualities a warrior should have.

But even he could not help doubting whether he could achieve victory when he saw the tide-like Ashen army surrounding Fayol City.

Was such an army truly something humans could defeat?

“Lord Earl.”

The adjutant’s voice beside him interrupted his thoughts.

“The Ashen Kingdom’s troops are almost here. This time it’s the main force led by Dolores, along with part of the Starfallen, totaling around twenty thousand men.”

“Good.”

The answer was exceptionally brief but resonant.

The adjutant sighed almost imperceptibly and then asked quietly again:

“Lord Earl, what should we do next?”

“Hold our ground.”

The response was still short and powerful.

But this time, Count Jacob ascended to the top of the watchtower, looked around under the gaze of thousands of soldiers, and swept his gaze over their soot-covered faces.

“Soldiers, I have always considered you my children…”

“And now, I need to tell you—never give up.”

“We are the last hope of the North and the last bastion of the Scania people. We represent the tradition of the North for thousands of years, true order, and justice…”

“We may appear to be fighting alone, but we have countless allies. If we survive, the entire Anzeta will cheer for us. If we perish, the entire Fianso Continent will mourn.”

Finally, Count Jacob raised his sword high.

“For the North.”

The voice was not passionate, but every word was resolute.

And the soldiers, tormented and battered, regained some strength from their fatigue and sorrow.

After such a long war, facing an almost unbeatable foe, Jacob Rosas was not just their commander or their liege; he had become their spiritual pillar and even the embodiment of the Northern Knight’s spirit.

He was also the support for all soldiers to continue living.

As long as Count Jacob did not fall, people would believe in the existence of miracles.

Thus, the soldiers, with their hoarse throats, yelled with all their might.

“For the North! Victory!”

“Fight for the Earl!”

Count Jacob’s gaze swept over the soldiers’ faces, and a dignified emotion surged in his heart. He took a deep breath and slowly opened his mouth.

“I wander with the north wind…”

“White frost brings news of my death…”

“Snow covers my body, my beloved cannot recognize my face…”

This was the Dirge of the North, but in his mouth, it sounded like a victory anthem.

He sang the unyielding will of the Scania people and the firm resolve that this time they would die rather than surrender.

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“But do not grieve for me, for I die on the glorious battlefield…”

The soldiers were also moved and sang this familiar song with their hoarse, deep voices. The long, desolate song echoed across the wilderness, and the solemn atmosphere permeated the city walls.

“I wander with the north wind—”

“White frost brings news of my death—”

The sudden voice was extremely loud.

It easily overshadowed the soldiers’ singing, enveloping the entire city. Everyone looked outside the city, and even Jacob turned his head in surprise.

How was this possible?

How could the Ashen Kingdom’s army sing this song?

Jacob’s psychological defenses were immediately breached, and a trace of despair emerged in his heart.

Yes, all of the North, except for Fayol City, had already fallen. Those former Northerners who had become prisoners would know this song; it wasn’t surprising.

—However, they had no idea that it was an idle player who turned on the sound system, intending to hijack their background music and even planning to remix it into a DJ version.

“May Good Fortune Come to You, May Good Fortune Come!”

“May Good Fortune Bring Joy and Love!”

The Song of the North’s voice paused and then switched to the lively and festive “Good Fortune Comes,” completely clashing with the original murderous atmosphere of the battlefield.

“…”

Count Jacob’s carefully built emotions were shattered into a mess.

He frowned, his expression incredibly grim, silently walking down from the watchtower and instructing the soldiers:

“They are about to attack. Make all necessary preparations.”

Count Jacob did not need to say much more. After all, they had been fighting the Kingdom Army for many days, fully aware of the enemy’s tactics.

Sure enough, the cannon fire started.

The wilderness began to tremble.

An ear-piercing whistling sound tore through the sky.

Count Jacob calmly shouted:

“It’s a bombardment—Get down!”

Before he finished speaking, the soldiers spread out by reflex, lying behind fortifications, with some even going inside the city walls.

They had experienced several rounds of bombardment, fully aware of the terrifying power of such weapons. Most of them were the survivors who had lived through the shelling.

Without this instinct, one couldn’t survive.

But there was nothing they could do about it other than pray for Tampas’ protection, hoping to survive the cannon fire by sheer luck.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

Hundreds of pounds of metal shells fell, blowing people to pieces, and the fragments alone were enough to pierce through flesh.

Death’s scythe continually harvested lives.

But under the cruel torment of war, both commanders and soldiers had become somewhat numb, and death was taken for granted.

They didn’t scream or wail; they merely let out a short “ah” in instinctive exclamation before being blown apart, but this sound was usually drowned out by the explosion.

Flesh and rubble flew, and the city walls turned to ruins under the shelling. Even a few prominent watchtowers collapsed with a loud crash.