Wizard: Starting from the Skill Tree-Chapter 497: Predicament

Tom was young, although disheveled, his physique was indeed stronger than an ordinary farmer, and that fleeting Fighting Spirit glow was genuine.

A Knight Attendant who could use Fighting Spirit, even at the lowest rank, could play a greater role in defending the city than ordinary soldiers.

"Open the gates! Let him in!" the Guard Captain waved and ordered.

A heavy winch sounded, and the drawbridge slowly lowered.

Old Bill and his wife’s eyes just lit up with a trace of hope, only to see Tom standing still, looking back at his parents with a determined gaze, shouting to the wall:

"Sir! My parents are right here! I am willing to give half of my daily rations to them, and I won’t take extra from the castle’s reserves! I just ask that they can come in with me and have a place to stay!"

Tom knew very well that he could go in without a problem, but his parents stood no chance of getting in.

Food in the city was limited and wouldn’t be used to support the old, weak, sick, or disabled, so he made this proposition actively.

The Guard Captain frowned, glancing at the elderly and frail Old Bill and his wife.

After some thought, since it wouldn’t require extra rations, and they would gain another fighter, he saw no issue with it.

"...Alright!" After a moment’s consideration, the Guard Captain finally nodded, "Remember your words! Once inside, you must follow orders without error!"

"Yes! Thank you, Sir!" Tom responded loudly, immediately turning to help his nearly exhausted parents, stumbling over the lowered drawbridge amidst countless envious, jealous, or apathetic gazes.

Passing through the dim gate, they entered the castle’s interior, which was crowded, noisy, and filled with a tense, oppressive atmosphere.

They were assigned to a small, cramped corner at the base of the wall, already crowded with the families of some townspeople and low-ranking soldiers who had entered earlier.

Old Bill sat down against the cold stone wall, watching his son Tom being led by a soldier to register and receive tasks.

He tightly held his wife’s trembling hand with his rough palm, his heart heavy with mixed emotions.

They were temporarily safe, having entered a seemingly secure fortress, but that safety was exchanged with his son’s already meager rations and potential future sacrifice.

He looked at the equally restless people around him, gazing at the towering stone walls that isolated the outside terror yet also confined hope.

For the first time, he felt so clearly that in the face of sudden disaster, the weight of life was so starkly measured by value.

And their old couple’s value was merely sustained by their son’s just budding, insignificant strength.

The following days were a period of collapsing order and spreading darkness for Bessom County.

Beginning with the fall of Gravel Town, a dark purple plague started to spread throughout the county.

Messengers never returned from remote villages, only occasionally did disheveled refugees bring fragmented and horrific news.

Black Creek Valley was no more; the villagers and the valley were corroded into a wasteland by acid.

Shepherd’s Hill only had scattered bones and broken sheep wool left; even the Flint Quarry, with a small guard, was overwhelmed by a sea of Insects after holding out for just a day.

Only a few miners narrowly escaped, frantically describing how the mine was quickly covered by disgusting fungal mats.

The small reconnaissance teams sent by Viscount Barton vanished like stones dropped into the sea.

The only team that brought back valuable information was a cavalry troop that broke through against all odds, reporting that the numbers of the Insect Race far exceeded expectations.

Moreover, they weren’t aimlessly wandering but moving purposefully towards population centers and resource points.

Panic spread like the plague, faster even than the Insect Race itself.

Roads in the county became crowded with fleeing masses, like panicked herds blindly rushing to places they deemed safe.

Mainly to Viscount Barton’s main city and a few towns with solid defenses.

However, many small towns and estates, faced with both the refugee tide and the probable oncoming Insect Race, collapsed under the pressure, their guards fled, bandits ran amok, and they began disintegrating internally before ever seeing the Insect Race.

Life inside Stone Shield Castle, where Viscount Barton resided, wasn’t any easier.

This castle, built from solid rock and hailed as the Shield of Bessom County, was now under unprecedented pressure. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

The population surged several folds in a matter of days, with every corner packed, makeshift huts lined up along corridors, stables, warehouse edges, and even the open lands outside the walls.

The air became foul, filled with the stench of sweat, excrement, and an omnipresent sense of fear. Sanitary conditions sharply deteriorated; despite the managers’ best efforts to maintain order, small frictions and conflicts still occasionally erupted.

Beneath the towering gray walls of Stone Shield Castle, thousands of people fleeing from various regions have gathered.

They clustered like a dense ant colony in the narrow space between the walls and the outer defenses, shoulder to shoulder, with almost no room to step.

The air was filled with the rancid stench of sweat and excrement, alongside a deeper, more stifling aura of despair.

The castle’s drawbridge remained suspended, the gates tightly shut. The number of soldiers on the walls doubled, armed with longbows and crossbows, their expressionless gazes, filled only with fatigue, tension, and an imperceptible hint of fear, coldly fixed on the refugees below.

Viscount Barton had long issued the order that with limited resources in the castle, no new refugees would be accepted, and all food would prioritize the garrison and existing residents.

This meant that the thousands thronging the base of the walls were denied not only entry into the safe fortress but even a morsel of food for survival.

At first, some still plead persistently, crying and shouting, banging their heads against the heavy wooden doors.

But what they received was only warning arrows shot precisely at their feet from the walls, along with the emotionless shouts of the guard officers: "Back off! Approach again, and you will be killed without mercy!"

After a few days, the pleading gradually diminished, replaced by a deathly silence and at night, the suppressed whimpers reminiscent of wounded beasts.

Hunger and disease quickly began to harvest lives.

The elderly and children were the first to fall, curled in their relatives’ arms, quietly taking their last breath.

The unattended corpses were casually dragged to distant heaps, attracting pecks from crows and carrion animals, a scene no less terrifying than the havoc brought by the Insect Race.

Occasionally, a basket would lower from the castle, containing scant rations of black bread mixed heavily with bran and sand, or a few barrels of watery gruel.

This did little to stave off hunger and instead ignited frantic scrambles and brawls.

To fight for a bite of moldy food, the usually humble neighbor might instantly transform into a beast fighting for life and death.