"Old Bolton not only went out personally, but also brought out his top general Ericson. Whether it is marching or camping, it is very organized. Whether it is an ambush or a night attack, we are afraid that it will be difficult to get an advantage.
If it's just a narrow victory, we can't talk about the next step at all, and it won't mean much. I don't think the two of you want to see that situation." Sean explained patiently, after all, these two are his allies, not himself.
It is a wrong thing in itself to change the plan without telling his subordinates.
"As long as the scourge of Old Bolton is eradicated, it will be worth it even if we all stay here." Skullcrusher Mikey said with red eyes.
"When did you go out for reconnaissance?" Scavenger Clayton's concerns were obviously different from McGee's. They had been almost inseparable these days, and Sean had never been seen acting alone.
"The night before yesterday, there was only a ridge between us and Old Bolton. I went out to Four Hourglasses in the second half of the night." Sean said with a serious face, "The reason why I changed the plan without telling you is because I was afraid that you would be caught.
Hatred has gone to his head. Old Bolton is just a minor injury, and Bastille is the real cancer. If we just kill old Bolton, it won't take long for other Boltons to appear. If the supreme rule of the Manyu Army is
If the outsiders get involved again, we will not have a good life. If the Bastille is uprooted, it will directly cut off the old Bolton's escape route. The other party can only turn around and fight us desperately. Then let him have a taste of what he built.
How strong is the castle? Why not enjoy it while waiting for work?"
"The plan sounds perfect." Clayton said in a strange shadow, "But it is too idealistic. The Bastille is said to have eight thousand defenders. Even if Old Bolton took away the most elite three thousand, there would still be some left.
What about five thousand? Let alone five thousand, even if it’s one thousand, we just can’t crack this tough nut, right? When old Bolton comes back to fight, we will become sandwich bread.”
"If we attack by force, let alone us, even if there are ten times more people, if we want to bite down the Bastille, we have to be prepared to break a few teeth." Sean didn't take it seriously. If Clayton didn't
If you raise any doubts, that's what's really wrong. "If it's a surprise attack, especially a night attack, the success rate will be greatly improved. The eight thousand defenders of the Bastille also include the slaves they drove.
In its heyday, these people would naturally not have any second thoughts, but now that Bastille is at its weakest, we only need to cripple the remaining regular troops in Bastille, and those slaves will surrender without a fight."
"It's still a bit risky." Scavenger Barleyton muttered, agreeing with Sean's plan.
After all, the feasibility is not low, and the people it brings are hunters and archers. Even if they are recruited by Sean, they can only shoot arrows from a distance. The ones who really charge into the battle are McGee's people. I have made up my mind. If
If something goes wrong, immediately retreat with your own people and never continue to interfere blindly.
Sean is such a smart kid, and I obviously can't keep up with his ideas. I don't even know if I was tricked by accident. In the past, we were able to play happily together because Sean didn't show any ambition, but this time
This time the other party is obviously different from before.
"It's done, I'm still saying the same thing, that old bastard Bolton is mine." Skullcrusher McGee slapped his thigh heavily, giving Sean full trust. This kind of trust was naturally not formed overnight.
If we really talk about it, there is a certain blood relationship between the two. Sean's maternal grandmother was born in Shangshui Village, and his mother Elena and McGee's father are also old acquaintances, and they have saved McGee's life twice.
Counting Sean's rescue once, in McGee's own words, this kind of kindness will never be repaid even in this life. Even if Sean led him to jump into the fire pit, he would not hesitate at all, let alone
Sean has never let him suffer. Life in Shangshui Village has been getting better and better over the years, and Sean and his son are indispensable.
…
Kleist suddenly sat up from the bed, sweating profusely and breathing heavily. After a while, the focus of his eyes returned to focus.
He had another nightmare. This was already the fifth day. The night when Old Bolton led the troops out of the city, he slept a little uneasily. He always felt that he had missed something, but he couldn't remember it.
Since then, he has been plagued by nightmares. He has no memory of what he dreamed about. He only feels that it is very frightening and terrifying. He always has the illusion that his soul will be dragged into the abyss.
Kleist couldn't help but tighten the Holy Etheric Cross in his hand, trying to get some help from it.
However, judging from the traces above, it definitely took no more than three days to make this Holy Etheric Cross, and the prayers were also very difficult to recite.
For such a believer who only burns incense when necessary, it is still unknown whether the Lord of Truth will grant him protection.
He was particularly uneasy tonight. After praying three times in a row, Kleist not only did not calm down, but became even more restless. Even the maid in the outhouse woke up and wanted to come in to serve, but he scolded her out.
"Could something happen to the city lord and the others?" Sly Fox Kleist secretly muttered in his heart.
In the past few days, this was the only thing that made him worry about it, but as soon as this thought came up, he killed it.
The troops that Old Burton brought out were the most elite troops in the Bastille. They were all veterans who had seen blood and served for no less than five years. They were professional soldiers who were proficient in mountain warfare. They were nothing but training all day long.
Several times, the entire Manyu Army, that is, the Golden Camel Heavy Cavalry, the direct descendant of the Duke of Feren, can exceed this level. The rest, whether they are the border troops in various military forts or the local defenders in major cities, cannot be considered professional.
Soldiers, at most, are field soldiers and conscripts. They work as farmers when they are idle and as soldiers when there is war.
Both Old Bolton and Bull Erikson were knowledgeable about military affairs, especially Bull Erikson. He looked honest and reckless on the outside, but in reality it was just a way to confuse people. There were all kinds of generals and knights, and he had never seen any of them.
There are 80 people out there, but no one is as cautious as Erikson.
Especially his decades of caution are even more admirable. This may be related to his background as a gladiator. Only by being cautious can he walk out of that flesh and blood mill alive.
Fox Kleist put on his cloak and decided to go out to relax and take a breath of fresh air, which might help his insomnia.
As soon as he stepped out of the house, Kleist felt a little regretful. The cold wind outside was not biting, but it also brought a dampness to his face, like a drizzle, which made people very uncomfortable.
.
This is what he criticizes most about Bastille. It is located on the wind gust of the Andes Mountains. There are 421 days a year, and there are all kinds of winds blowing 300 days a year.
Among them, the winds in autumn and winter are the most unbearable. Needless to say, the winds in winter are already freezing cold, and when the mountain wind blows like a knife, it makes your whole body feel bad.
The wind in autumn makes people uncomfortable because there is a lot of rain in the Andes Mountains in autumn. The mountain wind carries thick moisture, especially at night, which makes the temperature drop by seven or eight degrees out of thin air. If it blows all night without any precautions
, the next day will be like a drowned rat, if you are not careful, you will become seriously ill.
Fox Crest gritted his teeth and rushed out. Although he had been somewhat pampered in the past two years, his background as a regular knight was there, and he still couldn't finish it after a year and a half.
The personal guard hurriedly followed up with a torch. Kleist's low groan made the personal guard almost kneel down on the spot. This master was lenient to himself and strict with others. His previous few
Ren was killed because of a trivial oversight.
It wasn't until the other party strode towards the city head that the personal guard let out a long sigh of relief. It seemed that he had escaped a disaster today. He must pay attention next time. He would never be lazy or doze off during the night shift. If it was because of a moment of greed,
If you sleep and let yourself fall into eternal sleep, then you will be at a disadvantage to your grandma's house.
The sneaky fox Crest who climbed onto the city wall finally understood what he had missed, and where his greatest uneasiness came from. Old Bolton had taken too many elites away, and he was absolutely infallible, but the Bastille turned into a
A huge sieve.
Yes, there are indeed more than a thousand elites in the Bastille, and there are nearly three thousand slaves of all kinds, but the area that needs to be defended is too large. They rotate day and night, and at most there are three hundred elites and a thousand slaves standing guard at night.
Soldiers, even less.
Because the very strict Bull Erikson was out, these soldiers rarely found opportunities to be lazy. Most of the night guards were in the arrow tower, sleeping with their heads covered in the tower, leaving only one or two slave soldiers fainting in the cold wind.
Want to sleep.
It would be fine if one or two people were like this. Kleist walked seven or eight towers in a row, all with this kind of behavior. His whole body was shaken into a sieve in the cold wind, not from the cold, but from the fright.
The current defense of Bastille is ineffective. He only needs to give him 300 elite soldiers who are proficient in climbing, and he can easily open the gate of Bastille.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
"Enemy attack, enemy attack... uh..."
The sudden stop of the gong and the sharp shouts were so harsh in the cold wind that it made the fox Kleist feel as if he had fallen into the icehouse. Sometimes things are just so small, and you are really afraid of what will happen.
After a brief daze, Fox Kleist kicked the squadron leader guarding the tower awake and roared: "Send a warning quickly, there is an enemy attack." After saying this, he ignored the squadron leader's reaction and rushed forward.
He ran towards the city wall where the warning signal had just been sent.
The captain of the squadron who could serve as a guard for a tower was also a well-trained veteran. After a brief confusion, he beat the gong while kicking his soldiers up, and at the same time, under the hazy moonlight, he shot out from the arrow hole.
Look, I suddenly took a breath of air.
There were shadowy figures on the city wall, and countless figures were climbing up like apes. The seven or eight-meter-high city wall turned out to be useless. With the help of ropes, it took five or six seconds to jump up.
There were muffled grunts and strange grunts coming from outside. This sound was familiar to him. It was the last sound in history when a person's throat was cut and blood poured back into the throat and mouth.