Menachel arrived with the third wave of troops.
He divided his three thousand soldiers into three groups. The other two waves were led by Kay and Gawain, respectively. The three waves of soldiers arrived one after another at Lihe City, giving its defenders the illusion that reinforcements were on the way.
Upon reaching Lihe City, Menachel saw Kay's figure approach from afar.
"How's the situation?"
"I've carried out several feigned attacks with Sir Gawain over the past few days, but the situation isn't looking good," Kay replied with a grim expression. They had followed Menachel's strategy of "only losing, never winning." As soon as Lihe's defenders left the city to engage, Camelot's soldiers would collapse in an instant when they clashed in close combat.
They had lost multiple times in a row, which not only convinced Lihe's defenders but also led Camelot to start believing the same.
"Even though Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot are holding the rear, after several defeats, we've already lost nearly three hundred soldiers," Kay said, clearly worried. As one of the few who understood the dire situation in Camelot, Kay knew how crucial this expeditionary force was to their cause.
"It's time to close the net."
Though Menachel should have probed a bit more for safety, any further feigned defeats would lead to unacceptable losses.
"Pass the order: the entire army should prepare to assault the city."
Kay opened his mouth to say something, but Menachel's gaze was already fixed on the distant Lihe City, renowned as the most impregnable fortress in Britain. Today, he would shatter its "invincible" legend.
This was the fourth siege in the last five days. Naturally, there was some grumbling among the soldiers, but as the elite defenders of Camelot, they still displayed the courage required once they set foot on the battlefield—at least, they couldn't flee before the clash.
Before the army could even begin preparing for the siege, a barrage of arrows shot down like raindrops, meeting the advancing forces head-on.
The drums sounded, and amidst the deafening shouts, the wide city gates closed down. A temporary bridge had been constructed over the wide and muddy Tamar River. The cavalry, already ready within Lihe City, emerged through the rising dust. The sound of hooves and the screeching of battle horses immediately ignited the start of war.
The city's commander personally donned armor and took the lead, leaving the city's defense to his deputy. He led the eight hundred iron-clad cavalry straight toward the enemy's ranks.
The previous victories had made him bolder, especially after hearing from captured soldiers that the enemy general was none other than Menachel, the feared Death Knight of Camelot. His desire for fame and glory burned even hotter.
In the past, his excessive caution had caused him to miss the chance to annihilate the enemy in one go. He had even hesitated to cross the river, but now he believed Menachel was all show.
"Follow me, and kill the enemy!"
His roar was lost amidst the tumult of battle. His lance gleamed coldly, and his horse sped up, as he distanced himself from the following cavalry.
His eyes swept over a group of unmounted targets, his lance like a poisonous snake seeking its prey. In a few breaths, the gap closed, and he was about to strike.
A figure blocked his path.
A knight in red and white heavy armor, holding a large sword as tall as a man, with a mask like a demon's face.
A demon-faced knight? If it were before, he would have been wary of such an opponent, but now…
"Die!"
He thrust his lance forward, aiming directly for the enemy's heart.
The opportunity to make a name for himself by stepping over the body of the most feared knight—who wouldn't want that?
But at that moment, Menachel also raised his hands, pressing the horse's head down into the dirt, while he pushed forward, allowing the enemy's lance to scrape loudly against his armor.
In that moment, Menachel used his left hand to grab the enemy's wrist and with a powerful tug, pulled him off the horse. The enemy seemed stunned by the strength of the pull, frozen in place.
With a swift motion, Menachel hurled the enemy into the air, then drew his sword and swung the back of the blade down onto the opponent's body. The enemy commander crashed into the cavalry behind him, throwing them into disarray.
Menachel sheathed his sword and his vertical pupils slowly returned to normal. He didn't seize the opportunity to attack while his opponent was disoriented; instead, he calmly waited.
In Menachel's view, the soldier at the front of the enemy line had unknowingly ruined his plan. He had intended to release his illusionary aura as all the cavalry charged out, but this particularly bold man had created a gap, pushing forward while the other cavalry had not yet entered range.
The commander's death did not slow the cavalry's charge. The heat and swirling dust filled the air, stimulating every cell in Menachel's body. He could even feel the cold gleam of the lances drawing nearer.
The moment had come!
His pupils transformed into the deep, dragon-like slits as he pulled his sword from the ground. With a powerful swing, he cleaved through the empty air.
The sword struck the earth with such force that dust swirled into the air, and a surge of red and black magic exploded around Menachel like thunder.
"Die!"
In the midst of shocked onlookers, the horses in front of Menachel suddenly collapsed as though struck by an invisible blade, and the ground shook with the sound of heavy impacts.
Each warhorse foamed at the mouth, writhing on the ground in agony. In the blink of an eye, Menachel straightened, his blood racing with excitement. He raised his massive sword with a savage grin on his face, shouting, "Charge!"
Behind him, over a thousand of Camelot's soldiers watched as the cavalry struggled to rise from the ground. The wavering soldiers, upon witnessing this, surged forward like wounded beasts.
Amidst the chaos, Menachel sensed something and raised his head. His red eyes locked with someone on the city walls of Lihe. With a malicious smile, he took off his helmet and flashed the commander a grin.
"Quick! Close the city gates!"
On the walls of Lihe, the deputy commander's face turned pale when he met Menachel's gaze. He paid no attention to the massacre below—aside from the eight hundred cavalry, only two hundred soldiers remained, and even if reinforcements arrived, it would be too late.
This is a monster that no human could defeat.
"Write a letter! Ask for help! Have reinforcements sent from other cities!"
The deputy's voice was frantic, knowing full well that if he stepped outside the gates, he would undoubtedly die.
But before he could give the order, a dull thud echoed from the gates, draining the color from his face.
The gates, made of enchanted materials, suddenly caved inward with a visible crack. The deputy immediately looked down, his heart freezing in terror as Menachel's blood-red eyes glinted back at him.
Wasn't he just on the opposite bank of the river? Did he fly here?
Before the deputy could process this, Menachel swung his sword again, the red and white blade crackled with lightning as it collided with the gates for a second time. There was no force pushing back as the sword struck again and again, each blow cracking the gates further.
Finally, growing impatient, Menachel used both hands to thrust the sword into the completely deformed gates.
"Stop him!"
The deputy's command came too late, and the soldiers were snapped out of their stupor.
But it was already too late. The gates were split open, revealing Menachel's grinning face.
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