"Get up there, no retreat..."
Zhao Xian drew his sword and slew a soldier who had dropped his weapon and tried to flee, then shouted at the soldiers around him who showed signs of retreating.
Fighting means death.
Fleeing means death.
For them, it was better to die a glorious death in battle.
At least their reputation would sound better.
Tonight's attack was exceptionally fierce. Usually, after fighting for so long, the rebels would have retreated like the tide withdrawing, but this time they entangled for so long.
The gold liquid and stones were all used up.
Only then did the rebels retreat.
However, a vague sense of foreboding arose in Zhao Xian's heart as he scanned the city walls.
Some soldiers were resting, others were bandaging the wounded.
Zhao Xian's gaze shifted to within the city.
Inside the city, conscripted laborers urgently moved rolling stones and gold liquid to the city tower.
