"CHARGE OUT!!!!"
Lauchlan's roar shattered the sky.
This simple farmer, who had spent his life bowing to better men, now sounded like a titan. The old Lauchlan died in that scream. A warrior was born.
The soldiers, stunned by the sheer ferocity of their commander, snapped out of their terror.
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
Like hounds released from a cage, they surged forward.
Lauchlan led the charge, using his body like a battering ram to smash into the wall of wildlings clogging the gate.
"For Lord Solomon!!" Lauchlan bellowed. "For ourselves!!"
The soldiers crashed into the enemy. The narrow gateway became a meat grinder.
Screams, grunts, the crunch of bone, the wet slap of steel on flesh—it was a symphony of death.
The gate was narrow; only three men could stand abreast. Bronn held the center, a whirlwind of steel. Only twenty wildlings had made it inside before the counter-charge hit them.
It became a crush.
Wildlings pushed from the outside. Lowlanders pushed from the inside.
Shoulder to shoulder. Face to face. Blood mixing with sweat.
There was no room to swing a sword. Men stabbed with daggers. They bit noses. They gouged eyes with thumbs.
A wildling screamed as a soldier ripped his ear off with his teeth.
A soldier fell and was instantly trampled into a bloody paste by friend and foe alike.
Ethics, honor, humanity—gone.
It was primal. Push or die. Fall and be crushed.
The ground turned into a slurry of mud, blood, and entrails. Every step was a slip; every breath was a gasp of iron-scented air.
Outside, the Chief of the Milk Snakes froze.
He had never seen "sheep" fight like this. He expected them to break. Instead, they were pushing back.
The pressure was immense. Wildlings at the front were being crushed to death against shields, their ribs snapping like dry twigs.
"Back! Move back!" the Chief tried to shout, realizing the danger.
But his voice was lost in the roar of the mob. The frenzy had taken over.
And someone was watching him.
The Chief tried to rally his men, grabbing them by their furs and punching them to restore order.
But he never finished his command.
Thwack!
A dagger flew from the darkness of the gate. It buried itself deep in his eye socket.
The Milk Snake Chief collapsed without a sound.
"Push, you maggots!" Bronn screamed, having thrown the knife. "Push them out!!"
He kicked his own allies in the back, forcing them forward into the crush. He was gasping for air, covered in blood that wasn't his.
He had no choice. He was trapped. He hated Solomon, he hated these peasants, but he hated dying more.
"Good... job... brother!" Solomon wheezed from behind the line, shoving a soldier forward. "I'm... giving... you... a... raise!!"
His chest felt like it was exploding. He could barely speak.
Bronn didn't even look at him. He just kept kicking.
The stalemate at the gate was brutal. The dead piled up, creating a ramp of flesh.
But then, the earth began to tremble.
At first, it was subtle. A vibration in the soles of their boots.
Then, it grew. A low rumble, like a beast waking up deep underground.
"Damn it! Finally!" Bronn cursed, feeling the shake.
The wildlings looked around in confusion. The earth was moving?
But Solomon's soldiers knew.
Solomon raised his sword, sucking in air for ten agonizing seconds.
"BROTHERS!!!!"
"PUSH THEM OUT!!!!!"
The soldiers roared. It wasn't defense anymore. It was survival.
"OUT!"
"OUT!"
They summoned strength they didn't have. They stabbed, shoved, and head-butted. The wall of wildlings buckled.
Surprised by the sudden ferocity and the terrifying rumble beneath their feet, the front ranks of the clansmen gave way. They stumbled back.
Many fell and were trampled.
The defensive line surged out of the gate, reclaiming the entrance!
RUMBLE.
The sound grew to a deafening roar. Like a thousand horses charging. Like the sky falling.
"Water! It's water!!" an archer on the wall screamed, pointing up the valley. He was weeping with relief.
A wall of brown, churning water was tearing down the valley.
Trees snapped like matchsticks. Boulders were tossed like pebbles. The dam had broken.
"Run! Run!"
A wildling finally understood. He screamed, turning to flee up the slope.
But it was too late.
The roar swallowed all other sounds.
The vanguard of the flood hit the mass of wildlings outside the gate.
There was no battle. No resistance.
Four hundred warriors were swept away like ants in a gutter.
They vanished instantly into the churning, muddy chaos.
Inside the fort, the soldiers scrambled up the wooden walls to safety as the water slammed against the hill.
Silence fell over the survivors.
Then, a single soldier raised his sword.
"Solomon!"
Another joined him. "Solomon!"
One by one, the chant grew.
"Solomon!"
"Solomon!"
No titles. No "Lord." No "Sir." Just the name.
"SOLOMON!!!!"
The name echoed through the valley, louder than the flood, shaking the heavens.
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