The Siege of Fort Morris

In Roger's memory, Irene was a young woman with silvery-white hair and emerald-green eyes who looked no older than twenty.

She was one of the mercenaries recruited while the army was on the march. On the day she joined, she had chatted briefly with Roger, her attitude quite friendly.

Although she hadn't revealed her family name, judging by her equipment—which was far better than most—Roger guessed she was probably one of those noble ladies who had no inheritance rights and no desire for an arranged marriage, intending to leave home and make a name for herself instead.

But that was just speculation. He didn't know the exact rules of nobility in this world; it just felt like the most logical explanation.

“How about someone else?” Roger suggested tentatively.

After all, if she had the temper of a spoiled young lady, throwing a tantrum on the battlefield would be an absolute nightmare. Roger had seen plenty of such people in his past life. Whether they actually had talent was secondary; they would throw a fit the moment the slightest thing didn't go their way.

If this noble lady was that type of person, he had no time to cater to her whims.

“She is a Rank Four warrior, the highest level and best-equipped among those I recruited,” Stine replied. “Staying with her will ensure you are better protected.”

That's exactly the problem, Roger thought to himself.

If the strongest person was assigned to his side, how was he supposed to earn points? She would be taking down enemies with one strike of her sword, while he wouldn't even have time to loose an arrow. If she snatched all the kills, what was the point of him being there?

But he didn't voice this thought. Even if he did, Stine probably wouldn't understand, so he chose a compromise instead:

“Precisely because she is the strongest, she should be positioned at the very front to maximize her value. Sending her to protect me is truly a waste of her talents.”

Knight Stine began to consider the feasibility of Roger's words, before finally nodding in resignation.

“Very well. Since you put it that way, I won't force it.”

As they spoke, the flock of birds flew off into the distance.

“By the way.” Watching the birds fade into the distance, Roger felt no regret and simply changed the subject. “Have you heard any news regarding the cultists lately?”

His experiences over the past few days forced him to pay attention to this matter. After all, every single piece of trouble since his transmigration had been orchestrated by these cultists.

The goblins were their doing, and the monsters in the city were also their doing. They looked every bit like classic, trouble-making villains.

Yet, his understanding of this cult was practically zero.

Perhaps sensing Roger's lack of knowledge about this cult, Stine began to patiently explain.

Roger learned that the cult had no fixed name; sometimes they called themselves the "Purple Sun Sect," and other times they went by different names.

The reason they were identified as the same cult was, of course, because the spells and sacrificial methods they employed were largely identical.

At some unknown point in the past, this cult had begun orchestrating terrorist attacks and sacrificial rituals all over the world, with their ultimate goal being the so-called "descent of the true god."

The church and various nations had joined forces multiple times to purge them, but they had never been able to root them out completely.

I have to say, this perfectly matches my stereotype of an alternate-world cult, Roger grumbled internally, though he thanked Knight Stine on the surface.

Watching Knight Stine walk away, Roger lost his enthusiasm for archery practice. The siege would begin tomorrow or the day after, so he planned to turn in early to avoid carrying any fatigue or stress into the next day.

Three days later.

The melodious blare of horns signaled the start of the siege.

On the noble army's front line, a mage waved his staff, sending a massive fireball hurtling toward the castle. It exploded against a section of the wall, the shockwave blasting debris and a dozen goblins into the air.

After a brief pause, the mage waved his staff once more. Arcs of electricity crackled from the tip of his staff, and several bolts of lightning crashed down from the sky, harvesting the goblins' lives.

The goblin archers scrambled back behind the battlements to evade the lightning strikes, and the rain of arrows pouring down from the walls instantly thinned.

Taking advantage of this opening, the infantry phalanxes advanced toward the castle gates under the command of the knights.

The lightning bombardment ceased after about twenty seconds, and the goblin archers poked their heads back out from behind the battlements.

Arrows rained down from the walls, clattering densely against shields. The shield-bearers held their ground with all their might, but stray arrows still slipped through the gaps between the shields, sending soldiers tumbling to the ground from time to time.

Roger leaned his back against a thick wooden barricade, feeling the vibrations as arrows thudded into the other side.

The force behind the goblins' arrows wasn't particularly strong, but their sheer numbers made up for it, drumming against the wood like a relentless woodpecker.

As an archer, Roger didn't need to charge forward into the rain of goblin arrows.

The allied forces had deployed a row of large pavises fifty meters from the castle walls. These shields had folding stands at the bottom, which, when set up, formed barricades nearly as tall as a man.

Roger's task was to hide behind these shields and shoot at the goblins on the walls and towers until their infantry breached the gap blasted by the fireball.

When the second wave of lightning struck the walls, a brief lull appeared in the goblin archers' volley.

Roger poked his head out from behind the barricade and loosed three arrows in quick succession at the goblin archers atop the watchtower.

As the three goblin archers fell, the system notification chimed.

“Points +120, Total: 342.”

After firing the three arrows, he immediately ducked back behind the barricade, refusing to get greedy. Right on cue, several more arrows thudded into the wood or buried themselves in the ground beside him.

Meanwhile, led by the knights, the infantry phalanxes charged to the foot of the wall, less than ten meters from the breach.

But the lightning bombardment suddenly ground to a halt. The mage needed time to recover his mana and couldn't unleash a third wave so soon.

Without the magical suppression, a new light suddenly flared from the castle's watchtower. Several beams of light shot down from the tower, striking the advancing vanguard in front of the wall with deadly precision.

The soldiers struck by the beams collapsed one after another without even having time to scream, and a scorched stench began to drift through the air.

Roger traced the source of the light and could faintly make out a goblin waving a staff atop the watchtower.

“If I let that thing keep running wild, we probably won't even be able to take the wall,” Roger muttered. He nocked a poison arrow and aimed at the goblin.

As a white vortex gradually condensed around the arrowhead, he released the bowstring.

The arrow transformed into a blurry afterimage. Atop the tower, the goblin mage jerked violently backward. The tip of its staff veered off course, sending the beam of light that was meant for the human soldiers shooting harmlessly into the sky.

The surrounding goblins quickly scrambled to lift it up, and the archers aimed their arrows toward Roger's position, but he had already ducked back behind his barricade.

About ten minutes passed before the system notification sounded:

“Points +200, Total: 542.”

Hearing the chime, Roger knew that the goblin mage was dead.

On the main battlefield, the besieging infantry surged through the breach and flooded into the castle interior. Moments later, the sounds of shouting and fierce fighting echoed from within.

Roger poked half his head out to glance up at the walls. The goblin archers above could no longer afford to shoot down at the field; they were too busy struggling to fend off the human soldiers who were about to scale the walls.

The fire from the watchtowers had noticeably weakened. Ever since the goblin mage had been taken out, no more beams of light had shot down.

However, Roger had no intention of joining the melee. With his current strength, if he got surrounded by these green-skinned bastards in a chaotic brawl, death wouldn't be far off.

But there were still some scattered goblins on the walls, giving him plenty of opportunities to steal some easy kills.

He loosed another three arrows at the goblins on the watchtower, earning another 120 points before ducking back behind the barricade.

This time, the goblin archers didn't retaliate as they had before. He poked his head out slightly to look, only to see a white figure atop the watchtower wielding a glowing longsword, mowing down the goblins in droves.

It was Irene, the young noble lady recently recruited by Baron Raymond, and the best-equipped mercenary among them.

Realizing there were likely no more easy kills to steal here, Roger activated 【Iron Wall】 and sprinted toward the breach in the wall. Since he only had two regular arrows left, he spent 10 points to slightly replenish his quiver.

Although he still had over a dozen poison arrows left, he intended to save them for any tough opponents that might appear later, just as he had done before.