Amidst the creaking of axles, a horse-drawn convoy of various sizes passed through the damaged gate. Each vehicle left a whitish imprint on the cold ground. Regardless of size, the contents of the carriages were covered with thick, snowproof cloth and guarded by accompanying personnel as if they were sacred relics. Wherever they went, even the Gift soldiers who had just broken through the castle and made great contributions consciously stepped aside and stood at attention, a solemn atmosphere spreading inexplicably.

The convoy slowly moved through the newly cleared East Gate, crossed the open ground in front of the Guard Room filled with people of all sorts, and finally stopped below the armory.

When the thick cloth was uncovered, the escorting personnel surrounded the carriages and began unloading long and short poles, large and small barrels—in short, all sorts of indistinct objects—from the vehicles into the armory. Among them, what most drew the attention of the residents and captured soldiers was a strange object that required five or six people working together, using slings, crossbars, and various tools, to lift with great effort. It was a long cylindrical shape, slightly thicker at one end, with a dark green, shiny metallic sheen, a deep black hole at the front that one couldn’t see the bottom of, and a weight that bent the backs of the movers.

Every detail radiated an indescribable sense of oppression and power.

“A battering ram?” The idle prisoners began whispering guesses about the object’s origin and purpose.

“Probably not. The main castle gate isn’t that thick. If they wanted to break it, chopping down a tree would do the job. But that thing looks like bronze.”

“Could it be some kind of sorcery tool? Didn’t the gates on the East and North sides explode with a ‘boom’ last night? Maybe that witch from Asshai used this thing.”

They stood in the cold wind discussing how the rebels had broken into the city the night before. As soon as this guess, which was fairly close to the truth, was voiced, many of them shivered involuntarily.

“That bastard’s going to use this on the main castle?” Yageo, his face bruised, was startled. He had been on the wall near the East Gate when the demolition team attacked last night and vividly remembered the power of the explosion. The main castle gate was less than half as thick and sturdy as the East Gate. If it were hit with that kind of force… no one within dozens of feet would survive.

Loyal to House Stark, he became visibly anxious.

“Hey! The main castle gate is only a few feet thick. It’ll collapse after a few hits. Aren’t you afraid of killing everyone inside if you use this?” The former Winterfell guard, now giving tactical advice to the enemy in hopes of protecting his Lord, knew it was strange, but he couldn’t care about that now. “Tell your commander, a living Stark is more valuable. Tell him not to do anything stupid!”

“You asking for a beating? Shut up.”

The nearby guards raised their weapons to intimidate and silence the prisoners. But after Yageo’s outburst, the other captured soldiers began to realize something. The reason they had been willing to surrender and be herded like sheep rather than fight to the death was not only the terrifying effect of satchel charges and bombs, but also the restraint and gentleness shown by the occupying force. The Gift Army had kept its promise not to kill those who surrendered, as they had proclaimed. They didn’t pillage or slaughter after capturing the castle. Just earlier, they had even set up pots to boil water and provided the prisoners with a simple breakfast in the training ground.

These gestures had gradually calmed the fear and panic of both the residents and the defeated soldiers. They remembered that the Night’s Watch and the North had always shared a good relationship, had fought side by side in the past. It made sense that they would not be ruthless in victory.

But the brief sense of security they had finally managed to build shattered like a bubble with the appearance of that strange bronze object—believed to be the weapon that broke open the gate the night before. The posture unintentionally displayed by the rebels, seeming intent on wiping out House Stark and leaving no one alive, made it impossible for these people, born as Stark subjects, to stay calm.

Unease and murmurs rippled through the crowd, threatening to turn into a full-blown prisoner riot. Fortunately, the Gift Army officer in charge of guarding them noticed the disturbance in time.

…

Leon was one of the first members of the security team established by the Logistics Department in King’s Landing. He typically served as Aegor’s personal guard, and during wartime, held a mid-level officer position. He approached the source of the noise, frowned, and mimicked his Lord Commander’s tone and manner as he shouted, “What’s all the noise over here?”

“Sir… this guy is going crazy, yelling that a living Stark is the most valuable and telling the Commander not to do anything reckless.”

“Hey, you’re in charge, right?” Yageo, ignoring his injuries, pushed to the front and shouted, “Let me see your commander! There must be another way!”

“Hmm?” The man in black glanced at his subordinate, then at the unruly prisoner. After a moment’s thought, he roughly understood the situation. After thinking a bit more, he even came up with a solution.

He turned to the prisoners and raised his voice. “Everyone, please calm down. I know you’re worried about the safety of your family and friends still inside the main castle, and about House Stark. But I can assure you this: the Lord Commander made it very clear during the war council that no matter what happens, there will be no casualties in Winterfell today. Due to unfortunate differences in stance and ideals, we are briefly enemies today. But by the Old Gods and the New, the Night’s Watch has never broken its word.”

“You’ve all been standing for a while. I’m sure you’re tired. Next, we will sort everyone according to physical condition and settle you in the hall or in Winter Town outside the city. If all goes well, by nightfall, we will no longer be enemies.” The speaker gave no one the chance to question or refute his words. Once he had settled the situation for the time being, he signaled for the guards to disperse the prisoners. Then he turned to Yageo, who had squeezed forward. “As for this friend, I happen to be going to see the Lord Commander. If you have any suggestions or something important to say, come with me. Bring him out.”

This last sentence was addressed to the soldiers nearby. Two Gift soldiers entered the prisoner group and led Yageo out. He followed them out of the square, head held high.

The unrest among the prisoners gradually died down under Leon’s steady handling and the removal of that outspoken “catfish”… but their “representative” was not taken to see the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch as he had hoped. Instead, he was locked alone in a small, dark room far from the square.

The dangerous element was isolated, and the gathered prisoners were split into three groups and driven away from the direction of the main castle. While the Gift soldiers outside worked to eliminate the threat of a riot before it began, Aegor inside was overseeing the artillery setup, waiting to witness the weapon’s first roar in combat.

—

As House Stark’s last line of defense, the main castle was built not only from sturdy granite, but also with structural features containing hidden defenses. Though it looked like a typical building within the city, its lower levels had only firing slits and no windows. There was just one entrance, raised above the ground and not facing the square, but connected by a sealed bridge to the armory next to the Guard Room.

The advantages of this design were too many to list in brief, but the most crucial point was this: Any invader who entered Winterfell couldn’t bypass the defenders and attack the main castle directly. They had to first defeat the defending force and occupy the armory before they could threaten the final stronghold.

Aegor had already met the conditions to attack this fortress, but in order to avoid harming the members of House Stark, he had abandoned a forceful assault and chosen to negotiate a surrender. Unfortunately, the soldiers sent to persuade the defenders to open the gate had failed, leaving him with a major headache.

In theory, he should have gone personally to speak. But the reality was, no matter how persuasive he might be, it would only matter if the other side was willing to listen. Because of his reputation as a “chameleon,” his past friendship had instead become a liability. With Robb in a coma and unable to appear, anything Aegor said would carry little weight, or might even make things worse. Time was running out, and despite his reluctance, he could only return to the artillery deterrence plan he had previously abandoned, choosing the path of physical persuasion.

Not long ago, Aegor had dreamed of R’hllor. The goddess had said many things in the dream, though not enough to fully convince him. However, when he woke, the “gift from the heavens” that had crashed through the roof and struck his body swept away all doubt… Was it the dragonglass scale that pierced his body that made him understand? Of course not. It was the sheer power of that moment that made him realize he had no choice but to believe.

The truth is cold. Sometimes, demonstrating power persuades more effectively than a thousand words.

—

Ten cannons had been cast in the first batch prepared for combat. Three were scrapped. Of the remaining seven, two had been left in Crown Town as a precaution, and five were brought south by Aegor in his hastily launched campaign as a trump card. Five might seem few, but given the tight timeline and the lack of qualified artillerymen, it was enough for him.

The goal of “artillery intimidation” was deterrence, not destruction. Even in this situation, five was more than enough. Aegor ordered only one cannon to be moved into the armory, assembled on the spot, and aimed down the bridge at the main castle gate.

The “Gift Type I” was a simple muzzle-loading smoothbore cannon, just over a meter long, firing spherical projectiles smaller than a fist. By the standards of the original world, its caliber would be between four and five pounds. It wasn’t that Aegor didn’t want something bigger or more advanced. But with limited resources and time, this was the only model the hastily formed Gift arsenal had successfully tested and proven reliable. Its lack of firepower was a fact, and this was exactly why Aegor had previously been reluctant to use it as a deterrent while still outside the city.

Of course, while it lacked power against Winterfell’s outer walls, the Gift Type I had more than enough force when aimed at the main castle’s wooden gate.

The armory’s walls and roof provided excellent cover. The artillerymen didn’t need to worry about enemy arrows. The first artillery squad moved the gun carriage into position and calmly aimed the barrel at the main castle gate forty meters away. At that range, even the crude, primitive aiming device on the cannon seemed unnecessary. After a quick visual alignment and minor adjustments, the loader shoved in a packet of powder granulated by Maester Qyburn himself. The crew loaded the charge, inserted the projectile, rammed it down, pierced the powder bag, and inserted the fuse. After a series of simple but proper steps, the squad leader turned to Aegor.

“Ready to fire at any time.”

“Fire.”

Without much ceremony, the gunner lit the fuse. After a short burn, the Night’s Watch’s first shot of the southern campaign was fired.

Bang!

The minimal charge produced a crisp roar. The muzzle and ignition port simultaneously spat out twin flashes. The bronze tube kicked back sharply with the carriage, while a black cannonball, trailing smoke, shot out and flew toward the main castle gate not far away.

(To be continued.)

Check out my new book: The Multiverse Trailblazer.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep