The slaughter continued from dawn until the sun began to set in the west, without a moment's pause.
Frost Howl soldiers, like an untiring tide, crashed against the second line of defense on the Main Valley Road wave after wave.
They were indeed more elite, and each soldier was exceptionally brave.
Even as they braved the rain of death pouring from the arrow towers, stepped over burning oil trenches, and watched their comrades swallowed by pit traps, they still howled and charged to the wooden palisades and earthen ramparts, wildly hacking with their battle axes and heavy hammers.
Gollon's throat was already hoarse, his face smeared with blood and ash.
He led two hundred veterans, wedged like nails behind the defense line.
Every Frost Howl charge was fiercely repelled by crossing arrows and precise falling stones, leaving behind a ground littered with twisted corpses and wailing wounded.
However, Frost Howl had a numerical advantage, and their Impact Head became stronger with each wave, and the intervals between them grew shorter.
Soldiers rotated in and out, their stamina rapidly depleting, their arms aching and numb from repeated hacking and drawing bows.
"Left flank! Fill the gap! Oil! Pour the oil!" Gollon roared with all his might, his throat feeling like sandpaper.
Several soldiers struggled to lift boiling hot ceramic pots, pouring their contents down along the pre-dug grooves.
Below, several Frost Howl soldiers who had just climbed onto the earthen rampart instantly turned into fireballs, screaming as they rolled down, igniting subsequent attackers.
But this could only delay them for a moment.
Behind the defense line, Siye's figure moved swiftly, soft white light flickering in her hands.
She moved among the wounded and exhausted warriors, casting divine spells one after another, healing wounds and dispelling fatigue.
Her face was pale, and fine beads of sweat trickled from her forehead.
Her divine grace was nearly depleted, and each spell cast made her feel a profound weakness deep in her soul.
Paladins and priests of the War domain were dispersed at critical points.
They were the mainstays in resisting the Frost Howl torrent, but each impact consumed their divine grace.
They gritted their teeth, struggling to hold on, some even having blood seeping from the corners of their mouths.
Under repeated assaults, the defense line was like a dam gnawed by ants, constantly cracking with small fissures that were then barely patched up.
The casualty figures climbed chillingly in the minds of both sides' commanders.
Ital'ruk, relying on sturdy fortifications and stubborn will, made Frost Howl pay several times the price in blood for every step forward.
However, Frost Howl, with their numerical superiority and the quality of their soldiers, forcibly pushed the front line forward inch by inch.
The second line of defense was on the verge of collapse.
"They're starting to climb the earthen ramparts!" a defending soldier shrieked.
"Arrow Tower No. 3 is gone! They brought those big shields!" another cry came from the east, followed by the dull thud of arrows hitting shield surfaces.
Gollon glanced at the sky—the setting sun dyed the cliffs of Gray Tooth Valley a sickly blood red.
"Siye!" He swung his axe, cutting down an enemy soldier, and turned to roar.
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