The Exiled Lord: My Maid is a Battle Goddess-Chapter 114: Siege warfare

"Phield, new orders just came in. Stop sleeping all day."

The dragon-blooded Arlya shoved the door open without warning. A naked figure lay sprawled across the bed. The moment she stepped inside, she froze for a full second.

"Wah—pervert!" Arlya shrieked, instantly covering her face as she stamped her foot in fury. "Why are you not wearing clothes in broad daylight?!"

"Why didn’t you knock first? Get out!"

Phield was mortified. Not only had he lost every single round of chess and been mocked by Rosalia, but now Arlya had barged in and seen him like this. His cold, dignified image was completely ruined.

"Pervert!" Arlya ran out with a flushed face.

After getting dressed and stepping outside, Phield was met with Arlya glaring at him as if he were some kind of degenerate.

"Milani’s finished her investigation. She’s requesting that we head to the front line with her to provide support."

"They failed to take Screeching Fortress, didn’t they?"

Arlya looked at him in surprise. "I didn’t expect you to guess that. Screeching Fortress is built over an iron mine. Its defenses are extremely strong, and it produces high-quality defensive siege equipment."

"What about the Allied Divine Chosen?"

"The Allies don’t have any Divine Chosen suited for siege warfare. Besides, the enemy has their own Divine Chosen intercepting us. The walls are packed with heavy ballistae and magic. One misstep could cost lives."

"Alright. We move out."

Phield had been lounging around in Mountain Spring Village for so long he was beginning to feel bored. He immediately reorganized his troops and marched toward the front.

On the sixth day, Phield arrived at Screeching Fortress.

Outside the walls, massive trebuchets hurled boulders relentlessly. The defenders returned fire with ballistae and their own siege engines. Corpses were piled high beneath the walls, blocking the roads. Blood flowed like streams.

The moat had been filled with dirt and bodies, yet the walls remained intact. The current fortress walls were constructed with magical materials—blasting them open was exceedingly difficult.

"Attack!" Regin commanded, his great banner whipping through the air.

Battering rams and siege towers rolled forward, pushed by clusters of soldiers. On the walls, the rebels ignited arrowheads and bolts in braziers. Coordinated volleys rained down like meteors, cutting through the Allied soldiers in swaths.

Then boiling oil was poured from above. Siege engines and the soldiers within them were instantly set ablaze. Flames roared upward, turning Allied troops into living torches.

"This siege is a disaster. Damn it—it’s just using flesh and blood to exhaust the enemy’s ammunition."

Phield clicked his tongue. Those charging forward were human beings. It took thirteen or fourteen years for a person to grow into even marginal combat capability—yet on the battlefield, they died in an instant. Meaningless deaths.

In the age of cold weapons, sieges lasting half a year were common.

"Milani, you’ve finally arrived. It’s your turn to attack."

Phield turned toward the voice. It was a Divine Chosen from the Imperial Army—Livina Roda. He had met her a few times before. She was gentle, often seen visiting soldiers and delivering food. But today she looked terrible. Her rouge-pink gown was torn in several places, splattered with dried blood. She looked utterly exhausted, heavy dark circles beneath her eyes.

"Livina Roda, what happened to you?" Milani spoke—a rare occurrence. She flicked her feather fan and displayed a look of disdain. "No matter the situation, maintain basic decorum. Did you even wash your face today? As a Divine Chosen, you can’t spare the time to do that?"

Seemingly accustomed to Milani’s temperament, Livina Roda continued calmly, "You’ll understand once you begin your assault. I advise you to be careful. The heavy ballistae on the walls and the magic towers are not decorative strawberries on a cake. And the rebels’ Divine Chosen are no weaker than we are."

"Hmph. If you can’t even defeat a mere rebellion, just watch my performance." Milani sneered and turned away.

Phield hurried after her to report to Regin, but felt his sleeve tugged.

Turning back, he saw Livina Roda covering her mouth slightly with her hand, offering a gentle, sweet smile. "You’ve just arrived, so you don’t know how terrifying Screeching Fortress’s defenses are. Please make sure your soldiers are cautious. And you as well—if you’re injured, come to me for treatment."

"Thank you very much."

Phield had no desire to smash himself against towering walls. He would lead his troops in waving banners and shouting if needed—but if forced to attack, he would keep it measured.

After circling the walls, he found Regin—hair disheveled, beard unkempt—issuing orders and studying maps.

Seeing Milani, Regin’s face lit up.

"Milani, I need your ability to suppress the wall’s firepower. This damned fortress was designed by an Imperial master of defense. Never thought we’d face it ourselves."

"No problem." Milani radiated confidence. "This is my stage."

"Go. I’ve identified a flaw in their defenses. If we strike suddenly, we might take it in one blow." Regin nodded, then called out again, "But do not advance recklessly. After fighting this long, we still don’t know how many Divine Chosen the enemy has. This obscure Shadow World Sect is unfathomably deep."

"Signal the Third and Fourth Legions—attack from all sides! Cover Milani’s advance!"

War horns and drums thundered across the battlefield.

Rank after rank of soldiers advanced in chaotic steps, pushing siege towers and battering rams, or forming shield walls. Knights and minor nobles shouted encouragement, urging them to hold formation.

Having just arrived, Phield delayed his own assault under the excuse that his troops were exhausted from marching through the night. Instead, he observed the battlefield from afar. With the aid of a divine artifact telescope, he could easily assess the situation.

Screeching Fortress was built upon a mountain, already protected by natural barriers. Its outer wall rose thirty meters high, the inner wall fifty—an intimidating sight. The walls were riddled with arrow slits, allowing defenders to shoot arrows or thrust out spears.

The Allied soldiers roared like a surging tide, crashing violently against the gray-blue embankment.

From above, stones, boiling oil, spells, and arrows rained down. Anything dropped from such height carried devastating force.

Within moments, Allied casualties mounted horrifically.

"Third-Tier Divine Art: Azure Sparrow Feathers!"

Milani flipped her feather fan. Countless feathered arrows materialized around her. With another flick, they transformed into streaks of light, shooting toward the fortress walls like a torrential storm.

Each arrow pierced precisely through the firing slits in the battlements, effortlessly skewering the rebel soldiers within—elegant and efficient.

Amid muffled groans, it was as if the entire wall began to bleed. Streams of blood burst forth and trickled downward.

One person. One divine art. And an entire section of defensive firepower was dismantled with ease.

Milani covered her mouth with her courtly fan and said smugly, "Wasn’t that simple?"

"Seize the opportunity! Second Legion, charge! Press the attack!"

Overjoyed, Regin immediately directed the army to surge forward.