The crossbowmen who had retreated first were on the inner wall, covering the warriors still fighting on the outer wall. A large number of workers were swarming at the inner gate like a hive of bees.
"Harold! Teach them what order means!" Norn shouted to Harold, who was nearby.
Harold, with a sinister grin, swung his massive axe down on a corpse. The loud thud caught everyone's attention.
Harold, covered in blood and unidentifiable fragments, looked like a demon crawling back from hell, causing the workers to involuntarily stop in their tracks.
"Line up!" Harold's coarse voice pierced through everyone's eardrums. The retreat finally became orderly.
William and some of the manor guards were still locked in fierce combat with the Mamluks on the wall. Although the retreat horn had sounded, exposing their backs to the enemy would only lead to quicker deaths.
"Crossbowmen, suppress the enemies on the battlements! Cover their retreat!" Norn shouted to the crossbowmen around him. No longer conserving their strength, all the crossbowmen fired as quickly as they could.
For a moment, a rain of arrows fell from the inner wall, and the offensive on the outer wall momentarily stalled.
Taking advantage of the lull, William quickly descended from the outer wall and jogged over to Norn, panting heavily.
"William! Are you alright?"
"Your armor's holding up well. I'm not dying on you!" William ignored the few wounds he had sustained in the melee.
"What about the others?" After catching his breath, William asked Norn.
"No idea!" Norn was busy reloading his crossbow, too preoccupied to pay attention to William.
At that moment, Captain Hamo returned, battered and bruised, with his men.
"Get back! The gate's closing!" Otto on the inner wall waved his arms and shouted at Norn.
Pointing in a direction, Norn turned and shouted back, "Patrick's still out there!"
Otto looked in the direction Norn was pointing and saw Patrick and a small group still locked in combat on a section of the wall.
"I can't leave him behind!" Norn turned and shouted, "Whoever can still move, follow me!"
"Get back, Norn!" Otto shouted anxiously from the wall. But all he saw was Norn's retreating back as he led his men away.
Patrick leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. His continuous archery had left his arms aching, and his once sharp eyes were now bloodshot. But he had no choice. The section of the wall he was on was surrounded on both sides, and his way down was blocked.
If that was the case, then he would carve a path through the blood! Patrick's eyes sharpened, and he drew his longsword.
Unlike William, who relied purely on brute strength, Patrick's sword was as precise as a scalpel.
Facing the curved blade slashing towards him, Patrick's sword turned into a silver arc, gently deflecting the blow to the side and then following through with a swift strike, taking down the charging enemies one by one.
A group of Mamluks noticed this troublesome opponent. Three elite Mamluks, armed with shields and maces, cautiously approached.
Patrick, having just dispatched an opponent, calmly raised his sword, looking for an opening in his adversaries.
The three shields collided with Patrick almost simultaneously. But with a swift kick, Patrick sent a stray dagger flying, which accurately sliced through the Achilles tendon of the Mamluk on the far left.
The Mamluk instantly collapsed, and the once tight formation was suddenly exposed with a gap.
Patrick immediately stepped to the left, his longsword raised on the right.
Facing the expected mace, Patrick skillfully flipped his sword, successfully disarming his opponent and pressing the tip of his sword against the weak point under the enemy's armpit.
With a smooth thrust, Patrick's opponent was down by one.
Not only that, but Patrick stepped on the fallen Mamluk with his right foot and taunted the remaining enemy.
Now thoroughly enraged, the enemy charged with his mace raised.
Patrick sneered, grabbed the tip of his sword, and swung the heavy counterweight of the hilt. The sword transformed into an iron-headed mace, smashing into the enemy's head.
The enemy, seeing stars, stumbled back two steps. When his vision cleared, a sharp longsword was already pointed at his throat.
When Norn and his men arrived, they saw Patrick thrust his sword into the enemy's throat.
After delivering a finishing blow to the enemy on the ground, Patrick casually waved at Norn, as if he were enjoying afternoon tea rather than being on a battlefield.
William ran up to the wall, looking at the corpses strewn about, and said with a hint of insecurity, "Pretty boy, I took down 12 enemies today. I bet that's more than you."
"Seventeen. Barbarian!" Patrick shook his head, indicating that William was way off.
"How is that possible!" William exclaimed in disbelief. At that moment, an enemy burst out from a captured tower, swinging his weapon towards William's back.
A dagger flew out in an instant, embedding itself in the enemy's head.
"Eighteen!" Patrick casually said as he passed William, even taking the time to pull his dagger out of the enemy's head.
"Stop arguing! The enemy is coming!" Seeing the two of them, Norn quickly waved to get their attention.
More Saracens climbed up the battlements. Noticing someone waving not far from him, a Saracen archer on the wall released his bowstring.
An arrow pierced through Norn's long-sleeved chainmail and embedded itself in his thigh. Norn instantly fell to the ground in pain.
"Norn!" Patrick and William both shouted in alarm, rushing down from the battlements to check on Norn.
Looking at the increasing number of enemies on the wall, Patrick raised his longbow and calmly said, "Take Norn and run! I'll handle the rear."
William, amidst Norn's pained cries, cut off a portion of the arrow shaft, then picked Norn up and ran towards the nearest inner gate, with the others quickly raising their shields to cover William and Norn.
Patrick gazed at the enemy on the battlements, his eyes burning with rage as he drew his longbow like a full moon.
"Whoosh!" Another arrow sent a Saracen archer tumbling to the ground. Patrick fired rapidly without regard for his strength, each arrow finding its mark on an approaching infantryman or an archer attempting to attack.
Patrick's rapid fire actually managed to suppress a section of the wall by himself.
"Huh?" When Patrick reached for his quiver again, he found it empty.
A foot soldier, cowering behind a shield, saw that Patrick was out of arrows and was overjoyed. He rushed forward immediately.
Patrick frowned, casually catching an arrow speeding towards him, and then nocked it to his bow.
The soldier's smile hadn't even faded when Patrick's arrow pinned him to the ground.
"Patrick!" William shouted from the base of the gate. Noticing this, Patrick stopped shooting, grabbed a shield, and slung it on his back before running back.
Along the way, several archers tried to intercept Patrick, their arrows thudding against the shield, but Patrick's pace never slowed.
However, another group of enemy soldiers reached the vicinity of the gate before Patrick. The massive iron portcullis came down just before Patrick could reach it.
"Patrick! Over here!" William threw a rope down from the battlements.
Patrick, about to be surrounded, immediately changed direction and ran towards the rope. Just a few seconds before the enemy's swords and knives could reach him, Patrick grabbed the rope, swung up like on a swing, and with a graceful flip, he landed directly on the inner wall.
In stark contrast to the furious enemies below and William, who was almost pulling his tongue out from pulling the rope, Patrick smiled nonchalantly, "Sorry to worry everyone."
Then, with arrows sticking out of his back, Patrick fell straight down.