I’m a Rebel in Another World

Chapter 7: The Frustratingly Inept Siege Warfare

Henwil dug out a small fire pit himself and began boiling water in a small pot.

During this time, Henwil unwrapped the cloth strips tied around his calves and started massaging his leg muscles.

Carrying dozens of pounds of equipment and walking all day, even though he had only covered over ten kilometers.

This remained an enormous challenge for Henwil's still-developing body.

If not for his past life memories and knowledge of proper leg wrapping techniques, Henwil would have likely fallen behind on the very first day.

On the third day after Kavizé's departure, the legion began its march.

Henwil followed along with the military supply convoy, moving slightly slower than the main legion's pace, yet it was still far from easy.

On the first day, several blood blisters had formed on Henwil's feet, and his shoulders were marked with bloodstains from the luggage straps.

When he woke up the next morning, his body felt completely broken.

Now on the sixth day of marching, Henwil had gradually adapted to this rhythm.During this period, Henwil had also traded some small items with logistics soldiers in exchange for supplies.

Like this small pot, an old water pouch, and various other minor things.

Thanks to these items, Henwil could avoid chewing on dry rations and instead enjoy hot soup before sleeping on cold late autumn nights.

More importantly, they allowed him to soak his feet after each day's march, reducing some of the exhaustion.

Huddled beneath a large wagon to sleep, Henwil's thoughts wandered. He knew the Third Legion was planning to attack Plains City of the Ika Kingdom.

That city in the southeastern region of Ika Kingdom served as the major grain storage hub for the entire area.

Capturing this strategic point would allow the allied forces to establish a firm foothold, securing their supply lines without worries.

However, the Ika Kingdom naturally understood this too and would certainly deploy heavy defenses.

Although Henwil hadn't witnessed the true professional military forces of Ika Kingdom, he felt it rather unrealistic that the Third Legion alone could capture Plains City.

These matters of state concerned him little, yet the Third Legion's success or failure held significant meaning for him.

If the Third Legion achieved great victory, escape would naturally become hopeless.

But if the Third Legion suffered major defeat, that wouldn't be good either.

During chaotic army retreats, whether facing panicked fleeing enemy soldiers or pursuing Ika Kingdom forces.

Any of them might slash at a small figure like him, making for an utterly unjust death.

Therefore, the best outcome for Henwil would be the Third Legion getting stuck in prolonged unsuccessful attacks, reaching a stalemate until morale collapsed—that would be his chance to escape.

With these thoughts swirling, Henwil eventually fell asleep.

He slept until six o'clock, waking startled from a nightmare just before dawn.

He dreamed that during his escape, just as rescue seemed imminent, a sharp arrow pierced through his chest.

Looking back, he saw Kavizé holding a great bow, gazing at him with icy coldness.

Henwil wiped his face with a still-damp sock.

Why a sock?

Because of course he had washed his socks last night—did anyone expect him to have a towel?

Among the items Henwil had traded for were two pairs of worn socks; after washing away the bloodstains and scalding them with hot water, with minor adjustments they became two "new" pairs of socks.

Henwil changed into dry socks daily, otherwise his feet would be ruined.

Now more awake, Henwil muttered several low curses.

He comforted himself that dreams were opposite to reality—he would definitely escape alive.

Two more days passed, and Henwil finally arrived near the battlefield.

The military camp here had already been established, and it appeared fighting hadn't yet begun.

In the distance, Plains City resembled a giant beast crouching upon the land.

Surrounded by plains, the city's abrupt emergence created quite an impactful sight.

When Henwil was five years old, he had visited Plains City once with his father; he remembered it should have considerable population.

Not counting residents from scattered settlements outside the city walls, the urban population alone numbered at least around one hundred thousand.

This qualified as a major city within the entire kingdom.

Plains City had stood for over two hundred years, possessing long history. Although it hadn't experienced warfare in recent decades, its walls remained well-maintained.

Especially after the Second Great War began, the city had undergone more than half a year of reinforcements. Without heavy siege equipment, breaching such fortifications would require throwing lives at it.

Contrary to Henwil's expectations, the Third Legion wasn't alone in this attack—the Worui Duchy's Fifth Legion had also arrived.

Besides these, two legions from the allied Kingdom of Bilier were present, along with a combined cavalry legion.

Rumors said two more legions were en route, eventually bringing over forty thousand troops to the siege.

Even so, Henwil felt the allied forces would struggle to achieve their goals.

Plains City contained at least several thousand troops; defending from strong fortifications, holding out for a year or more would be normal.

Meanwhile, Henwil had roughly calculated the allied forces' supply consumption—even with pillaging along the way, their provisions wouldn't last three months.

Supplying this location posed extreme risks.

With three to four hundred kilometers of supply lines, not even considering security issues, the consumption ratio alone gave allied command massive headaches.

While Henwil was setting up tents for Kavizé, the allied forces began their routine surrender demand toward Plains City.

The result was naturally no result—the city's commanders clearly wouldn't surrender.

The next day, Henwil watched as the two Bilier Kingdom legions began their assault.

What he saw left him utterly speechless.

No cloud ladders, no siege towers, no catapults.

Just archers lining up to shoot, suppressing allied soldiers on the walls.

Below, allied soldiers under shield cover pushed a freshly constructed battering ram, striking the city gates like monks tolling a bell.

Meanwhile, the defending forces on the walls had no other attack methods beyond archery.

No rolling stones or logs, no wolf-tooth barriers, no ballistae, no trebuchets.

As for boiling oil, molten metal, or hot water defenses—don't even think about it.

What baffled Henwil most was that despite the height advantage, the wall defenders gained little benefit in the archery exchange.

Clearly, the defending commanders hadn't properly calculated projectile trajectories, and archers weren't organized into strike groups.

While free shooting offered higher accuracy, concentrated volleys creating massive casualties would inflict tremendous psychological pressure on attackers.

War wasn't a game—group coordination proved crucial.

In his previous life, though only an amateur military enthusiast, Henwil believed that if he were defending this city.

These attacking soldiers would suffer at least majority casualties!

Henwil felt extremely frustrated by this world's underdeveloped art of warfare.

Only much later did Henwil understand why such situations occurred.

First, his previous world's nations had thousands of years of history constantly spent fighting, with warfare methods far surpassing here.

Second, warfare here remained nobility-controlled, with few nobles actually skilled at, interested in, or studying military tactics.

If that happened, nobles would refuse to take the battlefield altogether.

In summary!

None of the nations participating in this war were centralized states.