“Enough,” Castellan growled. “Assemble the .”
But the bombs were useless. And the Greek Fire? It was salt water.
And in the desolate badlands, two enemies shared water for the first time—and the last—before returning to their separate wars, each knowing that the real enemy had never worn armor or silk.
In the desolate badlands where the River Jordan’s ghost once flowed, two lords prepared for annihilation. On one side, the iron-wrought keep of , a veteran of the first Crusader wars. On the other, the bamboo-and-jade fortress of Sun Tzu’s heir , Warlord Zhao, whose ancestors had never lost a siege in the Celestial Kingdoms. stronghold crusader 2 vs warlords
He ordered the bombs loaded onto pack mules. His plan: circle south, blow the Crusader’s keep walls, and kill Castellan in his own great hall.
The sultan had played them for fools.
Castellan smashed his gauntlet on the table. “He fights like a serpent. Bite the tail, and he spits venom in your face.” Sir Roderick returned with news: Zhao was building a Mangonel —a traction catapult lighter than the Crusader’s trebuchet, but faster. Worse, the Warlord had tapped an underground spring. His rice was regrowing. “Enough,” Castellan growled
By night, five grim-faced sappers dug beneath Zhao’s eastern wall. They carried no swords—only picks, timbers, and jars of pig fat. The plan: collapse the foundation, pour in knights, end it.
The Crusader stood on his battlement. Below, his knights were saddled. His crossbowmen had fresh bolts. His trebuchet was loaded with burning stone. He could crush Zhao’s army in the open field. He could burn the oasis to deny it. Or…
“You took my home,” Zhao whispered. “I will take your future.” It was salt water
“Let the Crusader build his cathedral of rock,” Zhao smiled. “We will water it with his tears.” Castellan’s first attack was methodical. A trebuchet flung barrels of burning pitch at Zhao’s northern rice field. The flames turned green to black. Zhao’s peasants fled. Castellan grunted approval. “He will starve before he storms my gate.”
But Zhao did not need grain. He needed time . While the Crusader celebrated a burning paddy, thirty —Zhao’s alchemical corps—rode around the western bluff. They carried no metal armor, only silk and saltpeter. They struck Castellan’s unguarded ox tether . Five oxen died. Twelve serfs ran. The quarry output dropped by half.