Chapter 71: The Shrek Warriors

The ogre lord raised a hand, signaling the bard to calm down, his gaze fixed on the whirlwind. Only when the magical creation hovered before him did he speak in a deep voice, “Wind, show Shrek the message you carry.”

The swirling mass of magic seemed almost sentient as it spun faster in response to Shrek’s command. From its eye, it released the words that Soulthief Sprite had stored within, repeating them verbatim.

Shrek and Cassio listened closely, exchanging glances filled with delight.

“Sire, it’s time to strike!” Cassio exclaimed eagerly.

Shrek waved his hand, dispersing the spent whirlwind, then swung onto his armored dire bear, affectionately called “Baron.” He lifted the mithril helm adorned with gryphon feathers, placed it solemnly upon his head, and, with a flick of the reins, charged down the hillside.

Cassio watched as Shrek rode the armored bear down the slope, then raised a massive bronze horn and blew with all his might. The piercing call shook the jungle, brimming with a murderous intent. The ogre warriors encamped below heard the clarion call and swiftly assembled, surging after King Shrek toward the Algonquin Valley. At last, the ogres’ long-suppressed belligerence was unleashed; their wild roars drowned out the horn and echoed through the canopy.

At the very same moment Cassio sounded the horn, the sentries of Powhatan Village became alarmed and hurriedly rang the warning bell. In the village hall, Magnie and Conti, busy with affairs of governance, were startled by the sudden alarm. They looked at each other in shock, then leapt to their feet in unison and rushed toward the gate tower.

“What’s happening?” Magnie demanded as he dashed up the tower, confronting the sentry who had struck the bell.

“Enemy attack! Ogres—a massive horde of ogres!” the young sentry stammered, his nerves frayed.

Magnie snatched the spyglass and saw, indeed, a vast, fully armed host of ogres surging like a tide from the northern woods. At their head rode an ogre clad in gleaming scale armor, hefting a gigantic, spiked warhammer on his shoulder, his helm adorned with golden feathers, astride a steel-clad bear. Even from afar, his presence was overwhelming.

“It’s Shrek and his ogre warband!” Magnie tossed aside the spyglass, his face a mix of anger and confusion. “The forest ogres have always kept to their own and never meddled with us Algonquins—why would they suddenly attack our village?”

Conti, striving for calm, reasoned, “This might be connected to the Blight creatures that appeared in the north not long ago. Perhaps the forest ogres have been bribed by the Conclave and become henchmen of the cultists.”

“Very possible!” Magnie nodded gravely. “I’ll rally the people for defense. Conti, you must send a magical message to our parents at once, tell them of the danger here, then find a safe place to hide and take care of yourself!”

Without waiting for his sister’s reply, Magnie hurried down the tower. Conti had no wish to cower in hiding at such a critical moment for the tribe, but her brother’s words held some truth—with so few defenders left in the village, they could hardly withstand an ogre onslaught. The first priority was to send word to their parents for aid.

Conti took out a charcoal pencil, and, lacking paper, used her handkerchief as a substitute. She hastily scribbled a message about the impending ogre attack, then summoned a raven with druidic magic, tied the handkerchief to its leg, and instructed the bird to deliver it swiftly to her father.

Watching the raven take flight, Conti’s heart soared with it. Rushing down from the tower, she saw villagers gathering in droves near the gate, armed with bows, crossbows, and swords. Most of the tribe’s seasoned warriors had left with Victor and Matoka; only about three hundred militia remained in Powhatan. Fortunately, the Asa people had always prized martial prowess—women and children had received some military training, while the elders, though less agile, were retired militia with rich experience in repelling attacks.

Conti whistled for her animal companion, Minnie, and quickly mounted the fearclaw raptor. She joined the others assembling at the gate.

Magnie, inspecting the defenses, did not notice his sister among the crowd, his thoughts consumed by the advancing ogre horde. When the marauders came within range, Magnie immediately ordered the ballistae to fire.

The ballistae, lined up along the wall, hurled massive bolts like spears, unleashed by powerful winches—so deadly that even the strongest ogres could not withstand their force. With an ear-splitting shriek, the bolts mowed down the foremost ogres, some skewered through the chest and killed before they could even cry out.

Shrek swung his spiked club to bat away an oncoming bolt, then signaled his troops to halt their charge and retreat beyond the ballistae’s range. Narrowing his eyes, he studied the line of defensive engines atop the wall, then swiftly issued two commands.

The “Ogre Warband” Shrek had painstakingly forged was no mere mob of brutes—they boasted a complete array of specialized units, including “Ogre Siege Teams” for assaulting fortifications and “Ogre Ballistae” for ranged support.

First to the fore were fifty ogre ballistae—tribesmen handpicked by Shrek for their exceptional agility and sense of distance, as well as their considerable strength. Their gigantic crossbows rivaled even those mounted on the enemy’s walls.

Such massive bows could not be drawn by brute force alone, even for an ogre. Fortunately, every crossbow crafted by gnomish artisans was equipped with a stirrup-like device. The ogre gunners planted their weapons on the ground, set their right foot in the stirrup, gripped the arms, and, using their waist strength, hauled the string back, then loaded javelin-sized bolts—completing their preparations with remarkable efficiency.

“Fire!”

At Shrek’s command, fifty bolts shot forth in unison. Most buried themselves deep in the wall three hundred yards away, splintering wood and leaving gaping holes. Defenders staggered and fell under the impact.

The ogre ballistae swiftly reloaded, adjusting their aim based on the previous volley’s fall.

The second salvo was markedly more accurate. Several bolts skimmed along the parapet; Asa militia fell, blood spraying from the wounds gouged by the massive missiles. One ballista atop the wall was struck directly, exploding in a shower of metal and wood splinters, wounding the crew nearby.

Magnie’s face was grim as ice. He signaled for the wounded to be carried away for druidic healing, then ordered a counterattack from the wall-mounted ballistae.

Both sides’ siege engines had similar ranges. However, the defenders’ ballistae were semi-fixed in place, making them easier targets, while the ogre gunners could move freely—dragging their weapons behind the shield wall after firing. The incoming bolts struck the interlocked tower shields, rarely inflicting casualties.

Shrek was pleased with his gunners’ performance. He did not expect them to inflict massive losses—rather, their main purpose was to intimidate the defenders and pin down the wall’s artillery, providing cover for the “Ogre Siege Team” to advance.

The warband’s siege specialists—thirty of the strongest ogres—formed three columns. Twenty wielded massive tower shields, arranged in two flanking groups of ten, while the remaining ten marched between them bearing a great battering ram made from a whole tree trunk, its tip capped with a forged iron ram’s head for added destructive power.

The central ogres, chanting in unison, heaved the ram and strode forward, crossing the missile-strewn field toward the gate. The shield-bearers advanced in perfect step, their walls forming a triangular cover over the ram team—a moving tunnel.

Seeing the siege team closing in, the Asa defenders hurled javelins and loosed arrows in haste, to little effect. The missiles were caught by the heavy shields, unable to pierce the tightly guarded formation or even slow their advance.

Magnie frowned and quickly issued three orders: fetch all the incendiary resin from the stores for the defense; prepare great quantities of boiling oil to be poured from the walls; gather all the Greenwild Druids at the gate.

The gate of Powhatan Village was wooden, and would not withstand many blows from the ogres’ battering ram. Fortunately, Magnie recalled that the supply depot still held a few scrolls for reinforcing the defenses. He immediately sent for them, handing them to the druids with orders to strengthen the gate with their magic.

These scrolls were hand-copied by Victor Galinin, containing the sixth-circle druidic spell “Ironwood,” which temporarily hardened wood to the strength of steel. The druids remaining in Powhatan were Victor’s disciples—young, of modest rank, and yet to master “Ironwood” themselves, but with the scrolls, casting the spell was well within their power.

With the savage ogres just a door away, the young druids wasted no time, overcoming their fear as they unfurled the scrolls, chanting hymns in praise of nature’s essence. The scrolls’ magic surged forth in golden streams, enveloping the gate.

At that very moment, the ogre siege team, braving a rain of arrows, reached the doors. Ten mighty ogres, chanting as one, swung the ram with all their strength—the iron ram’s head crashed into the gate!

With a thunderous boom, a vast section caved in, and a web of cracks spread rapidly from the impact point.