After a moment's thought, Earl Hewlett rejected the proposal: "Open the city gates tomorrow and continue fighting the enemy on the plains outside the fortress."

Tim asked, puzzled, "My lord, I don't understand. Why abandon the city walls and fortifications and fight the enemy head-on?"

Count Hewlett's face darkened. "I know Cumberland. He's been fighting the barbarians for decades and knows what those monkeys are capable of, which is why he's using superior forces against them. As for us, as long as we do everything we can to keep the barbarian army weakened, we'll have a chance to reclaim the mine slaves they've released. Besides, letting these unruly apes run rampant in my fortress is keeping me up at night."

Tim scratched the back of his head, nodded, and then, as if remembering something, suddenly asked, "What if the barbarians refuse to fight tomorrow, or fight passively? What should we do then?"

"Wouldn't that be perfect?" The count turned his head and grinned wickedly at the mercenary leader. "I'll never have too many slaves from the North Stone Mine..."

The second day of the war.

The fortress allied forces once again engaged the Knights of Twilight in a plains battle.

The battle was almost a carbon copy of the first day. The fortress garrison and mercenary groups pretended to engage in a tug-of-war with the Twilight Knights, while the barbarian troops, facing the 'melee-type aliens,' suffered heavy losses once again.

Day three.

Having grasped the situation, the barbarian army resolutely refused to leave the city to fight again. Only under the threat of being cut off from supplies and driven by the fortress garrison's weapons did they return to the battlefield. Just like the previous two days, more than ten barbarian soldiers died on the battlefield.

That night, in the barbarian camp.

"Chief! We can't continue fighting like this! We've lost sixty men in three days!"

Boyle listened to his people's tearful accusations, his eyes turning red, his fingernails digging deep into his palms.

Someone else said, "That count, he's treating us like livestock! His mines need slaves, and his real aim is to enslave the brothers and sisters we've rescued!"

One man patted his belly, his face full of bitterness: "The fortress has been withholding our food and is unwilling to pay our soldiers' wages! Our soldiers can only eat half full, not to mention the freed slaves."

"By the Ancient Gods! Since these bastards won't give us a way out, then we'll fight them to the death!"

"We lack weapons and armor. The count's army has surrounded our camp, and the ballistae and arrows are pointed not at the enemy outside, but at this place. What can we possibly fight with?!"

Boyle stood up, paced around the large tent in the camp twice, and asked his people, "How many warriors do we have left?"

"Chief! One hundred and eighty-five warriors are ready to serve you at any time! If you think that's not enough, all the prisoners we rescued, whether old, children, or women, are willing to fight for you!"

Is it a gamble?

Or should we wait and see if things turn around?

Sweat dripped slowly from Boyle's forehead.

"Chief! Someone has brought this letter with an arrow!"

A barbarian warrior handed Boyle a note, which he unfolded. Looking at the densely packed Common language, he frowned and summoned the tribe's shaman.

The tribe's old shaman read the words on the note: "Midnight, fortress armory."