The sultan had played them for fools.
Zhao moved first. He sent his at dusk. They crossed the sand in loose, laughing waves—half-naked, coated in mud to defeat arrows. They climbed Castellan’s outer palisade like it was a playground. Five fell to crossbow bolts. Ten reached the top. They threw down ropes. Behind them, Zhao’s Mounted Crossbowmen circled, firing volleys into the Crusader’s archers. stronghold crusader 2 vs warlords
Yet halfway there, his army passed a ravine. From the shadows, Sir Roderick and twenty knights charged. Not to kill—to stampede . Horses trampled the bomb mules. The first explosion blew a crater thirty feet wide. The second set the bamboo grove ablaze. Zhao’s army scattered. Lord Castellan watched the fireworks from Zhao’s captured throne. “So ends the Warlord,” he said, pouring ale. The sultan had played them for fools
Zhao laughed—a broken, desperate sound. “All this. For dust.” The sultan’s envoy arrived at noon. He declared both lords victors. Neither had held the oasis at the exact moment of the blood moon—Castellan was in Zhao’s keep, Zhao was unconscious by the water. So the prize was split: Greek Fire for the Crusader, Thunder Crash Bombs for the Warlord. They crossed the sand in loose, laughing waves—half-naked,
Castellan took a drink. “Agreed.”