They knew exactly which spots along the ramparts were most exposed to long-range attacks, knew how to use corpses and rubble as cover in the middle of a melee, knew when to hold and when to fall back.
On the battlefield, this kind of experience was far more solid than any flashy Combat Techniques.
Fire arrows filled the sky, slicing through the gloomy heavens like a rainstorm, dragging thick black smoke tails as they came crashing down toward the walls in a suffocating torrent.
The arrowheads were wrapped in grease-soaked burlap; as they flew they scraped violently against the air, shrieking with hundreds of piercing whistles.
The pre-arranged fire precautions on the walls were all activated at once. Soldiers shoved over rows of wooden barrels filled with fine sand from behind the crenellations. Damp river sand spilled out of the mouths, rushed along the pre-dug guide channels on the inner side of the wall, and quickly blanketed the entire walkway atop the ramparts.
