The three rams rolled toward the breach while Bren braced his spear beside the red stake.
Thirty men shoved each engine beneath its protective roof, and thirty supporting infantry trotted behind every set of wheels.
Hans waited above the ditch until the nearest winch crew stepped beyond its mantlet.
On the wall, Hajin cracked his neck while Juna kicked crates aside to clear her launch space.
"Three rams against one fence post?" he muttered, rolling his burned wrists inside their dressings.
"That post has a name," Juna huffed, ears flat.
"Hold the stake," Bren bellowed, his voice cracking as the center ram rumbled closer, "they don't get through while we're standing here!"
"Men, not roofs," Hans snapped, dropping his hand as the bows released toward the exposed crew.
Across the ditch, a ballista team swung its arm toward the broken breastwork beside Bren's post.
Hajin saw the arm snap forward before the bolt tore through the timber straight into Bren.
