Chapter 469: Act 218 – The Battle by the River (Part 2)
The scouts in the forest crossed the river one after another, and news about the forces of the Knights of Parsons came pouring in. Brendel’s young mage servant Charles stood on the watchtower, draped in a robe and holding a staff, gazing northward before turning back to say, “The casualty rate is even worse than we expected. The scouts sent north have suffered losses of over forty to fifty percent. These are experienced veterans, and in just three days, we’ve lost at least fifty men, with three times that number injured.”
He added, “If I were Lord, I’d pack up and run.”
“Then you are not Lord,” replied the silver-armored elven princess Medisa, glancing at him calmly. Wearing a pointed helmet unique to silver elves that covered her young face, her tightly pursed lips gave her a spirited appearance.
“Is he clearing our scouts because he has some scheme?”
“Probably not; it’s purely because Parsons knows we have burrowers with us. He doesn’t want to be attacked from the side during battle. He doesn’t want to repeat Sir Minate’s mistake,” Medisa responded.
“Such a tricky opponent,” Charles shook his head, his brows almost knitting together. “I wonder if we can hold out for three more days.”
The Rendener army had arrived—
“Someone’s in the forest!”
The first glimmer of reflection appeared in the forest across the river as an armored knight emerged, followed by more troops behind him. The knight drove his banner pole forcefully into the soft earth at the riverbank, a sky-blue emblazoned flag unfurling in the wind.
The house emblem of Parsons.
“North, and there are also troops in the east…!”
“So many.”
Soldiers clad in red and blue uniforms streamed out of the forest, numbering no less than a thousand. “Are they preparing to assault the fort?” Charles saw an archer shoot an arrow that landed weakly on the riverbank, about fifty paces away from the earthen wall, and turned to ask.
Medisa shook her head; they were merely measuring distance. They might test the waters with an attack, but before that, they should observe for a while.
Being the youngest princess of the silver elves, Medisa had experienced wars not much less than her kin. The atmosphere before a great battle did not make her feel nervous but rather familiar, though there were too few enemies.
Too few enemies, the silver elf maiden shook her head.
Medisa was not mistaken; at this moment, atop a small hill a kilometer away, Parsons stood resolutely on horseback like a sword. Surrounded by knights loyal to the trusted vassal of Grudin, he rested his hand on the sword hilt, his gaze like that of a hawk, sharply surveying the riverbank below.
Parsons was the oldest of Grudin’s vassals; though he had a private bond with Sir Minate, there was a significant age difference between them. Sir Minate was in his prime, while Parsons had already gone gray. This old knight had seen countless battles; his reputation, though not reaching as far as Ampere Seale or Buche, could soothe the cries of children among the barbarian mountain folk of Toniger.
The crossing at the Gris River was right before him; Parsons had been here once or twice before. He remembered that the other side was a flat grassy area, but the scene he saw now seemed to make him doubt whether he was old and blurred of vision—lush forests completely obscured the crossing, with only the shallows stretching from the trees on the opposite bank toward the river mouth proving they had not come to the wrong place. This was the season when the water level of the Gris River was at its lowest; even infantry could wade across the cold waters at the shallow crossing. In the distant forest, it seemed that fortifications were built, and the watchtowers rising above the treetops confirmed this—only, when had they added this forest? Parsons remembered coming here just two or three years ago, but that forest across the river did not look like it could have grown in that short of time.
These towering ancient trees would require at least two or three people to embrace, standing over ten meters tall; let alone two or three years, even twenty or thirty years might not suffice for them to grow to this point.
“There’s a fortress on the opposite bank; the sentinels reported seeing earthen walls. This forest at least confirms the rumors that druids are aiding the rebels,” said a subordinate beside Parsons.
“Druids can make trees grow this rapidly? Are these illusions, or are the trees transplanted from elsewhere?” Parsons looked at the forest before him, a primeval thicket that was easy to hold but hard to attack. If druids had such capabilities, it would be utterly astonishing; even if the trees were moved from elsewhere, getting them to thrive in a short period was no easy task. Although he had seen magic before, most spells cast by wizards were fleeting—powerful, yet not intolerable.
But this forest lay right before them, stretching for at least ten miles, undeniably present. It was neither an illusion nor a mere trick of the eye.
The knights around him fell silent; druids were a mysterious race, and no one could truly know what they were capable of. In many legends, there was even debate on whether druids could cast spells; some claimed they excelled at taming animals for battle, while others suggested they could transform into powerful beasts and fight, much like beastmen.
However, Parsons soon summoned the accompanying wizard to clarify the matter. The aged mage was also taken aback upon hearing that the forest had appeared out of nowhere; druids could indeed accelerate plant growth but were certainly not that powerful.
For the opposing side to create such a vast forest in a short time meant they either had an astounding number of druids or that the druids in their service were at least of the level of the Druid Master of the Circle of the Sky. Druid Masters ranked similarly to the leaders of the Silver Alliance’s wizards; Parsons did not believe Brendel had such a person under him, so he asked, “How many druids would be needed to create a forest like this in several months?”
“Several months!?” the wizard exclaimed, nearly turning to leave. “To create a forest this size in a few months, it would require thousands of people casting together.”
“Thousands? That’s impossible; the rebels don’t even have that many troops combined,” a knight refuted.
“Then it indicates that the opposing side has at least a Druid Master, or they have a circle of thirty great druids—circles are units used by druids, and a circle of thirty great druids would be comparable to a real army,” the wizard replied grimly.
“That’s also not right. If they were that strong, why would they sit here waiting?”
“Could this forest be an illusion?” Parsons interrupted the argument, asking with his limited magical knowledge. The wizard actually thought of this as well, but before he could respond, the nearby subordinate shook his head.
“Our soldiers have tested it; at least everything in front is real.”
“Along the river for ten miles, merely what’s in front is no small feat.” The wizard shook his head upon hearing this.
“Can we use fire attacks?” someone asked.
“With so many druids on the opposing side, they can easily extinguish any fire. Don’t forget, they are the guardians of the forest; they are much more skilled at dealing with fire than you are,” the wizard answered.
“In any case, let’s try,” Parsons calmly made a decision. “Have the soldiers prepare fire arrows for a probing attack. Regardless of success, set up camp; have the knights of the Grizzly Bear prepare to start chopping trees.”
…
The army of Rendener had moved.
A line of soldiers emerged from the forest, dressed in gray-green uniforms, shields in hand, longswords at their waists. The next three rows raised pikes, with spearheads flying long gray triangular flags.
North of Toniger were three connected knightly territories; Parsons’ heraldry was a hound, Roli’s a grizzly bear, and Cruz’s a silver crescent moon. Thus, at this moment, the flags the soldiers raised before them featured the crescent moon.
“I thought the large forest behind would frighten them.” Charles shook his head. Though the druids had contributed precious magical seeds and worked tirelessly to establish this defense line, time was still against them. This forest was actually only a true primeval forest for a distance to the fortress; behind it, the rest was an illusion he had created alone.
Soldiers from the Cruz territory moved forward slowly, their flanks flanked by a ragtag group of raggedly dressed barbarian mountain folk wearing heavy leather armor, wielding sharp axes and round shields. The three armies waded through the shallow river, now pushing right up to the Gris crossing.
“What did Lord say?” Charles raised his hand, about to give the order.
“‘Just some noble shield-bearers and polearm men who are not even level 1; take them out easily—what’s the need to consult me? Fool!’” Medisa imitated Brendel’s tone in response.
“Level 1? What’s that?” Charles’s brow furrowed deeply, his lord seemed to enjoy using strange phrases. He still had not figured out the theory of ‘leveling up’ he had mentioned last time in Ridenburg, and now this level 1 troop was another puzzling matter.
However, at this moment, he had no time to think about all that, as from the rear, the archers of Rendener emerged in rows. These longbowmen, well-trained and elite soldiers under Parsons, held longbows, scratching a line in the dirt with arrows and casually pouring the liquid from their skin pouches into the trench.
“It’s oil—fire arrows!” The expression of the silver elf princess changed.
A fire dragon ignited in the forest as the human soldiers raised their longbows, flames atop their arrows. With a command sounded through the forest, the bowstrings trembled in unison—at the next moment, almost everyone in the forest saw a cloud of fire rise into the sky, painting the air blood red. Then, the fire cloud paused at its peak, crashing down upon them.
“Fire arrows!”
Accompanied by a scream, the fire arrows whistled and smashed into the forest; fortunately, the trees were extremely dense, with most arrows obstructed by the treetops. Only a few found their way through the gaps, landing among the mercenary camp.
The direct casualties caused by the fire arrows were nearly nonexistent, but Parsons, observing from afar, showed almost no expression on his face—he was waiting for the follow-up effects, which would soon become apparent.
The longbowmen were raising their bows; the second wave of fire arrows was already nocked.
…
(PS: The update is late; I had no way to get online these past few days. I hope everyone forgives me.) (To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please support it on Qidian (qidian.com) with recommendations and monthly votes; your support is my greatest motivation.)
