Chapter 845: Act 23 – The Belligerent Knight III
After witnessing the Earl of Toniger’s hospitality in Valhalla, Xiao Peiluo no longer doubted who was the most powerful person in Erluin. While others were amazed by the splendor of Valhalla, he remained observant. His mind was always quite agile, allowing him to notice that the elven maidens responsible for their reception were among the finest archers of the treants, and he also noticed the magical armor worn by the officers of the White Lion army, which was far beyond what local nobility in a small kingdom like Erluin should possess. He thought to himself that those opposing the Earl of Toniger were undoubtedly genuine fools, especially the nobles to the north of Erluin—real weaklings, disunited and insignificant.
This Lord had the capability to transform this small kingdom according to his will; it was evident that he had grand ambitions and would surely make use of people like them. However, before he could speak, Arleigh interrupted, as if she had been holding in this statement and would die if she didn’t get it out quickly: “Lord, if you plan to hunt, feel free to invite us along, as we happen to be available to help you hunt a bear or an elk in this forest.”
“That damn reckless fool!” Xiao Peiluo thought about kicking Arleigh, but privately had to admit that her straightforwardness could sometimes be a useful tactic. “He’s just embarrassed the Crusian people.”
Brendel chuckled and replied seriously, “As the host, it wouldn’t do to entertain guests with a few stinking bones.”
“My Lord, according to our Crusian tradition, any hunted game doesn’t just have to be roasted over a bonfire; you can nail their heads to a board and hang them up in your room.”
“Hang the stinking head of the Blood Staff in my room? I seem to lack that morbid taste.” Brendel thought, “But since the conversation has reached this point, it’s about time.” He redirected his gaze to Xiao Peiluo, realizing this young man was the only one worthy of speaking among the knights. Of course, Rainwright also held a tacit approval stance, but the Crown Prince had been reclusive for some time, hardly leaving the camp, like a noble girl afraid to be seen.
Xiao Peiluo lowered his head, “My Lord, bears and elk will certainly not escape your grasp, but I think the hunters might still have some questions.”
“Hunters?”
“My Lord, in winter, when hunters conduct hunts, they often invite friends and family and try to choose seasoned hunters, because everyone wants to be the first to hit the best game. Young people can be impulsive and often startle the prey.”
Brendel’s heart sank as he realized what the other wanted to say. He furrowed his brow and prompted, “Continue.”
“My Lord, I’ve studied some of Crusian military history. Aside from wars between temples, the wars between local lords are generally simple and full of variables. It’s not that they don’t want to arrange elaborate plans to defeat their opponents, but the lords often understand what kind of subordinates they have. Their actions are often swayed by heated emotions or excessive fear, resulting in actions that disrupt the overall situation. Therefore, wars between territories frequently depend on which side makes fewer mistakes.”
Xiao Peiluo almost directly stated that his plan was mere theorizing, causing Brendel to flush with embarrassment. Thankfully, the foggy rainy day concealed it; in the past, the battles he commanded were executed by professional players. The gaps in players’ execution and discipline were significant compared to modern armies but could be considered exemplary concerning the noble armies of this era. In “Amber Sword,” even small to medium guild players exhibited discipline and execution that rivaled the White Lion army, and large guilds followed orders like a well-oiled machine—after all, as long as the commands weren’t unreasonable or infringing on personal freedom, players usually wouldn’t jeopardize their guild points. Those past memories had given him a false sense of security, causing him to almost forget that the forces cooperating with him now weren’t players or the disciplined White Lion army, but the Duke’s private army, whose troops mostly consisted of a ragtag collection of lords and their knights. It would be a miracle if they didn’t run into problems.
His thought process had been shaped by the habits of games; despite planning thoroughly, he almost forgot this point. Fortunately, Xiao Peiluo and his companions were the most professional soldiers at this moment, trained in military history and battlefield analysis, perceptively identifying the flaws in his arrangements.
He couldn’t help but glance at the frail young man again; his succinct analysis established their standing in his mind. “It seems bringing these broken sword knights into the fight was indeed the right choice,” Brendel thought. “No wonder they are considered the future stars of Crusian; they are certainly not inferior to the rumors, and this deal hasn’t been a loss so far.”
“The current situation is thus; how do we remedy it?”
“My Lord, there’s no need for a remedy. The situation in Madara isn’t any better than ours, and this military action is merely the result of impulsiveness. The Blood Staff has brought experienced dark lords from the Sea of the Undead, but those lords aren’t significantly different from ours. Their armies are also filled with hasty actions and poor judgments, often leading to mistakes. Therefore, the opportunities for both sides are still equal, not to mention we have the initiative and our military strength greatly exceeds those skeletons; in my view, victory is inevitable.”
Brendel calmed down and recognized this point as well. Xiao Peiluo’s earlier remarks were just to remind him not to be overly presumptuous while simultaneously highlighting their value.
“My Lord, what we’re more concerned about is where you intend to deploy us.”
“You’re not really suited for the front lines at the moment, but conveniently there’s a place where you would be useful. If those lords startle the prey, they might require an army to circle behind the Blood Staff forces to delay the skeletons’ movements.”
Xiao Peiluo admired the Earl of Toniger in this moment, thinking he was quite a clever man to grasp his intentions so quickly. However, they had their own pride as well, and he replied calmly, “My Lord, the Blood Staff’s army will not be delayed at all.”
“That’s the Crusian spirit!” Brendel thought, yet blocking the Blood Staff’s retreat with a band of knights averaging above gold strength and numbering in the hundreds was certainly possible.
“Don’t make too much noise.”
“I will arrange our position to resemble the Lord’s White Lion troops, and we will retreat before others arrive.”
Brendel smiled; conversing with clever people was convenient. He looked at the Broken Sword Knights present and couldn’t help but feel regret—how good it would have been if they were all from Erluin. “Should I think of a way to keep them here?” The thought flashed across his mind, but he quickly shook his head. This issue was too peculiar; for Xiao Peiluo and the others, losing the sense of military honor might hinder their growth into true stars of the future. A forced deal would not bear sweet fruit. “Forget it; let’s take it one step at a time. There are certainly geniuses among the Erluin people as well.”
Once he received a straightforward answer from Brendel, the Broken Sword Knights, who had been feeling depressed for a month, seemed to revive with vitality. These young knights were energetic and could hardly sit still; upon learning they could go into battle, they erupted in cheer. The preparations of Xiao Peiluo, Brendel, and Arleigh proceeded extremely smoothly. In fact, the Broken Sword Knights had always been tense, awaiting Brendel’s final answer, so by this time, little preparation was needed. Within half an hour, everyone was ready to set out.
Of course, this reflected the well-trained status of the youth from Crusian. Even if a typical noble cavalry had prepared for departure in advance, they would still need at least an hour or two to get ready.
At this moment, Freya arrived at Brendel’s camp, escorted by several highland knights.
The Valkyrie’s arrival brought Brendel bad news.
Just as Xiao Peiluo had anticipated, the retainers of Duke Vieiro had aggressively launched an attack even before Brendel arrived. She had learned of the news from Aike and had hurried ahead to inform Brendel. According to Freya, the armies of Lantonrand and the highland knights had also launched assaults sequentially to coordinate with Vieiro’s forces. Now the battlefield was unfolding between the Slofavan Hills, engaged in fierce combat.
After she spoke, she couldn’t help but glance at Brendel’s expression, fully expecting him to fly into a rage, but unexpectedly, Brendel only gave a bitter smile and shook his head as if he had anticipated it. “Freya, prepare yourself; the White Lion troops are waiting for the order to strike. Medisa will coordinate with you. This marks the first true battle for Toniger’s army, and I’ll entrust the Wind Archers to your command.”
“Brendel?”
“Vieiro and Lantonrand’s armies have mobilized; we must also hasten to support them. If they want to suffer, let them go.”
“But is that alright?”
“It’s fine; the Blood Staff cannot win. Some will just incur great losses. On the contrary, Freya, this is the first battle of the White Lion and Wind Archers since their formation; I hope they leave a profound impression on all enemies of this kingdom.”
“All enemies?”
Brendel nodded.
In his heart, he believed that the decayed and withered vines obstructing the kingdom’s path would soon be swept away. Erluin would begin its rebirth at this moment, and the seedlings planted by Toniger were finally about to sprout and take root.
…
This war began on a gentle slope in the western Slofavan Hills, oriented east to west. On the slope, there was a dense linden forest, and a day earlier, a noble knight from Vieiro had brought his retainers and hidden in this forest. This knight, named Pranchet, was neither a trusted aide of Duke Vieiro nor an important vassal; in fact, he was an inconsequential figure. He hailed from the barren territories of the Whispering Wind Forest, a truly impoverished person. He came to wade through this muddy water for two purposes: the first was for money, and the second was to enter the Duke’s sight. To achieve this ambition, he sold off his family assets, scraped together every penny, and for the first time rode a horse, donning a tailor-made leather armor, emblazoning his shield with a crest, and raising a flag to join the army heading to the poorer Slofavan than his hometown.
However, although Lord Pranchet was greedy and fame-seeking, he was not the kind of reckless young man. Before coming, he had investigated that this expedition aimed to deal with the skeletons of Madara. The legends about those skeletons were endless; during the first Black Rose War, there had even been a battle where a Madara army entered the Vieiro Province through the Anlek Mountain Range. Although Pranchet had never truly seen these fearsome opponents, he had heard many tales of the terrors they brought.
Before making the bold decision to take the plunge, this lord knight considered many times, but ultimately a daring plan formed in his mind. He had heard a rumor that the skeletons of Madara were controlled by necromancers, and as long as those necromancers were killed, the skeletons would naturally lose their fighting capability. Moreover, the necromancers themselves had little combat ability; once attacked from behind, they would be as vulnerable as fish on a chopping block. With this in mind, Pranchet had calculated that he could hide and wait for the skeletal army to pass before rushing out to slaughter the defenseless necromancers, effortlessly achieving great merit; even though this lord knight did not know much about military matters, he was extremely pleased with his plan, believing he might have a natural talent for command. He could already envision himself being bestowed titles and positions.
However, upon arriving at Slofavan, Pranchet discovered the disparity between his ideals and reality. First, it unexpectedly rained in the hills as autumn set in, creating immense trouble for the troops stationed in the forest. Including Lord Pranchet, everyone had to march in the damp environment daily, with muddy ground beneath their feet. By evening, he felt as if he had rolled in muck, and the most miserable part was that there was no dry or comfortable place to sleep; sometimes, he could only wrap himself in his cloak and make do on the muddy ground for the night. By then, Pranchet shared the same complaints as the others, barely restraining himself from cursing the heavens. Fortunately, after the rains began for half a week, the troops finally reached the designated ambush area.
But unfortunately, Pranchet found that the situation in front of him was different from what he had imagined. In his mind, ambushing meant hiding in the valleys on both sides, waiting for the Blood Staff army to pass, and then suddenly launching an attack to cut off the skeletons from the middle. Of course, he would hide at the back, waiting for the easiest targets—the necromancers. But upon reaching Slofavan, this knight learned it was nothing like that. The entire battlefield was vast beyond his imagination; looking out, there were rolling hills and interconnected forests everywhere, and he could hardly distinguish the paths, let alone direct oneself.
In such circumstances, Pranchet feared he would find it difficult to determine from which direction the Madara army approached, let alone the fanciful idea of sneaking behind to kill the necromancers. At this moment, the high-ranking figures began dividing areas and assigning these scattered knights and lords to their respective ambush zones. Lord Pranchet was assigned to a patch of linden forest.
That would have been acceptable.
However, Pranchet was evidently of a cheerful disposition. In such circumstances, he quickly figured out the surrounding situation. He soon noticed that those stationed on his left and right were mostly down-and-out knights, similar to him in terms of ambition and seeking to make a profit. This realization exerted tremendous pressure on him; he previously believed he was unique, or rather adventurous and brave enough to seize this opportunity for a rapid rise, only to find so many others equally daring, and he instantly began to feel pressed for time.
Fortunately, that morning, he unexpectedly received an audience with a significant figure, albeit alongside other knights—but this was enough to make Lord Pranchet feel valued, as it was said the great man was a minister close to Duke Vieiro. Naturally, the content of the audience was likely to urge them to stay vigilant, as the Blood Staff had already made contact with the scouts of Vieiro’s army earlier yesterday.
Pranchet, with his natural acuity, nonetheless caught a different meaning from the words exchanged: under tacit approval, they were allowed to attack without orders and not wait for the scheduled time when the opportunity arose.
After all, the significant figure had mentioned that opportunities in battle come and go; excellent knights must learn to seize them on their own. Of course, if Pranchet had a bit of military knowledge, he would understand this was mere nonsense. If Brendel were here, he might scoff at how obvious Vieiro’s nobles were in their eagerness for merit.
Yet almost everyone believed victory was within reach and that loosening the reins a bit didn’t seem bad.
However, all this had nothing to do with Pranchet. He just felt it was undoubtedly a good omen.
And this good omen continued.
That afternoon, he finally spotted a small group of skeletal knights rushing past outside the linden forest. Following closely behind this group of skeletal cavalry, a skeletal army appeared, estimated to be several hundred strong. But, of course, Pranchet couldn’t count them; he felt he had never seen so many undead, densely packed over the hills—this had to be the army of the undead.
He was extremely nervous, but a thirst for glory and wealth calmed him down, as if overcoming fear. He felt his heart racing, and the long-desired opportunity was right before him.
Sure enough, moments later, he saw a line of skeletons, holding staves and wearing robes, enter his field of vision. If he were familiar with Madara’s army, he would recognize these as the skeleton wizards casting detection spells in the advance guard to support the scouting forces, but for Pranchet, they had only one identity.
Necromancers.
The opportunity had come!
Pranchet silently told himself.
