Chapter 848: Act 26 – The Great War Begins I
Below the forest, knights and their servants fled in panic. For the inexperienced soldiers of Vieiro, the scene seemed like the apocalypse had struck everyone, igniting a visceral fear deep within them, as if they felt the terror of the wretched spirits lunging towards them. Isolated and helpless, they felt they were about to die without a burial. The mercenaries were as frightened as chaff in the wind, devoid of any courage to resist, only able to drop their weapons and scream as they scattered in all directions, collapsing completely in an instant.
The sharp claws of the wretched spirits grazed through the air like hooks suspended above, striking one of the knights on horseback and yanking him violently from his mount. The knight let out a tragic scream as his intestines and spine were pulled from his lower half in a gruesome display, his blood-soaked torso flying through the air before crashing back down, fragments of his entrails and the stench of blood spraying the ground. The wretched spirit let out a piercing howl before darting back into the woods, soaring high once again.
The pale-faced commander of the Vieiro army, Earl Jack, watched this scene with dread as thirty to forty wretched spirits, their wings spread wide, drove the fleeing knights into the forest. Many knights hadn’t been killed by the undead but instead had met their demise crashing against trees, their skulls bursting open; others perished in the chaos of trampling, especially those frantic servants who, if they fell to the ground, were rarely spared. The sight of one to two thousand people being herded into the dense woods like ducks was both pitiful and laughable. Had they possessed the courage to stop and turn to fight, they might have been able to retreat intact, but they were already terrified to the core, preferring to scare themselves to death rather than face those nightmares.
A few noble commanders and higher-bred knights from the Vieiro army watched the absurd scene with wide eyes, but none could muster a laugh. Earl Jack turned and whispered a command, summoning several clergymen dressed in red robes and pointed hats from the woods. In one hand they held sacred relics, and in the other, the scriptures of the Temple of Fire, quietly chanting as they walked along the lines of knights in the linden groves. Soon, a visible white glow rose from the scriptures, forming a halo that gradually enveloped the entire army. Earl Jack felt a warm surge of power infuse his heart; while it offered no tangible benefits, it surprisingly carried a soothing strength that brought him momentarily to calm.
This was the blessing of courage. The noble private army in the woods quieted down slightly in the wake of the clergymen’s chants.
“It’s the fear aura; those screaming monsters must be higher-tier undead,” Jack said, gripping the hilt of his sword and addressing those beside him. Compared to his pale-faced comrades, Earl Jack had at least endured the Black Rose War and was one of the few Vieiro commanders who had dealt with Madara. In this matter, the Duke of Vieiro had trusted him, as he was the one who had come forth to answer when the princess had asked her grandfather about Brendel’s letter. However, he had looked down on Brendel’s speculations; in his ingrained views, the dark entities from the east were merely inept rabble, and Madara’s gains in the Black Rose War were merely due to the kingdom’s lack of attention to the Buche region.
For instance, in Karasu, the Highland knights had not permitted Madara any significant advantage.
Yet at this moment, Earl Jack found his mind beginning to waver. The Madara army in front of him was distinctly different from the one he had seen last year in Vieiro. When he led his troops to confront those undead armies in Vieiro, although terrified, he remembered how his farmer-soldiers, recruited from the countryside, had crumbled in an instant when the skeletal soldiers had first attacked from the woods. Fortunately, his trusted knights had steadied the ranks, and after a fierce skirmish, they discovered that Madara’s skeletons were not as threatening as they had feared; the only minor threat had been the necromancers, whose fighting capabilities were roughly on par with the knights under a lord.
Of course, this lord had no idea that the army that had invaded Vieiro was that of Frostclaw, a ghoul, merely the lowest tier of the dark nobility of Madara. They had slinked into Vieiro only to avoid the dread Highland knights and gain a small advantage; their intentions were as naïve as those of Earl Brunch. They did not expect to run into Jack’s forces. In their direct confrontation, they had drawn even, with Jack losing nearly all of his foot soldiers while Frostclaw had suffered even worse losses, including several necromancers, and soon after, he was swallowed up by other lords.
He also had no way of knowing that the true elite of Madara that had invaded Buche during the Black Rose War comprised loyal followers of the Supreme One, Instalung and Tagus, with the one-eyed Tagus hailing from a prestigious vampire clan that remained the most trusted force of Madara’s Emperor until after the battle of Xielin. While the army under the Bloodstaff was not as glamorous in command as the combination of Instalung and Tagus, its overall strength had grown after incorporating dark mercenaries from the Sea of the Undying Moon, making it stronger than Instalung’s army during the Black Rose War.
This stark contrast magnified in Earl Jack’s view a million times, causing his mood to plummet from the clouds to hell. Although still a seasoned soldier, he remained calm on the surface, expressing notions of “higher undead beings,” yet inwardly, he knew he was merely hearing secondhand accounts about these creatures.
His colleagues clearly sensed his tricks and were not comforted. They witnessed more wretched spirits emerging, followed by dozens of the same terrifying beings, swooping over gentle slopes and linden tree groves, heading straight for them. Although still some distance away, they were nonetheless filled with panic. The mountaintop they occupied overlooked the Cherny River Valley, with the fleeing knights around several miles away across the river valley opposite on the left flank. On the right, a dense coniferous forest concealed elite heavily armored infantry, guarding the central crossbow positions. Initially, this had been a lovely ambush point; relying on the cavalry on the left flank, they could effectively draw Madara’s undead army into the wide-open valley of twenty miles, buying time for the Toniger and Lantonrand armies.
But the problem now was that they had lost the ability to draw attention; the heavy infantry and crossbowmen, stripped of cavalry support, had become vulnerable, especially since Madara still had aerial strength. At this moment, a renowned swordsman beside a Duke of Vieiro had discerned their situation; those wretched spirits had at least silver-tier strength, meaning they were at least level four creatures. Everyone’s complexion changed drastically; over a hundred level four creatures could wipe out their less than four thousand noble infantry right there.
Earl Zilin and Earl Bomos immediately insisted that they should retreat. Their reasoning was to conserve the strength of the coalition; if they were completely annihilated before the Lantonrand arrived, the scene in the Xilmann River Valley would unfold again. However, if they could at least retreat with those four thousand men, or at least withdraw six of the twelve battalions, then there was still hope for future battles. The noble knights immediately echoed this sentiment, but Earl Jack himself scoffed; he understood their motives, as grandiloquent as they sounded, they were simply frightened for their lives. They thought this was a guaranteed battle, so they had rushed to take part, but once they encountered danger, they immediately wanted to distance themselves from it.
Of course, Earl Jack also understood he was not a noble man; he could somewhat empathize with their thoughts. “But are these fools really idiots?” he couldn’t help but fume, “They still think the initiative is in our hands? Do they think they can just retreat?”
With this thought, the Earl’s expression hardened. At least compared to his colleagues, he considered himself a knowledgeable noble lord. Earl Jack drove his sword into the ground and coldly declared, “The Duke has fully entrusted us to command this coalition; we must remain loyal to our duties. You are the Lord’s vassals; how can you consider retreat without fighting?”
Earl Zilin was Jack’s friend but was taken aback by his attitude. He thought his friend might have lost his mind. He had seen those fanatics from the royal party before, but his friend was certainly not one of them. He couldn’t help but glance at him strangely, wondering what he was trying to sell. Other nobles held similar thoughts, but their looks at Earl Jack became slightly unfriendly, as if following an unspoken rule; in the current noble circle, one could be honest and upright, but if one threatened the interests or safety of others, then they would certainly be met with disdain.
The current nobles of Erluin, as Brandel had said, were no longer the paragon of ancient times. Their ancestors, Eke, had led by example and carved out a kingdom in this savage land with swords, but their descendants had long lost such courage and had become merely remnants driven by conspiracy and lust for power.
However, at that moment, Jack could not help but entertain the idea that these people, who usually conversed amiably with him, could be so foolish. He shot them a cold glare and bluntly stated, “What do you plan to withdraw with? Can you outrun the skeletal knights? Or those creatures flying above? A bunch of fools; our only chance at survival is to hold our ground here and wait for the Lantonrand to rescue us. Of course, you can attempt to turn and flee, gambling for that less than one percent chance at survival, but do you have the courage for that?”
After finishing this remark, Earl Jack couldn’t help but exhale deeply. Oddly enough, although feeling that defeat was imminent, he found a strange sense of relief in his heart. He suddenly realized that compared to these fools, he at least stood out as relatively capable.
Everyone was dumbfounded.
These noble lords often bore the titles of vassals and knights of Vieiro, but in reality, most benefited from their ancestors’ protection. They held recognizable positions in the noble circle, but regrettably, war? That concept was somewhat too distant for those within the borders of the Vieiro province. The most recent war in their perspective was likely the conflict between the Duke of Vieiro and Rendener, which in Brandel’s view amounted to nothing more than insignificant squabbles, akin to villager brawls; yet, these nobles had managed to produce a few so-called “renowned generals” from it. Once upon a time, Earl Jack had been one of them, but now, he felt nothing but shame.
After a moment, most of the nobles confirmed Earl Jack’s assertions through their friends or subordinates, their expressions sagging as if struck by frost. A few foolish ones even dared to ask whether they could surrender to Madara. Of course, everyone knew that surrender was an option, as long as it meant becoming dead. But this outcome was clearly unacceptable to them; indeed, this was one of the inherent disadvantages of facing Madara; generally, in confrontations between human realms or any other civilized nations, surrendering and ransoming nobles was common. Captured nobles would be treated with dignity and wait for their families to negotiate a price for their safe return, often receiving hero-like treatment. This was a well-known fact in noble warfare.
But Madara was a realm that did not accept living beings. Being defeated by Madara was tantamount to death. Thus, even the most cowardly armies would never choose to surrender in battles against Madara; they would rather fight to the death. And now, Earl Jack’s choices were similarly dire. If they did not remain to fight, they could only expect to be killed; there was no second path.
“What if those Lantonrand don’t come? They know we’ve been defeated; I doubt they’d come to their deaths,” someone from the nobles couldn’t help but inquire.
“They dare not not come!” Earl Bomos answered with rising anger. However, after saying this, he opened his mouth and suddenly stopped short. Everyone present seemed to remember that it was their hasty alteration of battle plans that had led them to this predicament. Now, the Lantonrand not only had every reason not to come but could also very well berate them for their stupidity. Of course, in the eyes of these nobles, this was certainly not because they had erred, but rather because the Lantonrand were simply so narrow-minded.
Silence lingered in the woods for a moment.
Earl Jack, wary of the impact on morale, replied, “Don’t worry; that Earl of Toniger might not come, as far as I know he is quite the petty character. But I am quite familiar with the Lantonrand commander, Aike. He is an idealistic knight. If he can come, he will certainly return to save us. Of course, the prerequisite is that you all must have the courage to hold on until then, otherwise don’t blame them for coming to collect your corpses.”
With Jack’s explanation, coupled with Aike’s rising fame following the battle of Ampere Seale, the nobles of Vieiro finally sighed in relief. In fact, some had begun to privately praise Aike’s character, as if that knight could hear their admiration from miles away and hurry to save them.
With this glimmer of hope, Earl Jack finally managed to boost the morale of this army just a bit. At this moment, they were no longer fighting for victory but solely for survival.
The army of Vieiro began to redeploy their defenses within the linden groves, and their movements swiftly trickled down to the ears of Bloodstaff.
The dark lords of Madara had now calmed completely, as they believed they had a grasp on the identities of these unknown enemies—they were merely the Lantonrand or the Vieiro. In any case, they were certainly not Highland knights. As for the Earl of Toniger? Apologies, but what was that? The dark nobles from the Sea of the Undying Moon had never heard of it. An obvious piece of good news for them was that it seemed the armies of Lantonrand and Vieiro were entirely ignorant of Madara’s true nature; they bore no resemblance to the earlier army of Golan-Elsen, much more akin to the Erluin forces from a year ago—a force that was considered garbage, even less than garbage in the eyes of Bloodstaff and these unruly dark mercenaries.
“Looks like they have another reinforcement,” a young man with black hair tapped on the map in response to Bloodstaff, “This reinforcement should be flanking us; I don’t know how those Erluin idiots managed to get themselves disconnected. But they pose little threat. Even if this pocket converges, their combat power isn’t worth mentioning, especially given how they’ve messed up. We only need to steadily eliminate these fools.”
He grinned, “They’re just here to provide us with fresh troops.”
Bloodstaff also sneered; the Erluin’s foolishness might still astonish these dark mercenaries, but to him, it was already commonplace. He was surprised by the combat prowess displayed by the Vanmir legions’ white-winged cavalry earlier; that was somewhat out of the ordinary, but now this was back to their normal standard. His eyes lingered on the pale map made from some animal’s hide, as if truly gazing down at the land from above; the undead army was advancing on a front several miles wide; unless these humans had completely sealed off this region, there was no way they could encircle them.
Of course, it may have been possible originally, but the opponents had proven notably pitifully foolish.
“Send in the skeletons to test their combat abilities first,” he coldly commanded, setting the tone for the upcoming battle.
