Chapter 1008: Act 179 – The Battle of the White Lion II
Some things are easier said than done, which is why there are so many talkers in the world.
On the battlefield, as people face each other in combat, they tell themselves inwardly—that overcoming the fear of death allows one to confront fear with ease. Yet, when the blade is upon them, it is often then that one understands the lightness of Death’s footsteps in the indifferent gaze of the enemy.
When your head falls, the world is upturned in your eyes, ultimately plunging into dust. The battlefield is filled with grim decay, representing the symbols of your existence—your name, status, faith, and family—all turning to nothingness beneath a single sword. After this, there is no beginning nor end; no one knows what the world beyond death is like because it most likely does not exist.
Mountains and rivers, forests and plains, still bear their original colors; the sun and moon continue their eternal orbit. Where you once departed from the world, white flowers and green grass flourish, yet you can no longer feel any of it.
Before disaster strikes, fear penetrates to the marrow, then chills the heart.
Though Juliette is not a novice to the battlefield—
Even if in the southern region of Erluin, the wars between nobles are filled with petty squabbles, as a mercenary, she has seen her share of life and death. When a person experiences death once, bathing in the salty blood upon the battlefield, they undergo a complete transformation. Some veteran soldiers privately believe that those who have gone through such experiences have unearthed the beast within.
Juliette does not know what the beast within her is like; at this moment, she only feels an unprecedented weight of responsibility. This sense of duty stems from the manipulation of others’ fates. She fears that her decisions may lead these excellent young people to dead ends. Although they have long cast aside life and death, who can guarantee that their actions truly matter? Can she truly live up to the trust reflected in their eyes?
Though Juliette is already a leader, she cannot answer these two questions.
She is unaware that she stands at a crossroads where countless others have paused before her. At this crossroads, humanity must overcome its weakness; some choose to retreat, but many others charge forward to bloody ends. They become cold, ruthless, ignorant, and arrogantly mad, while only a few can truly see their hearts and take that critical step to become the finest commanders.
This is the decision on the battlefield; on this square chessboard, pieces have their own courage, and the player must possess the courage of a player.
The mountain wind rustles through the treetops, producing a soft sound akin to ridicule of the meaningless slaughter in this mortal realm. The deities have long departed, leaving only their offspring to harm each other.
Scattered bones cover the battlefield; stark white bones are buried among the rubble, and several dark, ominous swords are stuck haphazardly into the soft earth. If it weren’t for the lack of fluttering black rose banners in the evening breeze, Juliette could almost believe this was a battlefield in Golan-Elsen. There is no doubt that this place has just endured a battle, the invading forces being a skeletal army controlled by the Crusian people. She orders Mel to ruthlessly crush these enemies; compared to Madara’s army in the Xilmann River Valley, these undead are hardly notable.
The fight ends swiftly, and the undead wizard lacks the capacity to scout using the skeletons’ vision—if they can even be said to have sight—so they likely have not yet exposed themselves. But there is nothing to celebrate, for the real challenge lies ahead; everyone knows this deep down.
“This is a probing attack; the knights of the White Legion will likely follow behind.”
Juliette agrees with this assessment, nodding slightly.
Sure enough, three ghostly white ground dragons, along with knights of the White Legion riding them, emerge from the forest. These individuals are evidently the vanguard of the knight order. The Crusian forces are unaware of how many enemies lurk behind the silver trees, prompting them to prepare their actions carefully. Seeing that the Crusian forces are more cautious than expected, Juliette’s eyes light up; she immediately raises her sword and utters a low command:
“Charge—”
She knows she must not give the opponent too much time to discern her side, and there is no room for regret at this moment; even if she errs, she will carry it through to the end.
The brief command holds a special power; the young knights from Erluin surge forward like a flash of lightning, launching a fierce attack. The wind at the mountain pass is always exceptionally fierce, the grass sways between the rocks, and the grit blows into their faces. Faced with all this, the Crusian knights show expressions of shock; heavy cavalry always holds overwhelming advantages against light cavalry, and to them, the oncoming foes seem mad.
But they are professional soldiers, and their astonishment is brief; they quickly raise their long spears and brace for battle. This series of movements on their ground dragons is almost instinctual; these knights were initially supposed to come as scouts to gather firepower. If they detected an ambush in any direction, they should have retreated and alerted their main forces. However, seeing that the enemy is not in large numbers, they believe these are merely scouts and thus their first reaction is to meet the challenge head-on.
This entire series of judgments causes them to miss the best opportunity to discern the facts from the truth.
Though they do not think they will lose.
Juliette maintains the lead in the charge; she is already starting to feel the imposing pressure from the massive body of the ground dragon ahead. Especially as the distance closes, she can even see the creature’s large, coldly glowing, gray-brown eyes with slit pupils characteristic of cold-blooded beasts. There sits a knight atop the smooth, high-humped back of the ground dragon, obscuring the face of the Crusian, who is now raising a dragon spear over three meters in length, aiming directly at her.
Juliette’s emerald eyes narrow into a pinpoint, and within their shimmering brilliance, the spearhead rushing toward her is reflected. The spear pierces the neck of her warhorse with a series of cracking bones; however, before it could happen, Juliette has instinctively leaped from the saddle, her horse crashing down beneath her, rolling down the slope with a mournful whinny.
She passes by the ground dragon, swiftly grabbing the metal buckle on the saddle; the Crusian knight is slightly taken aback, but it is not overwhelming shock. He clumsily draws his sword—a standard heavy sword of the White Legion, longer than a forearm, with a thick blade that adds weight, making it tremendously forceful as he swings it, like a black cold moon slicing toward Juliette.
Most people cannot change direction mid-air, but this moment is clearly an exception.
Suddenly, a crimson longsword appears in Juliette’s hand. “Flame!” she shouts, the tightly gripped sword’s tip spurting forth a brilliant flame. The knight is caught completely off guard, engulfed by the fire.
“Ah—!” The knight lets out a chilling scream, losing his heavy sword which flies toward Juliette.
Juliette sidesteps, and the sword narrowly passes by her cheek.
“Her weapon—!” The knight’s companion finally notices the change in the battle and tightens the reins, attempting to make the massive beast beneath him turn around to assist his comrade.
But Juliette will not grant them this opportunity. “Mel, hold them back!” she shouts, simultaneously delivering a strong kick to the burned knight’s chest. Since he is strapped to the saddle with a belt, her kick merely causes him to sway.
That’s enough.
She has firmly landed on the back of the ground dragon, reaching out to grasp the knight’s helmet and forcing his head back to expose the vulnerable area of his neck. With one swift stroke, she slices through his throat, arterial blood spraying forth in steaming jets, splattering her buckled gloves and wrists. Juliette remains undeterred, retracting the sword and delivering a heavy upward slash that severs the straps securing the knight to his thigh and calf, casually tossing him aside as if he were trash from the back of the ground dragon.
The remaining Crusian knights, witnessing this scene, cannot help but be filled with rage, howling, “Damn it!”
They immediately abandon Mel and others, redirecting their attention toward this direction.
Of course, this decision is not solely driven by anger; Juliette, having taken control of the ground dragon, becomes the greatest threat to them. The scout cavalry poses no threat to heavy cavalry like them, but riders also mounted on ground dragons are different—especially since this woman has demonstrated first-rate prowess.
Moreover, she possesses a weapon of legendary status.
In battles of this level, this weapon holds the power to shift the tides of war.
…
Sir Maroly waits anxiously for news from the front; he is unsure how many enemies lurk behind the forest. Based on previous displays, there should not be too many, but no one dares to bet on that—war is not a gamble; perhaps this is merely a ploy to confuse them?
Thus, he cautiously dispatches several vanguard teams and lets the main forces follow closely behind, the spare time allowing those skeletal soldiers to regroup. The earlier false alarm wasted a good amount of time, and he vaguely senses something is off. He instinctively glances toward the direction of the Valarch Mountains, where a large fireball is gradually sliding below the horizon, against a deep blue sky above, the divine Temptress casts a silvery silhouette.
Time is getting late.
He turns back, slightly anxious, confronting a dark, shimmering expanse of silver trees. The forest is not very thick, but mist is beginning to rise between the trees, shrouding the area in ghostly shadows. Silence reigns, with only the rustle of footsteps and the ground dragon’s heavy steps echoing. The silent darkness feels more like a horrific beast, waiting for its prey.
“Why hasn’t anyone returned yet?” He can no longer restrain himself from asking; this silent anticipation is seriously suffocating.
“All dispatched skeletons are done for,” the middle-aged man dressed as a wizard responds in a deeper tone. “But they were not eliminated quickly; the enemy may truly be short-handed.”
“But my people haven’t come back,” Sir Maroly furrows his brow in reply.
“They likely won’t return,” the middle-aged man answers, his brow also knit. “But we cannot be held back here.” He glances back. “My troops are ready; it’s time to give orders, Commander.”
Maroly gazes once more at the shadowy forest, hesitating for a moment. He knows what the other party has said may very well be correct; if the enemy is indeed short-handed and still delays their advance, it suggests they are likely an elite unit. If that is the case, then his dispatched vanguard may truly not return.
But if he is mistaken, a single erroneous command could doom this entire army; perhaps his own death would be inconsequential, but the idea of letting that secret fall into enemy hands sends chills down his spine just thinking about it.
Yet they cannot linger; the unsettling feeling continues to swirl in his heart.
On the other side of the forest, the last ground dragon crashes heavily to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust beside its huge corpse. Juliette is drenched in blood, the two young men are also severely injured, and only Mel is in somewhat better condition, yet still wounded.
This battle did not last long, but for Juliette and the others, it felt like an eternity. The knights of the White Legion possess exceptional power; even among the young men, the strongest Mel falls far behind. Had it not been for Juliette seizing the initiative and eliminating one of them at the start, combined with her weapon’s advantage and the intimidation of the explosive crystals, it could easily have turned disastrous, with inevitable casualties, and they might have failed to prevent the enemy from notifying their main troops.
Fortunately, all seems to have ended favorably; the Crusian army remains slow to mobilize, which at least indicates that their efforts have not been in vain.
However, delays are ultimately not endless—
It seems that the Crusian commander has finally made up his mind. Mel squints, already able to see the dense banners of the Crusian knights slowly beginning to advance from behind the silver trees. Though the undead army follows without any visible flags, they are likely right behind—or maybe even in front.
“They’re coming,” Mel responds dryly. From the moment he became a knight, he resolved to face death, but now that the moment has arrived, he realizes he may not be fully prepared—not from fear or cowardice, but from unwillingness to accept.
He could die in a place like this?
Juliette silently nods, offering no words.
