Chapter 342: Act 110 – Toniger and the Young Lord (Part 10)
The seventh day of the Month of Slumber—
After the first snowfall.
Severe winter has locked down all major roads between the mountains of Anlek and the countryside of Ampere Seale. Various factions have wasted two months of rhetoric through their lobbyists, ultimately achieving nothing. The cold season has frozen the tumultuous situation in the north, and rumors about the Northern War that were once vigorous like a storm have dissipated like baseless tales.
But only those who can truly see through it understand that beneath this false calm lies a deeper crisis. The silver-clad world, where everything is frozen, is not peaceful silence; it is a brewing explosion after a long period of endurance.
Swords scream for blood.
As if with the arrival of spring, after the snow melts, what seeps into the earth is not melted snowwater, but blood. Brendel knows this well, just as he knows the black and white print of history.
Yet when the earth lies dormant, a latent power stirs beneath the blanket of snow. It is like clear hoofbeats traversing the forest, shaking the soil—when the aging knight Pallas leads his men to this small hill within Minate territory for the first time amidst the chilly winds—he is unaware that news of the fire ignited in Toniger has already reached the desks of numerous dukes and lords through unseen channels.
In a sensitive period, a single spark can ignite the situation. Everyone thinks that Her Highness the Princess is taking reckless risks, but no one realizes that the silver-haired young girl can only bitterly accept Brendel’s “good intentions.”
So what will Count Rendener do? It is a thought that carries deep implications.
But no one pays attention to the fate of a mere pawn.
Only when Princess Grifian receives intelligence that Pallas has begun to advance into Cold Fir Territory, does she involuntarily pinch the parchment with her fingers and, smiling lightly, ask Overwell beside her, “Overwell, who do you think will win?”
Overwell slightly bows, “Rationally speaking, Count Rendener is sure to win, but my intuition says otherwise.”
“And if he wins?”
“Then Count Rendener would not dare to act rashly.”
“And if he loses?”
“Anlek would likely prefer that Rendener at least remains neutral, which aligns with that old man’s intentions—”
“So, all in all, would it be no harm to us?”
“If Her Highness can recognize that Count Rendener would never be on our side!”
“Unfortunately, Makarolo and Teacher Livwz cannot see this.” The silver-haired girl supports her snow-white cheek with one hand and lets out a sigh.
Overwell did not answer easily. In his view, the cunning fox and Master Livwz are not incapable of seeing this; rather, it is out of their own considerations. Perhaps they think Count Rendener is at least more reliable than an unknown young man, and Makarolo actually hopes that this princess does not engage too much with that young man. Sir Toniger can keenly sense this point.
He could not voice these thoughts aloud, lest they sow distrust within the royal faction, but he believes this wise princess can see it as well.
“You say,” Grifian slightly lifts her delicate eyelashes, fixing her gaze on the close minister, “why would he do this? Is it merely from some innate fondness for the royal family?”
The girl shook her head again, her background makes her naturally distrustful of such feelings without any interests involved: “I’m afraid not.”
“In my opinion, it stems from the ambitions of an adventurer—”
“Ambitions?”
Princess Grifian blinks her eyes.
But at this moment, the aged knight Pallas, standing in the cold wind, is clearly unaware that a captivatingly beautiful princess is evaluating the fates of both sides. The old knight raises his hand, weathered and calloused, to lift his visor, exhaling a breath of white mist into the cold air, gazing at the foggy distant mountains.
Below the hill is the camp that has been attacked—
This is already the sixth attack this week.
The attackers are the cave-dwellers, once again.
The wrinkles on the old man’s forehead almost knit together, and his aging face resembles that of gnarled tree bark. The knights behind him emerge one after another from the forest, most of them wearing grave expressions.
They had originally thought that the rolling hills of the Minate region would be less treacherous than the dangerous Graham’s Mountain where they fought for years; and that the mobs as their enemies wouldn’t be as elusive as mountain dwellers, believing they could finally breathe a sigh of relief—many viewed the forthcoming war as an opportunity to relax.
But unexpectedly, before encountering any refugees, they faced even trickier foes.
“Those damn cave-dwellers have rebelled!” someone cursed angrily. The cave-dwellers target various objectives, not limited to military ones—sometimes granaries and estates are within their hunting range.
Although the main forces of Count Rendener have yet to gather, these elusive attacks have already caused unrest among the inhabitants of the territory. The damage inflicted has not been severe, but Pallas is worried it may delay the army’s assembly.
Especially as it has now developed into an attack on the camp where the mountain dwellers gather; this is the second camp to be attacked.
Cave-dwellers move incredibly quickly through the forest, and when they launch their attacks, the mountain dwellers are unprepared, allowing these monsters to infiltrate from the north, inflicting casualties before swiftly retreating.
The terrain in the forest is complex, and cavalry cannot engage, making pursuit impossible, which is icing on the cake.
“How many people did we lose?”
“Not many, a few dozen dead, but many injured.”
“How many total losses this week?”
“Nearly a hundred,” the knight replied, “not counting combat losses.”
“Why would there be combat losses?” Pallas turned around and asked. It is still early for battle; the mobilization speed of supplies and other resources is far below expectations, and the assembly of mountain dwellers is not speeding up—fewer than ten percent have gathered so far.
What perplexes him is that he has never given any orders, so how could there be combat losses?
“Because a group of mountain dwellers gathered privately, preparing to retaliate, but ended up ambushed upon entering Minate territory. Only one or two managed to return,” the knight replied.
“Those fools,” the old knight scolded. “So what’s the total loss from the first attack until now?”
The knights exchanged glances before one answered.
“Over three hundred.”
“Just in two weeks—” Pallas shook his head, actually, he can accept this loss. Because if they don’t take the initiative to attack, it’s indeed difficult for him to do anything with these figures.
However, in his view, this is the enemy’s last struggle.
In these two months, Pallas has gathered enough intelligence. The noble private soldiers returning from Firburh have brought him quite a few useful pieces of information—like he knows Brendel has cave-dwellers under his command, numbering several hundred, possibly even over a thousand.
Several hundred cave-dwellers, over a thousand mercenaries; Pallas feels that as long as he consolidates his position, he will certainly win. The mistake made by that old fool, Sir Minate, is one he absolutely won’t make again—indeed, this old knight knows that according to his character, he probably wouldn’t even make that mistake the first time.
His hand stroked the metal hilt of his sword. It is said that Carglis has also been captured by those mobs, and over these days, he has been worried about his student.
Pallas originally planned to take about a month and a half more; even if during this time those mountain dwellers lost a thousand lives, or even a third of them withdrew from the battle sequence, he wouldn’t care.
But this old knight understands that numbers do not calculate this way on the battlefield.
For if the events he predicts truly occur, it would be a fatal blow to morale, perhaps even plunging the mountain dwellers remaining in this region into chaos.
He perceives that the enemy is trying to pressure him, attempting to force an early decisive battle.
But things are never this simple; the ambushed mountain dwellers articulate the problem well. Pallas understands he must not act impulsively, yet on the other hand, the endlessly chattering mountain dwellers’ leaders give him a tremendous headache.
Those people have their point; this week alone, the cave-dwellers of the forest have even penetrated deep into the territory, burning one of Pallas’s granaries—this makes him suspect whether something was leaked from Schafflund, as the cave-dwellers can only infiltrate Pallas’s territory through that route.
However, scouts from Schafflund report everything is normal. He even sent a second batch of scouts, and found nothing unusual.
This leads the old knight to curse the Schafflund region managed by Ogins as being a complete sieve that anyone can penetrate.
But he also does not consider that if it weren’t for this sieve, his own people might not have been able to penetrate through either.
Pallas touched his sword, ultimately suppressing the impulse in his heart; he shook his head and said, “We’re going back.”
“My lord,” the knights were somewhat perplexed, “just leaving it like this? What about those cave-dwellers?”
“Let the mountain dwellers shrink their defenses, alter the supply route, and re-plan the placement of the granaries. The enemy is in the dark while we are in the light; vigilance is the only way—”
“But that will waste too much time; wouldn’t it be better for us to charge through and eliminate them?”
“If you think that way, then your enemies will be delighted,” Pallas replied coldly. “The undead of Madara, the mountain dwellers, and even the food and other supplies have yet to arrive! If you lose Pallas territory again, what will Count Rendener think of that—”
“We have several thousand men, and the mountain dwellers’ army is approaching two thousand,” the knight said. “Even if the cave-dwellers are added, they shouldn’t be our match, right?”
“That old fool, Sir Minate, thought the same; you’ve seen his fate, haven’t you?”
“But if we do this, it will affect the gathering time, my lord.”
“That’s fine; it’s best to delay until the Month of Spring Dawn—deploying troops in winter is not a good omen—” Knight Pallas shook his head—though this sporadic harassment does not cause significant harm, it is like a slap in the face, and yet he has no way to retaliate.
He is a cautious man, and it seems the enemy is keenly aware of this.
Yet the only confidence Pallas has right now is that he will never make a decision to deploy early out of anger. This old knight believes he has accurately seen that the enemy is in a cornered struggle; therefore, he will steadily wear them down, sparing no chance to break free.
The shame of today, he will reclaim it slowly in the future.
“Delay until the Month of Spring Dawn? That long? Won’t Count Rendener hold us accountable? Three months; with Martha up there, how much food would that require?”
“My lord, if you do this, Count Rendener will kill us!”
“Quite the opposite,” Pallas glanced at his old subordinates: “The longer we delay, the better. You must think long-term; the battlefield is not limited to Toniger—regardless, until this war ends, the lord will not trouble you.”
“Some things cannot be measured by mere expenditure of money,” the old knight, though a soldier at heart, possesses enough experience to see through the waves hidden beneath this seemingly calm surface: “Of course, if we perform well, it will be even more reassuring for Count Rendener—”
“That goes without saying.” The knights all agreed.
…
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