Chapter 473: Act 222 – A Glimpse of Victory
The arduous advance of the forces had become entangled, and although several times the soldiers from the Bear Territory and the soldiers from Gris had climbed the earthen walls, the mercenaries’ will to resist exceeded the imagination of every noble present from Erluin; the attacks had been thwarted at the last moment multiple times, leaving Rendener’s army with no gains after two full days and nights of battle. The fighting had been exceptionally fierce, and the blood had turned the River Gris red.
Parsons remained undeterred; this knight general stood with his hand on his longsword, like a cold reaper guarding the entire battlefield, stubbornly maintaining the pace of advancement. At this stage of the war, it no longer mattered how many lives had been sacrificed, for victory was just one step further.
The experienced general was searching for an opportunity for the final strike—after a day, the rebel’s geographical advantage had mostly worn off, while his own rotating army had maintained high morale—suddenly, his eyes brightened slightly.
Parsons raised his hand and pointed in a certain direction: “Let Sir Wade go up, don’t question my orders, he will see where he should attack—!”
The messenger was momentarily speechless, ‘Is there such a way to convey orders?’ This unnamed individual even doubted whether this lord had not slept all night and was a bit delirious, but when he looked up, he saw a pair of steadfast, vibrant eyes.
That was confidence—
“I understand, my lord,” the messenger bowed.
Husher whistled to gather the surrounding people. “Do you see over there?” he asked, pointing to a corner of the forest across the river. Everyone saw a fire-red swallow-tailed flag appearing in that direction, with several pikes crossing over the treetops, followed by a whole squad of horsemen clad in red armor appearing at the edge of the forest.
“The Red Banner Cavalry, that’s Rendener’s private army,” a mercenary immediately recognized.
“How generous!” another mercenary spat, blood mixed with phlegm.
“What’s their combat effectiveness?” Husher asked.
“First-tier troops, mounted on ferocious horses, light cavalry, averaging just above black iron—” replied a tall, slender elf with a grayish complexion, unlike the others, he was also a mercenary summoned by Brendel.
“Hmph, a ‘light cavalry’ fully covered in armor!” Husher clicked his tongue.
“The horses aren’t armored, but in terms of load-bearing capacity and mobility, it indeed counts as light cavalry. They’re equipped with the three-eyed guns of the Hazell people, which still possess considerable long-range attack capability at a certain distance, Rendener spent a fortune on this army.” The elf answered.
“Did the lord say that?” Husher asked quietly.
The latter nodded.
“They intend to attack our left flank, which is manned by the mercenaries under Crenshia, who are already showing signs of fatigue. Their eyes are quite sharp,” Husher turned back, pointing at the others: “Unfortunately, there’s no reason to let our old knight have it so easy; we’ll deal with these cavalry, how about you?”
He glanced at the other mercenaries present, who were all elite selected from various units, with at least peak black iron strength, numbering only around forty or fifty. This squad had once had a full hundred a day ago, evidencing the intensity of the fighting.
“Killing one will cover the costs,” everyone chuckled.
More cavalry emerged from the forest on the opposite bank, quickly reaching two to three hundred in number. Sir Wade sat atop his horse, watching his subordinates with satisfaction—this was the model of Erluin’s elite army, not at all inferior to the royal White Lion army—though only two squadrons accompanied him in this war, he was confident he could lead them to crush any enemies in their path.
The cavalry began to cross the river amid the urgent sound of whistles. Their sudden appearance naturally caught Medisa’s attention. Standing at the highest point of the battlefield, the Silver Elf princess directed her gaze, and an arrow storm seemed to arrive as an extension of her will.
The arrows fell into the water, creating violent splashes, but the bows had difficulty inflicting fatal damage on these red-armored cavalry; the conical arrowheads often lost momentum after penetrating the armor, with some riders still maintaining their formation despite carrying three or four arrows. Sir Wade was not surprised by this; equipment was an important standard for measuring a military’s combat effectiveness, and the Red Banner cavalry were equipped with bolt-proof breastplates that greatly weakened the power of ranged attacks—in his opinion, this made up for the greatest flaw of light cavalry.
However, this noble knight could never have imagined that his enemies were so varied, and the mercenaries, by nature, were composed of a complex mix, while the adventurers came from all corners of the earth. Just as Wade began to feel a sense of pride, he was unaware that several elven archers concealed in the forest had already locked onto this conspicuous cavalry.
“Hanno, you left, I right.” On a branch about one or two hundred meters away, an elf clad in leaves handed a green arrow to the human ranger behind him.
“Those two?”
“Those two.”
Two strings twanged in the forest, and as the Red Banner cavalry just entered the southern forest, the leading two fell off their horses like logs. Sir Wade was taken aback and turned to find that both of his subordinates had been struck by arrows in the flexible part of their throat armor, expiring immediately. A chill ran down his spine as he shouted, “Beware of sharpshooters!”
True sharpshooters were the nightmare of all heavy armored units, for their thick armor was almost as if it had no effect to their opponents. Their piercing arrows could always hit the most vulnerable and lethal spots; however, in typical armies, professional archers were already a precious resource, let alone sharpshooters capable of hitting a target a hundred paces away. Lords would often pay dearly to hire such individuals, but Wade knew that the most formidable sharpshooters almost always came from elves and rangers, who loved freedom even more.
Thinking of this, this knight could not help but curse in his heart. Where did these infernal rebels come from? Druids and rangers, even elves—the hell, is this the Forest Alliance? Or are they really waging a holy war? Just thinking about the November War gave him chills.
“There!” The Red Banner cavalry continued to move forward at a uniform pace in the forest; moving within the range of the sharpshooters was tantamount to courting death. These cavalrymen, being experienced veterans, naturally understood this, and soon enough, they discovered signs of the enemy.
Not far away, a figure was moving swiftly behind the entangled vines and solidified dark brown earthen walls.
With grayish-blue skin, a tall elf kept his head down to maintain his movement behind the wall, quickly approaching closer to the cavalry. The elf stopped to observe, his elongated pupils gleaming coolly, and then he maintained his movement while leaning out half of his body from behind the wall, raising his longbow.
“It’s an elven sharpshooter!” The cavalry screamed upon seeing the shooting stance of the opponent; they immediately dismounted, holding up their round shields to cover their throats. To children, elven sharpshooters were the divine archers of fairy tales, but for soldiers in battle, encountering an elven sharpshooter as an enemy was a nightmare.
Especially with grayish-blue skin, wind elf, and wilderness runner.
Not far away, hidden in a cleverly concealed trench, Husher peeked out to look in the distance and then shrank back. He gestured to the others: “They’re all veterans.”
“Pity it’s useless, hehe.” The mercenaries, seemingly darkened by years of battle, flashed cruel smiles in their eyes and they indeed chuckled.
Indeed useless.
A white flash—an arrow pierced straight through the center of the round shield held by the leading cavalryman, subsequently penetrating the neck of the unfortunate soul and splattering blood onto the armor of another cavalryman behind him. With a resounding bang, the second cavalryman flew off his horse.
Then the first cavalryman silently fell from his mount.
“Silver archer!”
In an instant, Wade almost thought he had fallen into a huge trap, and the grayish figure atop the city wall had already stopped, transforming into a cannon—yet for our noble knight, it was more akin to a reaper—each time that gray-skinned elf raised his longbow, at least one of the cavalry maintaining their charge in the forest would fall.
Wade felt the hairs on his neck stand, but he was still somewhat of an excellent commander. He immediately drew his sword and commanded resolutely:
“Close in, suppress that guy with handguns!”
The lethality of the silver-tier sharpshooter was simply terrifying; the speed of two arrows per second meant that by the time he finished shooting, his own side’s morale would probably already have collapsed.
The swiftly whistling arrows in the forest became a death summons, but at that moment, the Red Banner cavalry also displayed their elite capabilities, maintaining their high morale and advancing, almost to the range of the handguns.
Sir Wade breathed a sigh of relief.
He had the cavalry raise their pikes high, allowing the red flag to flutter in the forest; victory seemed just within reach. If they could bypass the defense line, they would deal a decisive blow to these rebels from the side.
Unfortunately, however, victory was like a distant dream, just out of reach—
Husher snapped his fingers: “It’s our turn to perform.”
The uneven ground of the forest was covered with the dead leaves of autumn, dotted with snow, and just at that moment, a row of ‘scarecrows’ suddenly stood up from the dry leaves.
Of course, they were not scarecrows but mercenaries who had disguised themselves convincingly.
Wade’s heart skipped a beat, feeling a sinking sensation. “It’s knights!” The Red Banner cavalry suddenly became flustered. Husher licked his lips and took a step forward, throwing a hand axe that spun rapidly through the air.
Time seemed to freeze.
He watched as a cavalryman fell backward, while another galloped past him with a long spear. Husher slightly dodged, raising his heavy sword to slice a long gash along the waist of the unfortunate soul.
Rose-colored blood mixed with warm white mist sprayed in a string of beads in mid-air.
The cavalryman shrieked and, propelled by his horse’s inertia, stumbled forward a few steps before collapsing to the ground. Sir Wade stared in terror at this scene; they were indeed knights, and at least the front few had silver-level strength.
Hope shattered like a fragile crystal statue falling to the ground.
“Go to hell, rebels!” This noble knight suddenly felt a surge of sadness, but he did not retreat; instead, he raised his longsword. A decisive light shone in the knight’s eyes as he rushed towards Husher: “Die!”
An arrow shot through his throat.
On the city wall, the elf put away his longbow.
……(To be continued. If you like this work, please visit qidian.com to vote for recommendations and monthly tickets. Your support is my greatest motivation.)
