Chapter 564: Act 312 – Oath and Sword I
A drop of water creates ripples that spread across the pond like a spider’s web.
On land, it is the same.
Baron Rold looked on with satisfaction as his private soldiers braved the rain along the Silversmith River. Although their movements were slow and their formation disorganized, the boorish noble troops were shouting and shoving in the heavy rain, yet they managed to set up a defense line a good fifteen minutes faster than he had anticipated. An experienced veteran is indeed different, Rold thought, feeling unconcerned about the fact that their previous enemies were merely unarmed farmers and so-called “rioters.”
In the torrential downpour, several soldiers, led by the knights, kicked open the door of a household, driving the owner out and then occupying the house as a stronghold. The windows of the house were smashed one by one, and the soldiers rifled through drawers in search of valuable “spoils,” such actions quickly sparked imitation, and terrified cries of women and children mixed with the sound of rain.
Baron Rold observed coldly from the side; to him, an army was like a wild beast, a beast that needed to show its fangs. This is the morale of an army—without morale, what good is fighting? Rold considered himself well-versed in the military, watching as his private soldiers used their fists to teach those dejected men a lesson, feeling not only satisfied but also approving of their actions.
What courage did these rebels have to resist? They needed to be taught a lesson so they would obediently comply.
Amidst the rain, a wailing sound seemed to emerge.
The knights clustered around the baron, loudly proclaiming, “I see that Her Highness the Princess is just a little girl, blindly trusting those around her. I reckon the royal faction has bad intentions; with two hundred students at her side, she’ll probably hit her head and bleed!”
“Exactly, my lord, let her see what real war is like this time.” The knights echoed in unison, laughing heartily through the wind and rain.
Morale was usable, Baron Rold nodded in satisfaction. He raised a bag high and shouted, “Everyone needs to put in more effort! Whoever captures the princess can take this bag of gold from my hands!”
His voice echoed far along the riverbank.
Beth disdainfully peered through the brass telescope at the enemies across the river. Baron Rold’s croaky voice made her frown. Since childhood, her personality had been more like a man’s, and as she grew up, she truly embraced that masculine romance—becoming a soldier of the kingdom.
Not only that, but she had also become the most outstanding scout officer in this class at the Royal Knight Academy. She set down the telescope, standing tall on her horse, resembling a spear, as the thunderous sound of hooves seemed to envelop her. One warhorse after another leapt past her with knights.
Beth felt as if she was in a torrent, while her companions were loudly calling out the names of those knights:
“Kammer!”
“Hayman!”
“Gil, remember to bring mine!”
“Aiden, for Erluin!”
“For Erluin, advance!” Every young knight passing by shouted, shrieked, their young faces stretched tight under their pointed helmets showing no sign of fear, only an unwavering aspiration.
And excitement.
Beth silently gazed toward the front of the formation, where a torrent already existed. At the far end of the rain curtain, banners were raised high and then toppled one by one, like dominoes.
She could almost hear the cold command: “Level your lances—”
“Level your lances—”
“Damn it.” She spat.
Turning around, she saw the cheerful faces of her companions. “So, are you regretting it, Beth?”
“Regretting? Never.” Beth replied contemptuously, “Just a bunch of rabble. If only it were the White Lion army ahead, we are stronger than them!”
“The princess’s safety is paramount, Beth, your thoughts are too dangerous!”
“I know very well!”
In the downpour.
Baron Rold raised the bag of money high, waiting for his subordinates to burst into cheers, but unfortunately, he waited a long time for a response. The heavy rain suddenly rendered everything a bit eerie in its silence.
What’s going on? He turned in astonishment.
Everyone was straining to listen.
On the long street, amidst the sound of rain, the crisp sound of hooves emerged—one, two, seeming as if the clock hands were spinning faster, clop, clop, clop, clear and powerful.
Then came the gale and torrential rain—
As hundreds and thousands of metallic horse hooves lifted and fell in unison, gradually gathering into a tremendous force that reverberated deeply—an urgent drumbeat pierced the eardrums of all, shaking like thunder.
The Silversmith River within Ampere Seale was nothing more than a small ditch, a downpour even nearly overflowing its low and gentle banks. At this moment, everyone was looking at the water’s surface.
The surface trembled, reminiscent of milk in a cup placed on a table.
The entire surface of the Silversmith River began to shudder.
Until a lance broke through the curtain of rain—
Its shining tip, like a silver shuttle, sent all the raindrops flying to either side. A man and a horse, their silver hair waving, a snow-white cloak resembling a banner, the banner adorned with pure white lilies, seemingly shining on a battlefield from a thousand years ago.
“An elf?”
On the opposite riverbank, a noble private soldier holding a family captive was just beginning to think this thought; he was so stunned that he could only stare, mouth agape, as the lance in his view grew larger and larger.
In that instant.
It was as if time froze and suddenly resumed flow. With a thud, the lance pierced directly through the open mouth of the soldier. The tip punctured his throat, and the tremendous impact completely shattered his skull, distorting his features, causing the terror in his eyeballs to warp as well, with skin tearing apart to reveal the crimson muscles and blood below.
Blood sprayed out, but the lance continued forward, ripping open half his skull, carrying this bright red flag onward.
The soldier, with half his head gone, twitched once before limp-limbed crashing to the ground. Blood splattered in the wind and rain, dotting the nearby “captives,” sending the family of three into a complete daze.
Medisa, with a cold expression, swept past them like a silver flash.
As if a streak of silver light.
A few drops of blood fell on the face of the Silver Elf Princess, some cold and piercing, yet she didn’t even blink. By human years, she was only fifteen, but the wars she had experienced numbered in the thousands.
That was the fiercest war since the Age of Saints, where countless familiar faces perished; survival and death became mere passersby, leaving only combat as instinct.
That is the combat skill of the Silver Elves.
“Enemy attack!”
“It’s cavalry—!” The shrill cry rang out like a sharp alarm across the riverbank, and everyone awoke as if from a dream, seeming to realize that the enemy was not as weak as they had imagined.
Baron Rold turned pale, an ominous feeling suddenly gripping his heart. He looked back to see the knights exchanging glances; had they ever seen such horsemen before?
Medisa raised her lance high.
In the wind and rain, the banner flew.
With a deafening boom, as if something separating behind her shattered—the curtain of rain before everyone seemed like a glass wall suddenly fracturing, the rainwater turning into shards of glass violently rushing forward, and behind that, a vast army of knights burst forth as if emerging from a cracked box.
Black uniforms, black armor, black steeds—a torrent of black.
“Long live!”
“Long live!”
The knights shouted, true warriors never hesitating to spill their blood. Though Medisa was just a little girl, having momentarily exhibited the demeanor of a true knight, at this moment she became the goddess in everyone’s hearts.
The war goddess.
“Stop them!” Finally, noble knights on the other side of the river reacted, almost screaming at the top of their lungs: “Level your lances, level your lances, or else you’ll be doomed!”
The noble privates across the river seemed to come to life; they hurriedly began to level their lances. Perhaps driven by survival instinct they unlocked their last potential, or perhaps it was the shallow Silversmith River that offered them solace, but in any case, at the last moment, these utterly mediocre third-rate soldiers actually steadied themselves.
A forest of lances appeared on the opposite riverbank.
Medisa appeared unbothered, simply raising her lance—
“Wings of the Spirit!”
With a clear shout, it echoed across the entire battlefield.
One by one, circular magic circles unfurled beside the girl, rotating, ethereal lines expanding from the magic arrays, quickly forming a cohesive whole. “Whoosh,” a pair of wings measuring over a hundred feet unfurled; with a gentle flap, the Silversmith River before Medisa seemed imbued with some form of magical power, and white waves immediately rolled back, forming twelve heads of a hydra rearing their necks as they rushed toward Baron Rold’s private troops across the river like a mountain crashing down.
“Ah!”
Baron Rold was utterly stunned, suddenly unsure whether to issue a command to hold the line or to retreat. He had some mediocre wizards among his ranks, but at this level, their impact was meaningless. The noble privates could only watch helplessly as the towering waves crashed down upon them.
Boom!
The gigantic waves instantly shattered the formation of the noble privates on the riverbank; in fact, they had already begun to waver before the waves formed, but how could they outrun the tide? Most nobles were just beginning to turn as they were dragged into the water below by the oncoming torrent.
Then the flows collided fiercely with the residences on the opposite side of the Silversmith River. With several loud creaks and groans, the houses collapsed, carried along with the water towards the back streets.
Baron Rold’s defense line collapsed in an instant; behind the giant wave, young knights waded through the water—they faced a retreating defense line, where those holding lances had long since toppled over, unable to retaliate.
One side retreated, the other accelerated, and then the two lines crashingly collided together.
It was as if a comb had brushed through the hair. Princess’s young knights penetrated through the noble privates’ positions almost unfettered, leaving a perforated defense line like a sieve; however, the offensive surged again and again, and the psychological defense line of the noble privates crumbled utterly in an instant.
Only fleeing remained.
But the relentless cavalry still charged forward.
The young officers urged on the enemy, preventing them from regrouping again. Although this was practically meaningless against an opponent like the noble privates, the youths still executed their cavalry tactics strictly, performing textbook standards.
Across the battlefield, from this vantage point and even further away, Baron Rold’s private soldiers scattered in flight like ants after a dam burst.
The sky began to brighten.
Brendel pursed his lips, watching the scene unfold before him, his face betraying no hint of delight. Suddenly, he tightened the reins, spinning around, and after halting, raised the Sword of the Earth high, pointing it toward one side:
“Brensen, sound the horn, and let the entire army split to the flanks!”
“Brendel, what are you doing!” Brensen nearly jumped up; wasn’t this the moment to drive the enemy back?
Yet he quickly lost his voice, his expression frozen as he stared at those cerulean-colored spiders appearing once more—but this time not on the ground, but in the sky behind Brendel.
One by one, thousands upon thousands of wind-spirit spiders emerged above the battlefield, resembling a densely woven, cerulean net.
There was almost a moment of silence on the battlefield.
Brendel turned around.
“Brendel, you…” Brensen gulped.
Freya was also astonished; it wasn’t her first time seeing these spiders, but it was the first time witnessing Brendel commanding so many of them.
“All troops, listen up,” Brendel’s voice suddenly echoed across the battlefield: “Knights of the Royal Knight Academy, maintain your charge from the flanks, continue moving forward—”
“Forward—”
“Forward!” After a moment of silence, a roar like a tsunami of cheers and screams erupted.
After Baron Rold was dragged out of the water, he stared dully at his knights, who were yelling at him with all their might—but strangely, he couldn’t hear a word.
However, finally, the sound seemed to return to his awareness; he gradually heard his subordinate shouting at him, “…My lord, they are splitting!”
“What splitting!”
“Those knights are splitting!”
Rold paused for a moment, but the color drained from his face, “Those guys are driving us together, they plan to push us forward!”
“They intend to use us as cannon fodder, my lord!”
“My lord, the harbor guard has been discovered!” The cries of alarm echoed in Baron Rold’s ear, sounding as distant as if from the ends of the earth. He wobbled as he stood up, stammering, “We cannot let this happen.”
“Ian, help me on my horse. We have to find a way to regroup, or we’ll be doomed—”
But he could say no more.
He suddenly saw a lance emerging from the chest of his most loyal knight. He looked up, dumbfounded to see the red-haired lady knight’s long braid fluttering in the wind atop her steed.
That was the last scene Baron Rold witnessed.
Then everything fell into cold darkness.
Xi wiped the blood from her cheek, turned around, her cold amber eyes only warming slightly at the sight of that figure.
On the battlefield, at that same moment, many places were playing out almost identical scenes. Rold’s knights clearly understood their ultimate fate, yet some still attempted to resist; but just as those knights were preparing to gather their comrades, a beam of dazzling golden light descended from above.
Instantly piercing through his body.
On the battlefield, golden light danced—
“Rold is finished.”
“Owen and Sir Marose’s armies have been discovered; our Princess is no simple child.”
The elder, with a head of white hair yet still spirited, smiled as he turned, clad in the most traditional military attire of Erluin, his chest adorned with various medals, of which the most eye-catching was the Candle Flame Medal from the Temple of Fire—Reldor Duluso, Vice Commander of the White Lion Army, also the oldest knight of the White Lion Army.
In the eyes of the Crusian people, he was the most respected enemy of Erluin and the true pillar of the White Lion Army, the Lion of Erluin—when he gained fame, the cunning fox and the lone wolf were still children.
He had once sworn allegiance to the Corvado royal family, neither a loyalist nor aligning with the northern nobles, serving as a mainstay of the royal power. But during this civil war, to repay the royal firstborn for recognizing his talents, he had resolutely sided with the northern nobles.
Even so, no one dared to disrespect him, even among the players of that year. This elder gained fame during the Holy Wars and was thereafter a spiritual anchor for Erluin’s army, his loyalty to this kingdom rivaled only by that of anyone else.
Yet at this moment, the elder shook his head, looking at the other two seated and said, “I suppose we old fellows have to bully a little girl; what a shame.”
Marquis Baltar smiled awkwardly, well aware that the other meant this with a pointed suggestion: “Rest assured, Sir Reldor, we will ensure the safety of the princess and the young prince.”
Though he was the commander, he had no means to be firm in front of this esteemed individual.
The elder took a glance at him.
“However, I’m more concerned about how they discovered the harbor guard.” Marquis Baltar quickly shifted the topic.
“Unclear; however, their scouts shouldn’t possibly have gotten through. Rold, despite being a good-for-nothing, still had hundreds of men blocking a single Silversmith River, and it wouldn’t be that easy to miss a living person,” the old knight stroked his chin, “The other party must have deduced it; through tiny clues isn’t impossible…”
“Her Highness has truly grown astonishingly under that little wolf’s instruction.”
Probably only this old knight of Erluin would dare to refer to Overwell as “little wolf,” and Baltar couldn’t help but laugh bitterly: “The royal firstborn under the old gentleman’s guidance is also equally impressive.”
This time the old knight nodded without reservation.
While the two were speaking, the ‘guest’ beside them who had remained silent suddenly stood up. “Eh, what’s that?”
“That’s… the Heavenly Kingdom’s armed forces!”
In the wind and rain, toward the direction of the Silversmith River, golden light was interweaving into a tapestry…
…(To Be Continued. If you like this work, welcome to Qidian (qidian.com) to vote for recommendations, subscription tickets; your support is my greatest motivation.)
