Chapter 61: Act 53 – Life and Death on the Line
“Mr. Seber, look at that.” The mercenary leader took down the brass telescope and glanced at the spire, then quickly handed it to the nobleman beside him.
Lord Jinguo sat calmly on his horse—an Elruin Anlek horse of fine lineage, once used by the Elruin cavalry, although they had later transitioned to using draconian steeds, the nobility still preferred horses to showcase their status. He took a look through the telescope and, without changing expression, passed it to his companion: the plump industrialist, Burnley.
Lord Jinguo was not particularly anxious. Even if Earl Duen ended up dead on their territory, it would merely tarnish their reputation; these local nobles were more focused on tangible benefits. If His Majesty were to hold them accountable, it would naturally be Old Lukesons taking the blame, and not these local gentry.
Honestly, he would welcome it if Earl Duen were to encounter some trouble; however, he dared not make it too obvious, intentionally misjudging the situation so that his private army would be ready before launching an attack on the castle.
However, one thing he must have was the person. Having the person would give him an advantage; if the figure were captured by the White-Maned Legion, he would likely find himself implicated in altering military documents.
Burnley smiled and took a look through the telescope, then said, “There’s someone on the tower top.”
“Macaru, go bring me some archers. They must be at least of the White-tier, no dregs allowed; the opponent is a Black Iron Swordsman.” Lord Jinguo pointed upward and instructed the mercenary leader.
“No problem, my lord, just watch. Whether he’s a Black Iron Swordsman or a Highland Knight, I will make him into a pincushion.” The mercenary leader responded, turning his horse around to leave.
The noble’s private army split into two lines behind them, holding torches to light the way for their captain. In the distance, knights were galloping back and forth on the riverbank, the scene chaotic and illuminated by flames.
Lord Jinguo frowned. “What a vulgar bunch.”
“Given their appearance, could it be that Earl Duen has—” Burnley smiled slyly, making a slicing gesture across his throat.
“Hmph, just the second son of the Leisblman family. He’s merely a tongue-twisting sycophant who has ingratiated himself with His Majesty; he thinks himself a great minister beside the throne and disregards the entire world. Such people become arrogant in favor and eventually fall into disrepute. Therefore, an unforeseen death on the streets is quite normal.” Lord Jinguo snorted.
“This charming fellow is a well-known naturalist and connoisseur courtier; His Majesty values him for that very reason,” Burnley pointed out, intentionally highlighting the shortcomings in his companion’s dialogue.
“Just a court jester.”
As the two discussed, a rider came flying in. The knight, panting from his exhausted steed, reported, “My lord, the White-Maned Legion has arrived.”
“Oh? How many have come?” Lord Jinguo asked.
“Over twenty, it seems like the vanguard.”
“Block them outside.” He pointed with his whip and commanded.
“Understood—”
Just as the knight turned to leave, another rider approached, reporting, “My lord, the archers are in position.”
Lord Jinguo nodded. “That’s enough. Tell Gransen to speed up the assault into the city. I suspected they had the ability to fly, and now it seems I was right. This time, however, I’ll make it difficult for them to take flight.”
“Those are Highland Knights; how do you plan to deal with them?” Burnley asked from the side.
“Originally, it would have been a tricky matter, but since he boldly killed that fool, regardless of him being a descendant of Highland Knights or active members of the White Knights, no one will protect them.”
As Lord Jinguo lifted his head, he just managed to see a dark shadow land atop the spire, then two figures flew toward them. He immediately tightened his reins and turned around just in time to see his archers drawing their bows; at the sound of a sharp whistle, a rain of arrows was released—
“Wow, my lord! They have archers!” Charles cried out, struggling in the grip of the gargoyle’s claws, his voice loud with fear.
“Of course, I can see that!” Brendel retorted grumpily. He swung his sword and severed an arrow in mid-air, the force causing his hand to tingle. He was disheartened; the opponent’s archers were at least at the Black Iron level. At this moment, the two of them were caught by the gargoyle’s claws, while arrows flew up from below, striking the gargoyle’s wings. Although they had not yet sustained any injuries, Brendel believed he could not manage much longer as they got closer.
“Fly downward,” he ordered sternly.
“Downward?” Charles widened his eyes, thinking his lord must have lost his mind. Wouldn’t they just get turned into a pincushion flying down like that?
“We can’t fly past them, and turning back won’t work; we’re surrounded by their people. Better to take the risk and fight for our lives; perhaps there’s a slim chance of survival,” Brendel exhaled deeply, fixing his gaze on the densely packed crowd below.
“My lord, you really are quite the gambler,” Charles remarked.
“Believing in your abilities is called courage; entrusting your fate to luck is called recklessness. The line between recklessness and courage is thin, and it’s all about how you manage it. This is one of my mottos from the game; remember it well,” Brendel turned back to his retainer and said.
“Game?”
“Didn’t I tell you? Life is like a game, and a game is like life.” Brendel suddenly laughed heartily, feeling unusually clear-headed.
The gargoyle dipped lower, the rushing wind swirling around the two of them as they could almost see the noble private soldiers below preparing their bows. But as soon as the bowstrings moved, another wave of arrows flew toward them. Brendel gritted his teeth to block, but one arrow grazed him, drawing a streak of blood.
The gargoyle made a maneuver in the air, drawing most of the firepower. As one of the most famous defensive monsters above level twenty, even a strike from Brendel’s Queen Wind ring would not incapacitate it, and the arrows, like a drizzle, posed no threat.
Unfortunately, its aerial maneuverability was quite average, or else Brendel could have commanded it to use special flying techniques to cover their escape. Brendel thought for a moment and pulled out a red gem from his pocket, one he had obtained from the body of a nobleman: “Have you regained your arcane power?”
“Of course.”
“Here, give me a bow.”
“A bow?” Charles paused in surprise as he took the red gem. “My lord, personally, I suggest a shield would be better than a bow at this moment.”
“Offense is the best defense, Charles,” Brendel replied.
“Then watch me—” the young mage retainer nodded, raising the gem. “Projective capability, force conversion, structure of a bow—” Centered around the brilliant red gem, invisible lines were drawn, quickly weaving into a network of light. The surface of the light bent, forming a longbow made of lines.
The longbow had no physical form, only constructed from arcs of light, filled with an air of mysticism. The bow arms and string were inscribed with intricate patterns of laws and ancient runes that represented the power under such laws. Because the construction technique itself was a type of law magic, a sub-branch of gem magic, it was used to exchange the energy within the gem to manifest the lines of law into the materialization in this world—this bow’s materialization represented the singular law of projection capability.
Thus, it needed no arrows to shoot.
Seeing Brendel take the bow, Charles reminded, “My will energy is only enough for it to draw four times.”
“Let’s give it a try.”
As the third wave of arrows approached—
“What kind of monster is that?” Lord Jinguo pointed at the large gray creature with vast wings behind Brendel. Beside him, Burnley’s gaze flickered, but he did not answer.
“That is a gargoyle, my lord, a creation of Master Bud, a type of war puppet.”
It was instead a mercenary who respectfully answered nearby.
“So that’s a gargoyle?” Lord Jinguo’s expression changed. He involuntarily inhaled sharply; he had long heard that the Highland sorcerers of Karasu were a branch left behind by the sorcerers of Bud, and it seemed the rumors were indeed credible. He couldn’t help but begin calculating in his mind; offending Highland Knights might be one thing, but crossing those great sorcerers of Bud could be fatal—
“Sir Seber, we have no choice.” Burnley’s gaze shifted, further fanning the flames.
Seeing Lord Jinguo suddenly turn to look at him startled the industrialist, realizing he might have overstepped his bounds. The fat man smiled, shaking his head, “But the sorcerers of Bud are indeed difficult to offend—”
Lord Jinguo raised his head again, feeling some unease.
*
Brendel continued to bat away those stray arrows with his sword, casually tossing down the long sword he had taken from the guards. He raised the bow, searching for the commander of the opposing archers, and soon a figure caught his eye.
The mercenary leader Macaru stood among the archers; at first, he could hardly believe the audacity of the enemy charging toward the position. But he quickly recognized the creature—the gargoyle; years of battle experience immediately gave him a sense of foresight regarding the danger.
He shouted to his adjutant beside him, “Close enough, let the archers loose a volley!”
The noble’s private soldiers understood the meaning; after one volley, it was free shooting. The cavalry on both sides was ready to seal the area.
The private soldiers drew their bows—
Brendel took a deep breath, the bow trembling slightly in his hands. Although the law bow required no skill, it was hard to maintain balance atop the undulating claws of the gargoyle. He took aim for a few seconds, then gently released the bowstring; a streak of white light shot out—it passed through the crowd, striking about five meters behind Macaru, sending a splash of rubble flying.
“Oh.” Charles sighed beside him.
Brendel was not flustered; instead, he seemed even more composed. He drew again, this arrow passing through two bodies and hitting one of the archers behind Macaru, directly sending the latter flying away.
He drew again, and Macaru was already panic-stricken, retreating in fear, thinking there was a sorcerer attacking him—any normal person would instinctively be alarmed when confronted by a sorcerer.
This arrow knocked Macaru’s adjutant from his horse, and Brendel had corrected his aim.
“Last arrow, my lord! They’re about to counterattack!”
Brendel saw Macaru diving into the crowd and frowned. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned and shot an arrow into the group of archers; this arrow tore through the densely packed bodies and sent three or four of them flying, causing the archers on both sides to retreat in fright.
As the center retreated, the noble soldiers’ formation was suddenly thrown into disarray.
This gave Brendel time; he realized his judgment was correct and immediately commanded the gargoyle to rise higher and fly over the heads of these people. However, just as he thought they were out of danger, a lasso shot out from the crowd, accurately hitting one of the gargoyle’s wings.
Brendel was horrified; turning back to see— it was that mercenary leader, Macaru.
At this moment, the gargoyle was flying very close to the ground, and with a yank, it pulled both the two of them and the war puppet down from the sky.
The gargoyle, dragged by the lasso, made a half-arc in the air before crashing down onto the nearby riverbank. Macaru let out an excited shout, releasing the lasso and ignoring the bloodied hands as he shouted to the nearby private soldiers, “Go! Catch them!”
The situation on the battlefield seemed to turn upside down immediately.
……
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