Chapter 62: Act 54 – Breakthrough
The gargoyle crashed to the ground and slid more than ten meters on the soft riverbank before finally stopping. Such an impact was hardly more than a scratch for these stone-skinned monsters, but it sent Brendel and his wizard escort tumbling in disarray.
As soon as they landed, the surrounding noble mercenaries became excited, charging toward the riverbank on horseback like a swarm. Although these guys were a ragtag bunch, the sheer momentum of a cavalry charge was still quite impressive. Charles, who had shaken himself off from the mud, was startled by this scene and immediately asked, “Lord, what do we do?”
Brendel pulled his leg out of the muck, drew his sword, and shouted, “No time for nonsense! Form a wall!”
This was the oldest and most classic tactic of Erluin’s wizards against cavalry. Players would later develop tactics from this foundation because it was particularly effective against untrained cavalry.
The young wizard understood and pointed his ruby forward: “Stop, rebound, construct a wall—” Countless lines radiated outward from the gem, forming a wall shape, and then all the lines vanished, leaving behind a solid wall of air.
The charging noble mercenaries had no idea what that was. Only a few mercenaries with experience fighting wizards veered off to the sides, while Marc, the mercenary leader, shouted for his subordinates to turn, but amidst the thunderous hooves, nobody could hear him—
The first row of riders collided with the air wall, their horses kneeling in unison, and people were flung onto the wall; then the second row crashed into the first, the massive inertia squashing them together; and the third row followed closely behind, this time the air wall couldn’t withstand the force and shattered with a bang, sending a wave of horse and human corpses sliding forward right to Brendel and Charles’s feet.
All of this happened in an instant, the astonishing momentum even caused Brendel and Charles to involuntarily take a step back.
Marc cursed from the back. Someone as seasoned as him could tell at a glance that the first row of seven men stood no chance of survival, and even the second row would likely suffer serious injuries. Given the third row’s chaotic state, they’d be unable to rejoin the fight anytime soon, especially since their horses were more or less injured.
This wiped out twenty or thirty men, how could he not be pained by it?
The mercenary leader couldn’t help but spit out a curse, hastily bandaging his bleeding palm, then swore as he drew his sabre and charged ahead. There were still seven or eight riders left on the field, all of whom were experienced veterans—he had to go lead them to suppress the enemy until the infantry arrived.
Especially against that wizard; every mercenary knew what it meant to let a wizard unleash their magic freely.
Marc swung his sabre a couple of times to signal his men to spread out and encircle the opponent from different directions. But he couldn’t help feeling annoyed; these mercenaries had seen plenty of battles, each one at least at the level of black iron, but they seemed to shrink back at a crucial moment, clinging to self-preservation.
“Follow me! Charge together!” Anger aside, Marc understood he had to rally these men.
What he didn’t know was that the young man on the other side had already been watching him for quite some time. Brendel saw Anlek’s horse galloping in circles on the outskirts, and when he noticed the knight scolding loudly on horseback, he guessed he must be the enemy leader—he couldn’t help but think that he wasn’t new to battles against mercenaries, what was there to hide about tactical intentions?
With a sneer, Brendel turned back, grasped Charles’s shoulder, and pointed to the man ahead, saying, “Do you see that person? Use a magic arrow to assist me in attacking him later.”
Charles hurriedly shook his head: “He’s on horseback; I might not hit him.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry about the magic. If you miss once, just keep firing until it hits.”
“That’s okay.”
Brendel turned back, focusing on the seven or eight knights nearby, pressing his hand against the elven sword to calm himself. He looked up and saw the mercenary leader circling around the riders, and sure enough, he raised his sabre and charged ahead—he understood his opponent was trying to lead others into a charge.
Thirty meters.
Twenty meters.
Brendel was waiting for such an opportunity; suddenly, a flash of light emitted from his sword, and a blast of wind surged outward. Marc, seeing the translucent wave rushing along the ground, realized danger was approaching and decisively leaped off his horse.
As he rose, Brendel’s sword wind swept past the four hooves of Anlek’s warhorse, causing the massive horse to shrink down, its limbs breaking in unison as it fell forward.
Marc gasped in mid-air. At that moment, the only term that came to mind was: sword qi.
Before he could think further, a streak of white light pierced through the air, stabbing into his chest. Then a second, third, and fourth streak hit—one struck his left shoulder, another hit his lower abdomen, and the last grazed past him. Marc was sent tumbling through the air, his body contorting three times before landing lifelessly in a sandy patch, far from the action.
This sudden twist sent shockwaves through the surrounding riders. They weren’t jolted by Marc’s death but by that sword qi—Templar Knight? The mercenaries turned pale, unable to help but wonder about the identity of that horrifying young man.
“That was quite accurate,” Brendel remarked, recovering his sword.
“Hehe, that was thanks to you, Lord,” Charles replied with a grin.
Brendel finally smiled back and turned to face forward. Although the enemy had been stunned for the moment, he himself was far from being relaxed, with over a hundred noble mercenaries still advancing like a forest of spears.
He let out a breath and mentally replayed his plan. He focused on the north, realizing that the only chance for a breakthrough lay in that direction, although he wasn’t sure if he could seize that fleeting opportunity. He simply pointed forward and commanded, “Gargoyle, Wstry (Wizard Language: Charge forward)!”
Brendel thought, without an attack command, he could substitute a movement command instead.
From his vantage point atop the rise by the riverbank, Lord Jin Guo watched the scene below, his expression as bleak as could be. Though these were not elite soldiers, at least they were mercenaries he had paid for, especially Marc, who had been one of his fierce warriors—though somewhat coarse, his martial skills were indisputable.
“The Highland Knights are indeed impressive; I didn’t believe the rumors about the White Mane Legion’s strength, but it seems they’re no exaggeration,” Sir Burnley remarked with a smile.
“It looks like Count Dune is truly in a precarious situation. I wonder if that ‘tiger’ dares to touch such a hot potato—after all, acquiring dead men is no benefit to us, not to mention there are still two women unaccounted for.”
“I’m curious why that fellow chose to kill that jester. If he really were a brigand of Buche, taking him hostage would have been a much better strategy. What a pity; we initially thought we could stand behind a mighty tree,” Burnley sighed feignedly, amusement shining in his eyes.
“Actually, being so eager to take sides may not be a good thing; there’s still much to see between the royal family and the White Mane Legion. This young man is either an assassin or has other schemes. If he isn’t killing just for the sake of it, then I see that sword as quite problematic—” Lord Jin Guo tightened his grip on the reins, seated tall in his saddle, looking ahead.
“That elven sword?”
He was about to nod when he saw his mercenaries suddenly parting to the sides, like a tide avoiding danger. Lord Jin Guo was taken aback, suddenly spotting a gargoyle barreling through the crowd straight at him—his words halted, and instinctively tightening the reins to turn around, he overexerted himself in his panic, causing his warhorse to rear violently, neighing.
“Watch out, My Lord!”
The gargoyle itself was above level 20, its strength on par with a mid-tier level one fighter. With its defensive reputation and flying ability, it charged into a group of noble mercenaries, most of whom only had mid-level white tier strength—like a tiger among sheep. Humans naturally felt an instinctive fear towards these massive monsters—after all, not everyone could recognize that it was the creation of the wizard Buche—some were even screaming in terror: “Dragon!”
It was expected that the gargoyle would easily cut through the vulnerable formation of infantry, but Brendel understood his time was limited. These noble mercenaries were only temporarily disarranged; even a powerful gargoyle couldn’t take on a hundred by itself.
In fact, if the opposing side were well-trained, even one against ten would be challenging.
He had to sow more chaos, preventing these men from stabilizing their positions. Thinking so, Brendel shouted, “Charles, follow and cover me!” As soon as he spoke, he charged ahead, with the gargoyle carving a path through the crowd—mercenaries on either side instinctively tried to surge forward to block the passage, but as Brendel wielded the elven sword forward, a wave of wind sliced through the crowd like a scythe, toppling the first row of seven or eight.
The men behind were greatly dismayed; where was their fighting spirit now? They began to retreat in a flurry, and at that moment, the passage cleared even more. If Marc had still been around, he might have been able to suppress them for a while, but at this point, the noble mercenaries were truly without a leader.
Brendel and Charles seized the opportunity to slip through the spear forest. As for those who wanted to follow them after they passed, Charles would certainly not be polite with them. He still had two vials of mana potions; magic arrows were an inexpensive yet practical spell.
Brendel lifted his head and vaguely saw a group of dignitaries standing on a nearby hill. His keen eyes quickly spotted Sir Burnley among them, and he immediately called out, “Gargoyle, that fat man, Ary (Wizard language: seize)!”
However, before he could finish speaking, he suddenly noticed a line of knights charging from the left. These knights were all wearing deep blue uniforms, pointed hats, and donned silver breastplates with shoulder armor, a white mane flying behind them in the wind—exactly the cavalry light infantry of the White Mane Legion.
In that moment, both sides on the battlefield understood that ‘Tiger’ Lukesons had arrived.
“Bacchus, Votalon, take down that Madara spy!” Even amidst the army, Lukesons’s calm voice was sharp enough to make everyone’s hearts flutter.
As soon as he finished speaking, two tall knights charged out from either side, heading straight for Brendel.
“Well, this is convenient.” Brendel snorted coldly, activating the charge skill, quickly darting between the two men. Bacchus, captain of the seventh squad, and Votalon, leader of the tenth squad, paused in surprise; when they turned back, they were shocked to find the young man already ten meters behind them.
It wasn’t just them; the majority of the White Mane Legion’s soldiers were similarly astounded. Bacchus and Votalon were both leaders; though their strength lingered just at the lower end of black iron, it shouldn’t have been so easy to slip past them in a two-on-one, right?
Lukesons’s brows furrowed; this little brat had connections with the Solar Knights? He immediately raised his right hand: “Ouding, Stark, block him!”
Another pair of knights surged forward side by side. Though most of the White Mane Legion were mounted infantry, the leaders were still highly skilled riders. They reached Brendel in an instant—but to everyone’s astonishment: before the lower-ranked soldiers had a chance to cheer for their captains, Ouding and Stark were already sent flying through the air.
Only those with sharp eyes could clearly see: the young man hadn’t even paused; as he passed by their two captains, he struck each with a sword, causing their swords to shatter simultaneously as if they had run into a dragon, and then they were sent hurtling back.
“Power Burst!”
“Power Burst—!” This time, most everyone recognized it.
Brendel paid no heed; he had already seen his gargoyle lift that damned fat man up. That was his sole target for this attack and the key to his escape.
But was victory really within reach?
