Chapter 77: Act 13 – Before the Battle
After the refugee convoy left the valley, it proceeded eastward in darkness, lacking open flames, the long line moving through the shadows.
The convoy wound occasionally through the ravines, glancing at the dark mountaintops where the pointed tips of cold spruces loomed like vague silhouettes. Without the stars, it would have been difficult for anyone to discern the direction in such an environment; those at the back could only follow the front in a passive manner, one after another, composed of ordinary citizens—although the fear made them more conscious of their movements, they inevitably made noise as they advanced.
Under Brendel’s instructions, Freya divided the refugees into several zones, each with two leaders responsible for maintaining order. Freya explained to the townsfolk what they should do, while Brendel informed them of the consequences of not obeying—balancing authority and kindness was the only way to keep the convoy in check.
However, several experienced captains were not particularly worried. Retao and Mano had ample combat experience and told Brendel that sounds would not travel far in the dense forest; at most, it would only carry the distance of an arrow, turning into whispers thereafter.
Meanwhile, Votalon from the White-maned Swordsmen listened as the wind swept across the mountain, the rustling of the trees already overpowering any other sound, indicating to Brendel that in this environment, hearing was not as effective as sight.
Brendel strained his ears to listen to the wind, which seemed distant yet familiar, like the sound of pines in a gale or the fluttering of birds in the spruce grove emitting chirps. Upon careful listening, there was an intriguing resonance—light and distant, long and drawn out, as if a marvelous instrument was playing in the mountain breeze; it also resembled a mysterious whisper, as if some unknown presence in the forest was telling the world something.
In Golan-Elsen and even the entire Southlands, people described the whispers of the forest as bewitching whispers from witches, claiming many vanished without a trace in the woods because they fell for the witches’ tricks.
While these legends were undoubtedly unreliable, there was an unusual sense of mystery to savor at this moment.
Brendel led his horse alongside the convoy, followed by other mercenaries. Since each person had only one horse, riders tried to conserve their horses’ strength, preparing for any potential combat that might arise. Although warhorses in this world were exceptionally strong, about twenty percent taller than the average horse, cavalry seldom used them as mounts in battles here—they still seemed too “weak.”
They had deviated from the valley by about ten miles, effectively leaving the range of Silver Sparrow Mountain. This place did not resemble a society of high civilization; even the smallest hills needed a code name. Brendel did not know what to call this particular hill.
It should belong to the section extending southeast from the Stag Hills, but being off the main road, it was uninhabited, visited only by hunters during the hunting season, so occasionally, hunter cabins could be seen in the mountains.
Brendel had already sent the gargoyle out to move southwest. Meanwhile, the scouting cavalry traces back along their route.
About half an hour later, messages returned. The two seasoned mercenaries approached Brendel with pale faces; they had discovered a sea of bones scattered across the mountainside.
Brendel could imagine such a scene:
When one saw a grayish-white, chilling ocean of skeletons slowly emerge from the mountain peak, cascading over the forest, leaving nothing behind but a “rushing” sound, it could truly shake one’s spirit.
Thus, he gently reassured the two mercenaries to rest and shared the weaknesses of the skeletal remains with the others, so they would not lose morale due to the imminent danger.
He sent more scouts northwest—
Brendel understood Madara’s habitual deployment at this time. Layered advancements allowed for flexible mobility, and the scouting control range was extensive, allowing for support from both fronts. This tactic aimed to fully exploit the numerical advantage of Madara’s Undead Army—in fact, during the early stages of the Black Rose War, dark lords once boldly employed excellent mid-range commanders to carry this tactic to new heights.
However, it had a critical flaw.
That flaw was the eyes. Once the support from phantoms was lost, there would be significant gaps between squads, especially in mountainous regions, making it easy for opponents to infiltrate and divide. Furthermore, another weakness was if the commander was incompetent, such a deployment could lead to the classic “fueling the fire” scenario.
Of course, the reason Madara’s army dared to adopt such a deployment before the Second Black Rose War was partly a demonstration of confidence, having an abundance of talented individuals available in this era.
On the other hand, means to discover phantoms in this era were scarce—
Brendel just happened to know one.
He couldn’t help but look up towards the hillside—
Mano navigated the cold spruce forest with the militia from the self-defense corps—the seasoned mercenary constantly turned to glance at the beautiful white stag in the valley below—Brendel had told him it would point out where the dreadful undead were hiding.
Mano was skeptical; he believed that war should be conducted properly, not shrouded in mystery like sorcerers. Even though they had already left the refugee convoy far behind, almost a mile away, the creature still showed no reaction.
Just as he was about to curse, the elegant being suddenly turned its head toward a direction, its hooves pawing at the ground, revealing an anxious demeanor.
There!
Mano immediately pointed his curved blade forward and instructed others to rush.
In that direction was a patch of spruce forest like any other, but as they stealthily surrounded it, a faint ghostly light emerged from the woods, like a pale shadow that gradually took the form of a floating human silhouette.
Isn’t that a ghost, for the love of Martha?
Not just the militia behind him, even Mano hesitated for a moment, but that pale apparition issued a sharp wail and lunged at the militia, baring its claws.
The horrific shriek froze everyone’s hearts in ice, yet it made the sounds of the forest cease instantly—
Mano felt he had never fought such an eerie battle; the vague face of the specter resembled many fallen comrades, but he quickly shook his head to dispel the thought; Brendel had warned him: everything was an illusion, never be overtaken by it.
He no longer dared to doubt the young man; the situation before him was too bizarre.
Mano tightened his grip on his curved blade.
The gleaming blade sliced through the ghost’s body, only for frost to form instantly. Mano realized it was no good; the lack of tangible impact meant he had swung at nothing.
Phantoms existed between the incorporeal and corporeal, with a 50% chance physical attacks would miss.
Mano couldn’t evade in time; the pale fingers were already reaching toward his face—he instinctively turned his head at the critical moment, allowing the elongated fingertips to pass through his shoulder.
The seasoned mercenary immediately felt a bone-chilling cold on his shoulder, as if his entire left arm had completely lost sensation.
“Attack, you bastards!” He leaned right and shouted at the stunned militia. Only then did they react, raising their spears to stab at the ghost.
Three spears pierced through the misty shadow, but two others managed to hoist the phantom aloft, eliciting a shriek from it.
Seizing the opportunity, Mano sprang up, slashing the pale specter at an angle. This time luck was on his side, as the blade struck true against the entity’s soul essence, and the strength of the black iron swordsman burst forth, causing the spirit to scream and vanish into thin air—
Only then did everyone exhale in relief, unable to help but collapse to the ground, hands and feet trembling. No one spoke; even Mano, the veteran, felt a twinge of empathy.
But at that moment, his only thought was: how did that young man know all of this?
*
The young man withdrew his gaze, seeing that Mano and Balthom had performed well. He rejoiced inwardly for having these seasoned mercenaries; otherwise, dealing with these mid-tier undead would truly have been challenging.
However, the soul statue (White Stag) was actually a very commonplace exorcising item, but connecting it to military strategy required some imagination—Brendel couldn’t help but glance back at Freya; this method was actually invented by the Valkyrie herself.
Could this be considered plagiarism?
Regardless, the loss of those phantoms as eyes left Madara at a disadvantage; they would surely feel uneasy this night. Perhaps the necromancer controlling them would soon discover their summoned phantoms had collectively disappeared in some direction, yet this didn’t signify anything—their verification processes would take time, and they would need to wait for further news.
One to two hours was ample time for him to accomplish many things.
The gargoyle continued flying southwest, and Brendel finally spotted a skeletal cavalry traversing through the woodland. He was unsure if he had missed any others before, but this should be the vanguard of a column.
Three minutes later, he found another skeletal cavalry.
Simultaneously, the tactical characteristics of Madara during this period echoed in his mind, and he directed the gargoyle to cross several ravines along the ridge. Soon, he saw a dark assembly of skeletal soldiers in the valley.
About two hundred, a squadron.
The gargoyle flew deeper into the valley, matching his expectations perfectly. Brendel quickly found two more squadrons—though he could not see which column they belonged to, no commander of Madara during this period would be easy to deal with.
He thought that ‘White Knight’ Aibodun and Wesa should not have reached such a rear position yet, but it would likely be Dere, Gulu, or ‘Blood Sorcerer’ Red Knight.
Two main commanders, five columns, nearly ten thousand undead gathered in hills that stretched only twenty or thirty miles wide; the Undead Army indeed began to advance significantly under the night—
Time was becoming somewhat urgent.
Brendel wanted to see how extensive the depth between the second and third layers of Madara was, where another column was positioned, but the gargoyle had reached its maximum flying range. Of course, although he had deceived Marden and Brensen into thinking the gargoyle scouted the entire Buche area in one day, the gargoyle was not omnipotent.
One o’clock and five minutes.
News returned from the northwest; a large number of zombies appeared in that direction, just as Votalon had predicted—the elite troops of ‘Death Maggots’ indeed came from the Sharp Stone Canyon.
When this news spread among the mercenaries, everyone’s expression grew serious; they had initially held a glimmer of hope, but it unexpectedly developed into the worst outcome.
Thus, the refugee convoy found itself surrounded. Of course, unless they could accelerate their escape northward, they would need to break through the encirclement before it coalesced.
However, the mercenaries looked at the refugees, then at Freya and Brendel, realizing this was unlikely.
A moment of silence ensued.
Freya nervously gripped the reins, instinctively casting her gaze toward Brendel.
Only Brendel picked up his pocket watch, glanced at it, then mounted his horse as if he had completely disregarded the surrounding atmosphere—
With a clang, he drew his sword and addressed the people: “Listen up, everyone—”
The young man’s voice was strong and resolute.
“There are two squadrons to our southwest, two to three miles away, and another squadron further out. Four undead scout cavalry are approaching from those directions. What I’m telling you is, we must take down two of them and assault one squadron to create an opening—”
“We need to move behind ‘Death Maggots,’ just as we planned.”
“We have two hours to accomplish all this; after two hours, we start playing hide-and-seek with Madara’s Undead Army.” Brendel raised his sword and pulled the reins, making his horse turn in front of everyone with a mocking expression.
“What, are you scared?”
A profound silence filled the air.
In that moment, everyone was stunned; how did this young man know all of this? Surely, he couldn’t just be speaking randomly?
But every time Brendel surprised them, the majority of them knew he never made baseless claims. Especially as he stood tall on his horse, sword raised toward the southwest—each word was clear and concrete, just like when he led them into the charge before.
It was as if the direction he pointed to was the path to a miracle; even though it might be filled with challenges, it would ultimately carve a way forward.
That was a bloodied path left behind after the thorns parted—
Brendel looked at these people, remaining silent, just like he had when he led like-minded individuals in the charge against Madara. Some had said he was the most qualified attack leader because once he decided on something, he would charge forward without hesitation.
No one spoke.
But all the mercenaries mounted their horses, the metallic sounds of armor rubbing against each other filling the air.
“Everything for victory.”
“Long live Erluin—”
(PS: Here comes the first update of the day. I saw a friend in the review section suggesting a trade of votes for updates, which honestly feels a bit disheartening.
I’ve always thought that counting votes and updates like this makes our relationship feel less like friends and more like a bare transaction. It’s somewhat uncomfortable.
As for the issue of updates, everyone can see the level of effort I’m putting in. I have no stockpiled chapters; I write to the fullest every day and have squeezed nearly all my free time for the recent explosions in output.
That’s all; please don’t mind my rambling.)(To be continued, for more chapters and to support the author, please log in and read the official version!)
