Chapter 78: Act 14 – Interweave
When Brendel led the light cavalry swiftly through the mountains and pointed out the undead scout cavalry groping their way through the valley, everyone was stunned.
It was as if fantasy had turned into reality; this young leader truly had a prophetic ability.
But only Retao and Votalon guessed what was on that gargoyle, yet they had little time to think, as Brendel had already given the attack order. Over fifty cavalry fast descended under the young man’s command, sealing off all possible escape routes for the skeleton cavalry—after all, they had no escape route at all.
For Brendel knew how they would react.
As Brendel arranged the cavalry’s assault route, his image in the mercenaries’ hearts had become more than that of an outstanding commander; it was miraculous. The battle began with a horizontal sword wind that opened the curtain, slicing through four or five skeleton soldiers. Brendel spearheaded the charge into the undead, sending any skeleton cavalry that dared to obstruct him flying seven or eight meters away upon entering his attack range—
What remained in front of him was the commanding necromancer.
One sword, and the head rolled.
Regrouping his troops and launching another assault, the battle concluded almost identically to the previous night. Only one constable cavalry had accidentally taken a sword to the left side, and Brendel left him behind for the self-defense team that followed to take over, then they continued onward.
In less than fifteen minutes, they routed another unit of undead scout cavalry on the opposite hillside. After two battles, three men had been injured—Brendel naturally tended to each of them, though he only wanted to gain an advantage—since his battlefield first aid acted remarkably fast, even surpassing some types of hemostatic drugs.
Yet this minor action earned him an extremely high reputation, although his prestige among the mercenaries had already reached its peak. Even Votalon, who had always been opposed to him, couldn’t help but think Brendel was a war god descending from the heavens.
Only the mythical war god ‘Mars’ could possess such overwhelming power.
However, Brendel found it a bit boring; the cavalry tactics of Madara in this era were so rigid, far from the flexible and varied maneuvers after Instalung’s reforms. In his view, it felt like training against an AI.
On the bright side, he gained a total of 779 experience points from the two battles and successfully reached level 17.
At the same time, as the refugees led by Freya began to discard their coaches behind them, the Madara side discovered they were encountering greater trouble.
It is well-known that ‘Corpse Maggot’ Magus is a half-zombie, and the rotting flesh on his body must be constantly maintained to ensure it doesn’t fall off.
However, even if bones were exposed, that was irrelevant; his undead sorcerer apprentices would regularly replenish them. The rotten tendons and skin allowed the zombie to be stronger and more resilient than skeleton soldiers—but as a leader, Magus arranged the rotting flesh more from an aesthetic standpoint.
However, news from the frontlines made him feel a bit unusual. His undead sorcerer apprentices had sent over a dozen wraiths south before nightfall, but only half returned on schedule.
Could it be that refugee troop? Or a trap?
Magus scratched his incomplete scalp in confusion, disturbing numerous fat white maggots that scattered from his forehead—these little things quickly burrowed into his eye sockets and the hollow of his cheeks. He chewed for a moment.
He marked the areas responsible for the missing wraiths on the map, where there was a possibility that the refugee troop could exist along that line.
However, since the enemy had the capability to counter his wraiths, it indicated that the situation might not be that simple. He needed to have those cunning sorcerer apprentices send out a second batch of wraiths to further confirm the situation. Magus had a rough idea of how long that would take, but before that, he could spur the zombie army in front of him to speed up, aiming to encircle Aibodun and Wesa, those two little brats.
Madara has a saying: no matter how clever a mouse is, it cannot escape a sealed oil tank—
Under the siege from him, Cabais, Aibodun, Wesa, Dere, Red Knight, and Gulu, this small refugee troop, no matter how cunning, would ultimately have no way to escape.
By the time the sun rose tomorrow, the area south of the Sharp Stone Valley would be completely shrouded in the shadow of Broamente’s blooming black roses; Madara would certainly achieve victory—
Magus reached out to stroke the ghoul crouched beside him obediently like a dog. However, this half-zombie commander had no idea that while he assumed everything was taken for granted, the captain of the undead army in front of Brendel was in a dilemma.
In fact, about fifteen minutes earlier, the Black Knight Sasal had already confirmed he had lost contact with his two ten-man squads of skeleton cavalry. He suspected he had been targeted by an unidentified Erluin army. Therefore, he immediately dispatched scouts to communicate with the Eleventh Squad, not far from him, but no matter whether Sasal sent wraiths or skeleton cavalry, there was ultimately no news.
Now this black knight had realized that the issue might be significant.
When Brendel and the mercenaries appeared on the hilltop, they saw the undead unit below stopping and preparing to stand their ground. Balthom, Retao, and Mano hadn’t caught on yet, but Brendel frowned quietly.
The quality of Madara’s mid and lower ranking officers was astonishingly impressive—young men could only hope that the opposing commander would choose to gather towards another direction under uncertainty, allowing them to lead the following refugees safely through this blank area.
However, the commander of this undead army made the most accurate judgment at the first moment.
“What are they doing?”
Votalon, who understood a bit of Madara’s tactics, couldn’t help but ask. He glanced at Brendel, fully convinced of the other party’s abilities.
“On standby. We dealt with their scout cavalry too cleanly, giving them the illusion that there is an army three times their size targeting them,” Brendel replied.
“Three times? Then why don’t they gather towards their allies? Are they waiting to be surrounded here?”
“Their commander is waiting for allied scouts.”
“Aren’t they afraid we might intercept those scouts as well?” Mano wiped his curved blade, casually responding.
Brendel glanced at him, thinking that if scouts could be intercepted, wouldn’t they have difficulties? If they weren’t relying on the gargoyle, the strongest scout class in the ‘Amber Sword’, they wouldn’t be able to traverse through multiple undead armies’ scouting ranges so freely.
“Taking out the scouts would mean signaling that there are enemies in this direction. The reason we resolved the two previous squads of skeleton cavalry is that Brendel intends to consume this squad as well,” Retao explained from the side.
“Then aren’t we running out of time?” Mano asked.
“One hour, finish the battle and clean the battlefield,” Brendel answered.
Freya led the self-defense team into the scene about twenty minutes later.
When Sasal saw the fir trees on the hilltop begin to sway, he finally spotted rows of soldiers wielding long spears descending from the summit. He froze for a moment; their attire was quite different from any battle groups of the White Mane Legion he was familiar with.
He couldn’t help but tilt his head and asked in a hoarse voice, “Which army is that?”
Beside him, the necromancer immediately bowed respectfully: “It seems to be militia.”
“Militia?”
Sasal was taken aback. Could militia silently take down two of his squads of skeleton cavalry? The Black Knight felt there was something fishy, and couldn’t help but rise in his saddle to make a hand signal behind him.
“Change to arrows—”
“Mark one hundred and forty feet, shoot and release—”
The skeleton soldiers immediately unbuckled their longbows from their waists, creaking as they drew them back. Then with a ‘buzz,’ they released the bowstrings, and a volley of black arrows soared, plunging into the fir forest on the hillside.
There was a strong mountain wind, and the arrows had little precision. But for the poorly trained militia, the intimidation factor was significant; the formation of the self-defense team coming down the mountain staggered, immediately thrown into disarray.
But they had Freya; the girl with a long ponytail rode her horse from the left side of the group to the right, trying to inspire the mercenaries and the light infantry of the White Mane Legion on the right to urge the militia forward.
“Lower your bodies, heads down, everyone! Remember what you learned during training! Don’t stop, follow me; remember, this is for your families—”
Freya took the lead, wielding her long sword, shouting encouragement.
At least, her efforts seemed effective, as under her encouragement, the militia quickly regained their courage—the formation was reestablished and slowly pressed down the mountain.
Sasal frowned; he ordered another wave of arrows to be released. After adjustments, this time the skeleton soldiers’ accuracy was noticeably better, and several militia in the front ranks rolled down in the rain of arrows.
However, after two volleys, the militia steadied themselves more, overcoming their psychological fear; the effectiveness of the throwing weapons was not as great as imagined.
Sasal immediately signaled again, pointing at the young female knight. The third wave of arrows clearly aimed at Freya. Yet the Wind Queen’s armor on her instantly shimmered with countless light spots, and every arrow directed at her was deflected away.
This almost miraculous scene left everyone momentarily stunned, then the militia erupted in cheers, unable to help but shout Freya’s name—
“Elf Royal Guard?” Seeing this, the Black Knight was nearly laughed off in anger. Sasal wondered where this bizarre army had come from.
Meanwhile, Brendel finally nodded at this moment; though he usually had a bit of clumsiness, this scene proved Freya was indeed the Valkyrie in his heart, born for the battlefield.
He took out his pocket watch and glanced at it.
The timing was just right—
Then Brendel drew the Blade of Radiance, the elven sword shining brightly in his hand, illuminating the battlefield. The sudden flash of light startled most people, and both sides looked up in this direction.
“Elf Sword!” Sasal recognized the sword at a glance, and he instinctively drew his own sword with a sharp cry.
But Brendel raised his sword high and shouted, “Charles!”
The young wizard attendant instantly understood, raising his hand to direct a ruby: “Sharp, split, blade construction.”
A layer of white lines immediately extended from the elven sword in Brendel’s hand toward the tip, flickering once before disappearing, leaving only the sword blade that had solidified after the spell— the Blade of Radiance was already extraordinarily sharp, and at this moment, it was indestructible.
“A new day has arrived, my lord, remember to settle my maintenance fees,” Charles said with a grin after casting the spell.
Brendel smiled slightly.
Then he pointed his sword down, the blade aimed at the position of the Black Knight Sasal, seemingly signaling that the upcoming battle was about to ignite.
……
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