Chapter 781: Act 133 – White Gorge IV
Freya bit her lip as she watched the wolf pack gather and then suddenly disperse in the canyon, revealing something in the center. It was a few wolf corpses piled on top of each other, with traces of a fierce battle scattered around the snowy ground. This was intentionally arranged to ensure Julian could enter their optimal firing range.
After discovering the bodies, Julian indeed crept over. Four massive giant wolves, as large as heavy warhorses, surrounded him. These were the specters in northern folklore—descendants of Echis, the Pale Son, far more terrifying in this forest than winter wolves.
“Are you confident?” Brendel asked while seeing Julian crouch by the wolf corpses to examine them, letting out a sigh of relief.
“Let’s give it a try,” Rolo replied.
After their brief exchange, the Broken Sword Knights made final adjustments, taking a deep breath and holding it to keep their bow-holding hands steady. They slowly drew their bows to string. The bow creaked; most bows suited for the golden rank were magical, and only composite bows treated with “fortification” and “toughening” could withstand hundreds of times the strength of an ordinary person. Even so, each draw still strained the bow’s lifespan—this wear was irreversible. In Erluin, a magical bow could cost as much as seventeen thousand Tor, even from royal workshops, and its lifespan rarely exceeded a hundred shots; each draw was akin to wasting an amount of gold equal to the bow’s weight.
The canyon was still windless, and Julian remained oblivious, his natural sensitivity to danger sensing a shift. This subtle movement seemed to trigger the tense nerves of the Crusian, and Xiao Peiluo looked to Freya, who nodded slightly.
Freya exhaled slowly as if trying to calm herself.
“Fire!” At nearly the same moment, Nemeses coldly issued the attack command.
The archers released their bowstrings, the power attached to their arrows so great that when released, they produced an ear-splitting thrum; as they flew, the air stirred, appearing to distort space.
The first arrow soared over the flank of the winter wolves, and the resulting whirlwind knocked the running wolves off balance. Under this assault, Julian had no time to react; just as he turned his head, an arrow was upon him, crossing over a hundred yards, everyone catching a glimpse of his startled and incredulous face.
A giant wolf beside him saved his life; the massive Pale Son leapt up, blocking the path of the arrow, which then struck its side, the immense force driving it into the snow and spraying a flurry of snowflakes around.
Arrow rain followed.
The four Pale Sons beside Julian were instantly shot into a prickly mass, but at least they bought their lord some time, allowing him to finally understand what was happening.
He never dreamed that the forlorn Crusian knights would have the audacity to attack him. By the time he realized this, it was already too late.
Julian dropped to the ground and dove into the winter wolf pack, trying to use its cover to retreat to the other side of the canyon in search of a hiding place. Unfortunately, the ambush spot chosen by Xiao Peiluo and Nemeses was entirely flat, and the small group of winter wolves that had surrounded him quickly fell one by one, while more winter wolves were either far on the flanks or had already charged into the canyon.
Julian began to feel regret; perhaps he shouldn’t have been so reckless. But it was too late for regrets. As the wolf pack became increasingly sparse, an arrow struck him. He let out a cry and fell into the snow, the arrow piercing his left calf and pinning him to the ground.
If he were still alive, he would have been drenched in sweat from the pain, but one advantage of being undead was the loss of sensation. Julian gritted his teeth and turned, drawing his sword, trying to slice through the arrow that pinned him down.
Meanwhile, the wolf pack finally discovered the attackers. The lead wolf emitted a series of howls, and the closer wolves began to turn and charge up toward the cliffs where the Broken Sword Knights stood.
The nearer winter wolves raced toward Lord Julian, trying to protect their master.
“Brendel, Arleigh, take the lead to intercept!” Freya, eyes fixed on the multitude of winter wolves rushing toward their position like a reverse avalanche, felt it eerily reminiscent of what she had seen in Ampere Seale, as if it had happened just yesterday. The Valkyrie tightened her grip on her sword; it was impossible to say she wasn’t nervous, as she was just a knight captain back then, and now, each of her commands determined whether everyone present would perish or escape alive.
She gripped so tightly that her knuckles turned white from lack of blood, yet she remained oblivious. Thousands of winter wolves were less than a hundred feet from them; at their speed, it would only take two breaths to reach them. The wave of wolves, each showing off their gleaming fangs, was clearly visible.
“Rolo, prepare for the second round of fire.” Freya took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady as she commanded.
Rolo licked his lips; even for Crusian, such a grand scene was rare, not to mention they were merely “newcomers.” The battle before them far surpassed the breakout from the previous night, and when the wolf pack charged into the open terrain beyond the forest, the momentum was incomparable.
Everyone, including him, was beginning to sweat nervously.
However, their regular training paid off; the young Crusian knights raised their longbows in unison, and just as they drew their bows, the knights in the back took up shields and long swords, stepping out twenty paces to form a thin defensive line, leading were Brendel and Arleigh.
The wolves were merely fifty feet away.
The knights lowered their long shields, stabbing the tips into the snow and shifting their weight lower, bracing for the impact.
Rolo narrowed his eyes, raising his longbow a little higher. His aim line lifted over the rushing wolves, the gleaming arrowheads aimed straight toward the canyon’s base.
“Fire!”
Nemeses, waiting for all the archers to adjust, immediately issued the order.
At the same time, Julian finally twisted around and cut the arrow embedded in his left leg. While the undead didn’t feel pain, it didn’t mean he wasn’t troubled by injury. The loss of soul energy nearly made him gasp, and after accomplishing this, he didn’t rush to flee, instead dropping his sword disheartened, laboriously turning over to look at the sky.
Julian’s pale eyes sparkled with a dim light, reflecting both madness and despair.
In his line of sight, arrows rained down from above.
He opened his mouth, revealing his white teeth, as if letting out a final scream, yet no sound emerged. Almost instantly, more than twenty arrows pierced him and the winter wolves that had just arrived, pinning them to the ground.
Julian leaned his head back, holding on for that last moment, before collapsing despondently.
…
The clash between winter wolves and knights’ shields resonated dully; the impact of these beasts was tremendous, and a common human soldier would likely be sent flying at such a moment. When the Duke of Long Blade confronted massive forces of frost wolves upon the plateau, he often needed to arrange soldiers in seven lines, well beyond the extent of combatting heavy cavalry.
However, the winter wolves faced extraordinary opponents themselves; in the front line, dozens of Crusian knights were all of golden rank, and before them, winter wolves were little different from ordinary wolves.
The knights used their shields to push aside the charging wolf pack or pierced them into the snow with their swords, then took half a step back to prepare for a second attack. Unlike the reckless Arleigh, Brendel carefully calculated the distance at which they retreated; by his calculations, they had to endure at least five rounds of attacks, and before that, they needed to buy as much time as possible—more was better.
But after the third impact, the Crusian knights suddenly felt a clear space before them, and the winter wolves they had repelled failed to charge again.
“What’s going on?” Everyone instinctively looked down into the canyon, where, amidst the mist, countless white beasts were scattering in all directions.
Only then did the archers in the back let out a cheer.
Xiao Peiluo, Nemeses, and Freya watched anxiously where Julian had fallen, because none could be sure if the winter wolves would leave after Julian’s death. Their only hope was that, having lost their commander, the winter wolves would revert to mere beasts, no longer acting in the orderly manner of an army.
Escaping from a large force was undoubtedly a pipe dream, but if the opponents were just a group acting on instinct, then it might not be so impossible.
In fact, reality proved far better than they imagined. At the moment Julian fell, though a small number of winter wolves still charged at them, the larger pack in the distance had begun to show signs of hesitation and scattering.
The Crusian knights with longbows were the first to notice this sign and couldn’t help but cheer in unison.
Xiao Peiluo also released a sigh of relief, turning back, half relieved, half thankful, and congratulated Freya, “Looks like we bet right, Commander.”
Freya merely nodded slightly; Julian was dead—everyone had witnessed it. The wolf pack was scattering; although a few were still entangled with them, the numbers were insignificant compared to the whole, not posing a threat.
Yet even so, she felt a hint of unease.
The only problem was this: their ambush was predicated on the assumption that the silver beast was not with Julian. But what if that creature was lurking nearby? Nobody could say for sure.
Nemeses keenly sensed her junior’s concerns; she turned to glance at her and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m a bit worried,” Freya replied. “Senior Nemeses, I think we should leave here as soon as possible.”
“Are you worried about that creature?” Xiao Peiluo recalled the question, “But if it were here, it wouldn’t allow us to ambush Julian, would it?”
“I don’t know,” Freya gently shook her head. “But I have a feeling that something is off.”
“You’re too tense, Commander,” Xiao Peiluo countered, having undergone professional military training; for soldiers, intuition was probably the least reliable thing.
But Nemeses’s judgment sharply contrasted with his; the female knight furrowed her brow and asked, “Intuition? Did you miss something?”
Freya was slightly taken aback; she looked at her senior in surprise, not expecting the other to be so attuned to her thoughts. It was that feeling she had—a sense of missing something.
Nemeses stared at her, silent. But if Brendel were here, he would be extra vigilant.
The Valkyrie’s intuition was well known in his world.
