Chapter 79: An Epic Confrontation
Brendel drew the Starlight Spear, the leaf-shaped elven sword pointing towards the battlefield, commanding his knights to prepare for action. More than seventy meters away, the charge was not the downward rush one might imagine; the riders tightened the reins, keeping their steeds at a slow trot. Over fifty cavalrymen emerged from a small copse of trees, appearing in the hollow sight of the skeleton soldiers.
The black knight Sarsal immediately felt it was a tricky situation. Unable to restrain himself, he urged his mount into a quick jog, brandishing his dark steel longsword, loudly directing from behind a wall of white skeletal frames:
“Turn, turn, you fools!”
“Third and fourth ranks, level your spears, quickly! Maggots!”
His hollow, raspy voice cursed venomously as he divided the advancing skeleton soldiers into two groups. One group advanced towards the self-defense squad led by Freya, while the other prepared to engage the suddenly appearing human cavalry from the other side.
Spears rose up, then ‘clattered’ down, the first rank angled upward while the second rank passed over the shoulders of the first—forming a forest of iron.
Brendel observed the chilling spear tips, remaining expressionless—he seemed accustomed to the tension before battle, showing no hint of fear on his taut face. The young man merely adjusted his breathing to prepare for the impending conflict.
He looked at the skeletons, feeling that this scene was no different than in the game—eliminating a squadron from Madara, with their commander resembling a similar elite enemy type, a venture that had greatly rewarded him before. Most squad leaders among Madara’s undead army had abilities in the black iron medium or higher, roughly equivalent to levels twenty to thirty in terms of the game; if the settings hadn’t changed, he might encounter sub-magic gear of over level twenty.
Brendel’s elven sword continued to point towards Sarsal’s flank, acting as a constraint, commanding his knights to maintain a slow pace, gradually turning along a tangent while continuously approaching the flank of the skeleton soldiers’ formation.
His calmness gave Sarsal a headache; the black knight recognized that his adversary was a seasoned cavalryman and an experienced commander—a skilled cavalryman could achieve victory by coordinating with infantry—by continuously forcing the opponent to change formations, adjusting directions, and seeking openings to deliver fatal strikes. Newbies, on the other hand, would recklessly charge in, ultimately getting injured and bloody.
Sarsal had already instructed his skeleton soldiers to turn approximately one hundred twenty degrees towards the direction Brendel was advancing, causing confusion in the formation, which needed almost all eleven of his necromancers to reorganize. Sometimes the black knight worried whether his thin defensive line could withstand the charge from Freya’s self-defense squad.
After firing off their fourth volley, the skeleton archers began free shooting—
Militiamen descending from the hill had closed to within ten meters. This motley crew of citizens, White-maned Legion light infantry, and mercenaries formed a first rank arrayed with faces from various regions—mostly Bucheans, followed by Anlekans and mountain folk, the expressions of these young and middle-aged individuals reflecting varying degrees of fear and tension.
They exhaled white mist in the cold night air, forming a wall, with the scenery behind them apparent only in a blur.
Armed with wooden spears or Madara’s nether steel swords, they gripped their weapons too tightly, leading to stiff, distorted movements and irregular breathing, yet they were pushed forward by those behind—unconsciously moving forward.
Directly in front of them stood a sea of white-boned skeletons. The undead would never know fear, nor would they be roused by it; they remained still, spears in hand, devoid of joy or sorrow, thoughtless, calm—only the orange-red soul flame flickered hollowly in their eye sockets.
Yet it was precisely such enemies that evoked true fear.
A girl with a long ponytail watched the comparison of foes and allies from her mount, anxious. The future Valkyrie knew that if things fell apart, it would undoubtedly be her side that crumbled first. Gritting her teeth, she turned her horse in place—then raised her longsword high, like a bolt of blue lightning piercing the gap between the two forces.
In that moment, completing the transformation from militiaman to Lady Knight, Freya’s mind went blank; she thought of nothing but the need for victory, to aid Brendel, and to continue on this long journey with everyone.
The thicket of spears sprang into view, dense and foreboding—
“Freya!”
Merchant Miss was cautiously hiding on the mountaintop, of course, unaware to anyone that she had sneaked out. But she immediately spotted Freya’s reckless maneuver and couldn’t help but widen her eyes in shock.
Then she suddenly heard a commotion behind her, and Romaine paused. Turning back, she saw a girl named Sue trying to grab a warhorse, mounting it and charging down towards the battlefield.
So she can ride too—
Romaine lay frozen on the rock, dazed, thinking that riding looked quite interesting.
Freya gritted her teeth, raising her steel longsword, ‘clink, clink, clink’—striking each spear that reached for her high, she rode across Madara’s line, pushing the skeleton soldiers back.
But she could only deal with a few; rows of spears pierced the defense, and the Feather of Wind glimmered brighter, swirling around her half-plate armor like a 7-millimeter sloped steel armor, sufficient to deflect most attacks.
Yet there were still stragglers; two spears burst forth from the thorny forest, striking Freya’s breastplate, leaving a white mark, while another one embedded into her waist, crimson blood gushing forth like a spring.
Freya let out a muffled grunt, slashing down to sever the spear. Gritting her teeth, she turned and disengaged from the battlefield from the other side. Behind her, the self-defense squad had already collided with Madara’s undead army. The skeletal spears raised high by Freya were pushed back relentlessly, just as the self-defense squad charged in from the front, unable to withstand the tremendous momentum, they all began to retreat.
Sarsal felt the defensive line behind him collapse, unable to contain his shock. He had initially thought his undead subordinates could hold out for a while longer to buy him some time, yet unexpectedly, they crumbled at the first touch. He turned to see the girl knight clad in sky-blue elven armor, focused and inspiring her subordinates—commoners, White-maned Legion light infantry, and mercenaries—forming a torrent, continuously pressing forward, continually widening their victory.
The black knight couldn’t help but gasp in surprise; if only he had enough necromancers to reorganize their formation, it was one of the features of the undead army. However, now, all of his focus had shifted elsewhere, as Brendel and his knights were keeping a close watch.
Upon realizing this, he suddenly felt alarmed, turning back to see the human cavalry adjusting their direction, facing his position, the riders gradually closing in, their mounts starting to jog.
Brendel raised his sword.
More than fifty knights behind him raised their swords.
“Kill!”
“Erluin shall prevail!”
The ground thundered, the cavalry roared through the mountains and forests, stones trembled underfoot as though dancing, waves of rocks rolled forth.
But the skeletons retreating from behind were disrupting Sarsal’s formation, over a dozen necromancers caught in the chaos. He swung his sword, cleaving down a skeleton soldier that blocked his path, shouting hoarsely:
“Level your spears!”
Brendel was fast as if he were a black meteor, hunching forward on his steed, sweeping the elven sword forward; the wind pressure created by the White Crow Sword Technique sliced through—members of the first and second ranks of skeletons toppled backward in unison. He then dropped the reins, raised both hands high, the thick rubber gloves radiating two soft blue lights, and with a ‘whoosh,’ he swept two ranks of spears extending toward him aside.
Then, a man and horse thunderously crashed into a sea of skeletons, with several skeletons sent flying by the tall warhorse.
That scene looked perilous, but in fact, Brendel’s agility had reached an impressive 4.3 tier, several times that of an average person. The movements of the skeleton soldiers seemed to him as slow as snails; the fractions of a second he saw were like enormous gaps easily exploitable.
“Protect the horse!”
With Brendel’s loud shout, the first line of cavalry crashed into the undead army’s spear forest. Following the massive clamor, the first and second ranks of skeletons fell in unison, and the rear skeleton soldiers began to retreat, colliding with the supervising necromancers.
The mercenaries were extremely skilled, deftly pushing aside Madara’s undead soldiers’ spears, cutting into their formation, using the momentum of the warhorse to penetrate into the last three ranks of these skeletons—then they desperately moved aside to let the second rank crash into them, and Madara’s line began to retreat, nearing the brink of collapse.
During the first charge, only two or three knights fell, and most of their warhorses were injured, but they could still carve a path through the battlefield thanks to their strength equivalent to at least black iron.
It might be said that Brendel led a collective charge at the rank of sergeant major and above, with a force greater than he had anticipated.
Though that strike didn’t completely break through the two hundred-strong undead army, it had pressured them to the limits of collapse.
Even Sarsal couldn’t believe that he was losing so quickly; the black knight saw two necromancers casting a dark veil in front of him as Brendel and his horse entered deep into his army, but the young man just seemed to ignore them, skewering them from stealth with his sword; half of one’s body fell prone before him, engulfed in holy white flames.
The other necromancer attempted to hide further away, casting a decay spell, but was met by the young man’s backhand strike, slashing off half of the body from a distance, sending it crashing to the ground.
Brendel, amid the streaking monstrosities, pivoted, swinging his sword fiercely; the elven sword swept through, and the surrounding skeletons crumbled, emitting white flames from their broken bones, the purifying flames merging into a single mass, as if the light of heaven enveloped this young knight, turning the dancing demons into ashes that drifted down.
It was as if where he walked was like treading on flat ground among legions.
Everyone couldn’t help but gasp, their breath caught in their throats.
Brendel lifted his head again, fixing his gaze on the black knight Sarsal—
……
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PS: So sad, someone is mocking that half-zombie (wipes tears…)
Also, before the related work comes out, let me clarify: the energy level unit is ‘Oz’ not ‘z’. Well, you can blame the pitiful font from the starting point, it’s not my fault, Gesu.
TAT I encountered something very sad today, lost several thousand, seeking comfort. (To be continued. For what happens next, please log in, more chapters await, support the author, support legitimate reading!)
