Chapter 83: Act 19 – Silver Blade, White Knight
Magus suddenly found himself losing control of the battlefield; he had nearly ten thousand undead at his disposal, yet they were completely ineffective. Ever since he realized that the group of refugees had vanished, it seemed that everything was spiraling out of his control. First, Gulu and Dere each lost a squad, allowing the enemy to potentially flank the entire army from behind.
As the ‘Death Maggot,’ Magus immediately sensed an unusual smell in the air. This half-zombie was convinced that the refugees were heading towards his flanks, intending to break through the encirclement of the Undead Army from there. He immediately ordered Wesa and Aibodun to spread out to the sides, trying to cut off the enemy’s route as soon as possible.
However, less than half an hour after issuing the command, the ‘Blood Witch’ Red Knight and Gulu both lost their left flanks, with the group of refugees—no, it should be called that mysterious army—advancing. Now, Brendel had been elevated to the status of a regular army of Madara in Magus’s mind.
In fact, the real regular army of Madara probably lacked this capability. Judging by the decision-making and combat power displayed by Brendel’s troops, they could at least match the strength of the Erluin Imperial Guards. Magus almost couldn’t help but think he had encountered either the Erluin Imperial Guards or the Free Cavalry; he couldn’t shake the feeling that there might be a big catch among these refugees.
Nevertheless, the enemy’s tactical intention had become exceedingly clear.
This intention was expressed so strongly—it was to break out, they wanted to break out! The positions where Red Knight and Gulu’s left flanks vanished formed a striking straight line on the map, resembling a sharp sword, piercing directly into the entrails of the Undead Army.
The half-zombie lord felt a chill run down his spine as he gazed at that straight line.
Magus stood tall and threw the bone in his hand away. His eyes flickered as he stared into the dark forest, where his army was poised to strike; yet he could not be certain if his judgment was correct this time.
Who exactly are they?
Who is their commander?
When did Erluin come to have such a commander?
*
The night wind brushed through the gorges like icy hands, and the rocks and valleys refracted a cold light, the trees whispering in response to the rustling sound of the waves on the mountain tops.
The cavalry flowed through the entire valley like a torrent—
The earth roared.
Brendel raised his longsword before everyone; the ethereal light emitted from the elven sword created a continuous, fluctuating surface of light in the darkness, resembling a silver flag—and for others, the direction of this flag symbolized the victory brought to them by that young man.
The riders devoted themselves wholeheartedly; if one day they were to believe in a myth, it would surely be that a king could be truly invincible.
Some among them were even veterans from the end of the November War, some had experienced the Battle of Huayue, and others had witnessed the defeat on the Karasu Plateau. But Erluin had disappointed them time and again. It felt as if this country had fallen into despair, the will of the past buried beneath history and dust; the glory of old no longer belonged to them.
Thus, they fought for money, becoming mercenaries, chasing after bounties and treasures, having cast aside the honor and ideals of a warrior.
Yet, not a single soldier did not long for victory.
Even a seasoned warrior, who had gone through countless battles, felt the same way.
Today, Brendel had them lift those banners trampled countless times from the ground, telling them they could still achieve glorious victory. Even if they fought like a knight, solely for the right to survive their lives, just for their own right to exist—as long as they followed him, victory would be so easy.
Such was the fervor that stirred their blood.
They advanced, and Sarsal’s squad collapsed! They pressed on, Gulu’s squad disintegrated! They charged forward again, the left flank of Red Knight vanished into thin air! They moved on, Gulu’s army evaporating—
What did Madara’s army amount to? The fearless undead were equally fragile. The terrifying army had even made Erluin’s regular regiments tremble before them, yet they too turned and fled before the onslaught.
In that moment, the knights believed their names made them invincible.
Brendel pointed his sword forward—
The cavalry erupted in a chorus of cheers, forming a black tide surging forward. It seemed as if no one knew fatigue; neither did the horses, nor the enthusiasm of the militia behind them—they had only one thought left, to march forward, continually forward.
Accelerate, keep accelerating.
No one had the energy to think of anything else; all their efforts seemed dedicated to generating adrenaline. Their pupils dilated, they breathed exhaustively, as if they would expend their final breath to pounce on any potential enemy and drag it down to hell with them.
Madara, go to hell!
Even if tired and worn, these warriors were determined to secure that final victory. They lifted their heads, as if they could see that young man’s sword pointing toward an open door ahead.
Beyond that door lay miracles.
Brendel finally saw another army of the undead up ahead; he believed he had once again breached the second and third layers of defense. Was this already in Aibodun’s or Wesa’s control area?
Or was it the ‘Death Maggot’ Magus?
He saw a horrifyingly large number of skeletal frames on the riverbank turn towards him, far greater than any he had encountered before. Brendel squinted, noticing that there were at least two squads of black knights by the side of their commander.
The battalion commander!
Brendel realized he had caught a big fish, but whether he could swallow it was another question. Nonetheless, he understood he had to, he had to swallow it; at this moment, there was no retreat and no path to turn back, just a single thought lingering.
When the narrow path meets, the brave shall win.
He raised his sword, the point of the elven blade shining so brightly it seemed blinding. Wind whistled in his ears, nothing but wind; he could hear nothing, almost shouting for his life:
“Cavalry, charge with me—!”
“Charge—!”
Just forty-nine men responded, yet it resonated like a tsunami; as the thunderous hoofbeats echoed through the entire valley, it was as if heaven and earth were one, everyone had become a single entity.
‘White Knight’ Aibodun changed color in an instant.
Like Magus, it had been speculating who that human commander actually was, and to which faction that mysterious army belonged in Erluin. Yet, it did not expect to encounter them under such circumstances.
When it turned back, a pair of eyes burning with fierce frost-flame looked through the embroidered white helmet at the chaotic cavalry charging forth, and it almost believed it had returned to the era of classical knightly spirit.
The ‘White Knight’ momentarily lost focus. It remembered how many years ago, on the Golden Flower Plateau, the pride of humanity, the cavalry of the proud Cruz Empire, had been the same, those haughty knights disdainfully indifferent to tactics. They required only to charge, charge, and keep charging to win.
For there was no other proud and honorable army like them in this world, wherein each and every one of them seemed destined to die in the midst of their unyielding charge.
Their lives were meant for that moment of burning—brilliance piercing the eye.
Before an army that regarded death as the highest honor, all fighting strength was pale. All resistance seemed so powerless and meaningless; Aibodun found a fleeting softening in its heart, almost believing it had returned a hundred years to the past.
Its moment of distraction robbed it of the best chance to react. When Aibodun suddenly realized it should have ordered its skeletons to turn, it was already too late.
Brendel, wielding the elven sword, surged forward like the spearhead of such an extraordinary force—a silver line, guiding all the king’s knights ahead.
Yes, in its eyes, those skeletal frames were slowly turning, yet it was too late, too slow!
“Necromancers—!” Aibodun drew its longsword with a ‘clang,’ almost releasing a shriek from its soul.
Ten necromancers simultaneously raised their bone staffs.
A storm of darkness suddenly erupted before the Undead Army. As the storm formed, the earth shattered, sharp rocks were sent flying up, instantly reducing to powder; branches to the sides turned into black smoke, shrieking as they ascended into the sky.
The ‘White Knight’ Aibodun could not help but hold its breath; it scarcely dared to believe what it had just witnessed. How could Erluin host such cavalry? Yet, this pale knight soon remembered it was long out of breath…
It sighed.
Yet the next instant, the frosty flames blazing in its eyes abruptly froze. It couldn’t help but open its mouth slightly, watching that young man raise his right hand as he charged out of the dark storm—
He lifted his hand, a transparent blue magic array faintly glittering above it.
Though the dark storm made his hair whip back, he raised his hand high, and the storm immediately shifted.
He moved forward, and the storm surged forward—
In that moment, Brendel appeared to be the king controlling the storm. When he forcefully shouted, “Energy depletion—”
The storm abruptly shifted direction.
In the front ranks, the skeletal soldiers fell in rows; the rear skeletons attempted to raise their spears, only to collide with their own comrades, also toppling in rows.
Yet Brendel too was at his limits.
But the next moment, they saw that the young man had fallen from his horse—
Not just these undead creatures, but everyone on the battlefield saw Brendel tumble down. In that moment, the entire valley seemed to fall silent; the refugee humans could not help but widen their eyes and halt their actions.
Freya was tightening the reins, urging the militia to hasten, but when she turned her head, she happened to witness this scene, unable to suppress covering her mouth, making not a sound.
Merchant Miss’s expression finally changed; she couldn’t help but run forward, clutching her skirt.
Retao, Mano, Balthom, Fulongta, and Julian also loosened their reins, realizing only then that even that young man could fall?
But Brendel adjusted his posture the moment he fell, simply waiting for an opportunity.
Charge, initiate.
His foot hit the ground, his entire body spinning in mid-air, shooting out like an arrow released from a bow. He surged forward, sword ahead, a silver line.
Everyone saw that striking silver line—
Symbolizing miracles.
In the wake of the silver line, twelve skeletal soldiers were cleaved in two. Brendel landed amidst countless undead, his sword still raised high.
He saw the towering white-skinned undead knight.
He also saw the fierce frost-flame burning in the other’s eyes.
So it was you, ‘White Knight’ Aibodun, former hero of Erluin. Brendel looked at him, the elven sword slightly angled, the glowing blade pressing forward.
“Your path ends here, young man!” Aibodun declared as he parried Brendel’s sword with one of his own.
Despite the silver strength, Brendel used the momentum to immediately retreat.
This was becoming troublesome.
He couldn’t help but think—
