Chapter 833: Act 14 – The Sorrow of Xilmann (II)
“What’s going on with the commander of Madara?” Knight Commander Valerie of the First Cavalry Battalion was also pondering this question. She raised her head, the glow of magic illuminating a clear battlefield on the other side, where the skeletal army was performing a strange maneuver. This army was slowly turning, but the movement was so slow it resembled a dying old man. It was nearly impossible for them to reorient and launch an attack before the cavalry reached them. Madara’s left flank remained exposed to the direct threat from two cavalry battalions of the Erluin people. She could even determine that even if her own attack cut through their ranks, there was not enough time for them to turn around and encircle her.
This was a fantastic opportunity.
However, Valerie noticed that the skeletal army was dispersing, as if intentionally providing her a pathway. If this scene had occurred in a human army, according to cavalry manuals, it would mean they were already in disarray, and all that would be left was to drive them forward like herding ducks. But the Lady Knight felt a surge of deep caution because what lay before her was an undead army, which could not collapse in morale—unless something had gone awry with the necromancers pushing these bone constructs from behind.
Could there be someone attacking this Madara army from behind? She had just had this fleeting thought of hope when something suddenly appeared in her line of sight, causing her heart to sink.
She saw towering figures emerge behind the opening that was forming, not the cumbersome corpse-crunchers or crusader butchers, nor the black knights with their souls ablaze under their armor. Instead, there were strange riders, like skeleton riders adorned in dark chainmail, resting on their long lances. Their steeds were also skeletal, all shrouded beneath tattered barding. A few of these riders appeared at first, but as the gap widened, their numbers grew frighteningly large.
Valerie widened her eyes in shock, witnessing a full detachment of cavalry materialize behind those dense ranks of skeletal archers. They were definitely not black knights because there couldn’t possibly be so many of them. The skeletal riders pressed together, their front line nearly a mile wide, dark like a wall.
“Slow down, turn!” Valerie’s heart pierced as she suddenly realized what they were—skeletal knights, a new unit for Madara that they had never encountered before.
A sharp whistle suddenly echoed from the other side of the battlefield, and Valerie glanced over, fully aware that Vance had also seen those peculiar riders. They reacted quickly; although unsure of their opponent’s strength, one thing was certain: the enemy had the numbers, and by a substantial margin. Even if those skeletal riders matched their speed, even if their combat strength were considerably weak, it would still be disastrous for the White Wing Cavalry Corps.
Because even though they were sharp, they were equally vulnerable. If they got pinned down, with thousands of skeletal soldiers closing in, there was only one outcome.
That was defeat, and then being turned into one of those monsters.
And if they lost this cavalry, then the Golan-Elsen passage would be defenseless from Xilmann River Valley all the way to Cru, which meant that the entire Golan-Elsen would be wide open for Madara. Valerie was drenched in cold sweat, almost unable to fathom the implications. It was almost a repeat of the Black Rose War, and it might even be worse, as the Southern Army was still at Ampere Seale. If Golan-Elsen fell, the entire Southlands would be left with only Karasu.
The White Wing Cavalry realized their predicament as well. These seasoned riders began turning one after another; the two cavalry units could pivot quickly on the battlefield, yet to Valerie, it felt painfully slow. She saw the skeletal riders gearing up for a full charge, their entire formation acting in precise unison like a massive machine. At this moment, the Lady Knight finally recognized the terror of this cavalry, and she thought of another bad piece of news: this cavalry might, like the black knights, not have the worry of their mounts’ endurance.
Her heart turned to ice.
At this time, all she could do was hope for Deputy Commander Walter’s command. But what distressed her greatly was the question of why the commander hadn’t issued a retreat order yet. Did he plan to sacrifice the entire White Wing Cavalry here, merely to prove how terrifying this Madara army was? Valerie anxiously turned to look toward the northern hills, hoping for the anticipated signal, but regrettably, the north was shrouded in silence.
Suddenly, a sharp screech swept across the battlefield, and everyone involuntarily looked up, their vision filled with strange flying creatures soaring above.
…
The town had already erupted into flames, looking around, there were flickering blue flames everywhere, aside from the makeshift defenses of the White Wing Cavalry or the garrison that had been destroyed. Corpses littered the ground—militia uniforms, White Wing Cavalry uniforms, or like him, garrison uniforms—all sharing the commonality of being bloodied and lifeless. Ivan’s gaze lingered only a moment on the bodies before he slowly passed through the area. A small squad of other garrison members followed closely behind him. He had just learned that their instructor had been killed by the monster that first flew to the church spire—and also learned its name: the Fright Wyrm. But there was worse news: the First Cavalry Battalion under Buche had been completely shattered in close-quarter combat, and Commander Portland had also been killed. Now, the First Cavalry Battalion existed only in name, while the remaining members had no fighting spirit, holding onto nothing but the sole thought of surviving.
It was as if moments ago they were filled with passionate zeal to fight for Erluin, yet their ideals were beautiful, and the reality was cruel beyond comprehension—immediately forcing each of them into a cold reality check.
The only thing that brought Ivan some comfort was that Loni’s coach had left town before the fighting began. It was said that the White Wing Cavalry was battling outside the town, so she and the others at home should be able to safely arrive at Swenfanor. But what would happen afterward, even he was unsure. With so many bones of Madara, the town was almost wholly overrun with those monsters. Now the young man had serious doubts about whether they could hold out any longer.
The group moved along the now unfamiliar town like beggars fleeing, and before long, they were indeed intercepted. A fierce battle was happening on the only street leading out of town, and Ivan quickly discerned that the two opposing sides were the skeletal warriors of Madara versus the town’s militia. It was a one-sided massacre; by the time they arrived, there wasn’t a single living person left. The necromancer was already raising the fresh corpses, moments ago warriors who fought for Erluin, but the next moment, they were staggering and blood-soaked, drawing swords against them.
“It’s Lola and the others; they’re all dead,” a garrison member said with an ugly expression.
Ivan’s face shifted too. These militiamen were the townsfolk he often saw but had now become something else. He couldn’t help but glance at the lurking necromancer and gritted his teeth.
“This is bad, a necromancer!” Deputy Commander Ma Dong spat, drawing his sword. “We need to find a way to take it down to get through. You all distract those monsters, and I’ll go chop that guy down. The necromancer’s power lies in its staff; if I can take it by surprise and chop off its arm, the fight should become manageable.”
Ivan glanced at him, feeling pessimistic. “Be careful,” he reminded. “You need to watch out here; there were at least three to four squads of militia before, and this is the only route out of town; they were in charge of holding the rear.”
“So what?”
“The instructor told us a necromancer can control ten to twelve skeletons; it can’t handle this many people.”
“That may not be true,” Ma Dong shook his head. “These militiamen don’t have any combat capability in this situation; they’re no match for us, not professional soldiers.”
Seeing he wouldn’t listen, Ivan fell silent and turned back to gesture to the others, signalling them to join him in the assault to attract the necromancer’s combat power. The two sides were only about fifty meters apart; he wasn’t overly worried about the frontal clash because their numbers were greater. The necromancer could only raise two or three corpses in a short time. Ma Dong wasn’t wrong; the militia fighters would experience serious downgrades in combat power under such conditions. Sometimes, they could be wiped out by a few skeletons simply due to fright. However, the skeletal archers hidden in the burning buildings caused immense trouble for them; almost half of their casualties stemmed from those two skeletal archers.
Fortunately, while the battle wasn’t going smoothly, at least the necromancer’s subordinates were still falling one after another under their attacks. At that moment, Ma Dong finally seized the opportunity; he quietly slipped through the shadow of another building, stealthily approaching the necromancer. However, just as he drew his sword to deliver a final blow, an unexpected turn of events occurred.
“Ma Dong, watch out above!” Ivan suddenly shouted. He had grown concerned over Ma Dong’s plan, keeping an eye on that direction. Just as he saw Ma Dong getting ready to strike, a dark shadow suddenly descended from the sky.
This scene felt far too familiar. Their instructor had died in just this way.
Ma Dong reacted at the last moment, but as the deputy commander of the garrison, he had no time to execute any move. With a loud crash, a massive creature landed from above, bringing down countless tiles upon him. One claw grasped his shoulder, its sharp talons piercing through the bone and gaps in his shoulder plate, lifting him off the ground. Ma Dong let out a painful scream. At this moment, the others finally caught sight of the monster’s form—it looked a bit like a shrunken bone dragon, its body made only of bone without any flesh. Its enormous head bore two eye sockets ablaze with flickering soul flames, shooting out two beams of light. It had sharp teeth, and the only difference from a bone dragon was that it had a distinctly sharp beak at the front of its mouth. “Fright Wyrm!” someone screamed, recognizing the monster—but that phrase wouldn’t save Ma Dong. The Fright Wyrm dove down, crushing the deputy commander’s skull in its beak. He convulsed once, his body going limp like a deflated ball.
Upon killing Ma Dong, the Fright Wyrm immediately tossed aside the corpse and looked up at the rest, letting out a chilling screech. Ivan’s body went cold, his mind blank. The others around him reacted faster; one garrison member screamed, turned, and fled. But he had barely taken a few steps before a burst of green light struck his back, causing him to swell and explode in a mist of blood.
This scene jolted everyone awake; there was still a necromancer present.
And it was not to be underestimated.
Ivan watched helplessly as the monster raised its skeletal staff. He wanted to dodge but found his body would not move an inch.
“Loni—!”
…
Shanali silently closed Rosa’s eyes, the knight’s vacant gaze fixed upon the sky at her last moment, devoid of life. The necromancer had opened a large hole in her chest, rendering her shape unrecognizable, leaving only a mass of blood and flesh. He said not a word, removing his uniform to cover her. They had known each other for quite some time, gone through the Black Rose War together, and even participated in several significant battles; both were considered veterans among the cavalry and held sergeant ranks. They thought this would only be a minor border conflict but never expected to face such parting here.
Although he had experienced many such separations this past year, he still felt a pang in his heart.
Among the skeletal frames emerged new units, such as the Fright Wyrm—these had previously only appeared on the battlefield of Karasu. Why had they suddenly appeared in the dark lord’s army south of Buche? The number of necromancers was also unusually high; had he miscalculated that a necromancer and a Fright Wyrm were behind another necromancer? If not, Rosa wouldn’t have died. At that moment, Shanali wanted to curse out loud—what were those damned scouts doing?
He looked at Rosa’s face, studying it for a moment before slowly passing through that street, strewn with incomplete bodies, though some had remained somewhat intact, each pierced by one or two arrows. Suddenly, he halted when he spotted a familiar face among the corpses, one of the young couple he had seen earlier, and thought to himself, “Poor thing.” But he still walked over. “At least this way, your death will have some dignity.”
He reached for the young man’s hand to drag him from the rubble.
But as soon as he grasped it, he was startled—there was warmth and a pulse. “This guy isn’t dead yet.” He quickly reacted, pulling the youth free and vigorously slapping his face.
When Ivan awoke, the first thing he saw was Shanali’s blood-stained face. He recalled having seen this man earlier at the city hall door, standing with a female knight, looking smug. “Didn’t expect you to die too…” he murmured, dazed.
“Die my ass, fool!” Shanali slapped him. “Get up, you lucky bastard. If you want to see your little girlfriend again, you’d better get your act together.”
“I’m not dead?” Ivan seemed to wake up with a start. “Really?” Tears began to flow uncontrollably.
Shanali looked at the pathetic boy lying there, crying, and felt the urge to kick him but hesitated for a moment, eventually sighing and glancing back at Rosa one last time. “Alright, man up,” he extended a hand, pulling him up. “Now the town is full of dead, but you still remember the way, right? Lead us out of this damned place.”
Ivan stared at him, quickly nodding.
…
Valerie understood that the White Wing Cavalry had been completely lost. But she could never understand why the Deputy Commander had yet to respond at all, unless he had already fled, which was practically impossible. She watched helplessly as a skeletal rider thrust a lance into her chest, her strength draining away with it. Struggling, she lifted her head to glance around, seeing piles of skeletal knight corpses stacked around her.
But sadly, it was meaningless. “I’m going to become one of them,” she thought.
Vance was dead, Valerie was dead, and the remaining White Wing Cavalry was collapsing, while countless Fright Wyrms hung in the sky, crushing their hope to escape. At that moment, a terrifying picture unfolded across the battlefield—the glowing soul flames danced across the hills and valleys as the skeletal army drove the remaining humanity into flight, but they would ultimately be caught because whether equine or human, in a contest of endurance, they could never match the undead.
Ivan stared blankly at this scene.
He had originally believed the calamity that had befallen the town was merely part of the war. But now it seemed that there was no longer any war left; all that remained was slaughter. Shanali’s face was equally grim—the White Wing Cavalry was finished, and he understood this better than Ivan. But he didn’t comprehend why the battle had reached such a state. At least the second and third battalions should have been able to escape, right? Even in the worst case, they could have left the third or the second cavalry battalion to hold the rear. But now it was all gone; he could almost picture Golan-Elsen’s passage laid bare to the Madara army, the Southlands completely lost.
And the two of them might not even be able to escape from this army of the undead.
“What… what do we do?” Ivan looked at the knight, unable to help but ask quietly. The horse he was seated on still belonged to Rosa; he wasn’t accustomed to riding, but the current situation didn’t allow for such luxuries. Fortunately, he learned equestrian skills in the garrison, or else he would have to strap himself onto the horse.
“Head east,” Shanali replied grimly. “The hills to the east are our only chance; there are some brigands there, so let’s hope they’ll take us in.”
Brigands.
Ivan instinctively glanced toward that direction, recalling there indeed was such a group, although they were more of a headache for the militia and patrol cavalry and had little to do with the garrison. “Aren’t they from Tosankad? Real outlaws; would they take us in?” he couldn’t help but ask.
“Robbers or undead, you choose one.”
“Robbers,” the young man answered without hesitation.
