Chapter 846: Act 24 – Chaotic Defeat
Planche did not understand that he might be able to change the outcome of a war.
If he had realized this, he would have probably felt immensely honored.
Less than a moment after the battle of Slofaven commenced, many of the lord knights of Vieiro first sensed that something was amiss. In fact, it would have been abnormal not to feel something was wrong—when the knight named Planche recklessly charged out with his servant from the linden woods, facing an entire battalion of skeletal mages—though he himself thought they were necromancers—he set the entire battle of Slofaven on an unforeseen course. Planche’s actions served as a signal, indicating to the knight fellows that they should rush forward and seize the glory that belonged to them. Although no horn was blown, it was as if the trumpet had suddenly sounded, and all the knights, who were secretly lying in ambush in that area, screamed, rushing to launch their assaults right behind Planche.
Just like that, this behavior was quickly felt by the entire left flank of the Vieiro army. Before their commanders could react, they discovered that one entire side of the army’s front had completely unraveled. Everyone was momentarily dumbfounded. Although they had somewhat hinted to their subordinates that they could initiate attacks proactively, waiting for the designated time was no longer necessary, they had not expected things to be so premature.
However, it seemed that this was a bit too early. The highest commander on Vieiro’s side, after a brief moment of shock, couldn’t help but curse out loud: “Who!” he bellowed, “Who’s subordinate is that!” Everyone around him fell silent, for indeed, Planche had chosen a great moment—so much so that the army of the Bloody Staff had not truly entered the encirclement of the Vieiro army.
The sudden assault also stunned the undead.
The dark lords from the Sea of the Dead Moon responded quickly, nearly stabilizing their formation in the first instance. In their imagination, humans would come prepared, and the skeletal army at the front would undoubtedly not hold. They directly abandoned that army, pulling back to prevent the ambushing human army from attacking their main force. But then, these seasoned dark mercenaries were astonishingly surprised to find that those human knights seemed entirely oblivious to them, and were instead excitedly charging towards the front where the skeletons were located. Their first response was, of course, not to think that an entire left flank of the human army was breaking off to attack their front, but rather to consider it a bait; if they dared to advance to support or allow the front to retreat and regroup, then the main human force hidden in the surrounding hills would emerge, dealing them a heavy blow.
This was a logical thought. After all, no one would expect their opponent to suddenly act insane, though sometimes the truth of the matter can be incredibly absurd.
But at that moment, the Bloody Staff could hardly contain its shock. “These aren’t the armies of the Vanmil Legion? But where do so many human armies come from?” Of course, if it simply regarded the knights charging out as an extension of the Vieiro army, then that army’s number would still be within acceptable limits in its view. The problem was that the Bloody Staff and its subordinates had preconceived notions, believing the appearance of the humans was merely a bait for the main army, and if that spearhead bait had more than two thousand men, then those humans lying in ambush here must exceed twenty or thirty thousand? The Bloody Staff could wrack its brains but couldn’t figure out where those damned Erluins had gathered so many people, assuming it still had the capacity for thought.
The hesitation of the undead in the eyes of the Vieiro side turned into a different meaning. The Bloody Staff’s army now visibly comprised several thousand skeleton warriors, with about a third of that number being skeletal archers, in addition to a sizable force of skeletal cavalry—these were mercenaries from the Sea of the Dead Moon. This was basically all of its military strength, along with hundreds of wraiths, and some ghosts, zombies, and other miscellaneous undead, but none were on a large scale.
And now, this undead army’s vanguard was under the assault of the Erluins, consisting of merely a few hundred skeletal warriors, several dozen skeletal mages responsible for casting detection spells, and a few groups of skeletal cavalry scouts. With so little, they were managing to hold the entire left flank of the Vieiro army at bay. This result left nearly all the commanders of Vieiro feeling at a loss. If the undead were to command their army to come and slaughter them now, the Vieiro forces would likely disintegrate from the left flank in an instant. They could only bemoan below at the recklessness of those knights while also wishing to shake off Brendel and secure this glory alone—they hadn’t expected those knights below to be even more anxious; the army of the Bloody Staff hadn’t even entered the encirclement, and these damned fools had already initiated a charge!
At that moment, these commanders immediately experienced the kind of helplessness that Brendel had felt previously.
However, just when they thought they were doomed to a disastrous defeat, the Madara side displayed a very cautious attitude; those skeletal frames were clearly beginning to shrink their defenses, appearing as if they planned to abandon their own vanguard. This turn of events was almost a windfall for the commanders on the Vieiro army’s side, who couldn’t help but feel a bit suspicious—what were these skeletons up to?
After all, the lords under the Duke of Vieiro were not truly stupid. They quickly guessed Madara’s intentions, but even with this suspicion, no one dared to act rashly. They could only watch helplessly as the entire left flank charged towards the enemy’s vanguard and prayed that those fools would realize the situation and quickly return while also silently hoping that Martha would bless them, so those damned bony frames would not notice any flaws. They didn’t dare to send more troops to assist the left flank, nor did they even dare to make a single move, since Madara’s skeletons would consider anything they dispatched as a vanguard; if they exposed other units, the enemy would realize their setup, and then everything would be over.
The highest commander of the Duke of Vieiro couldn’t help but sweat profusely. He never dreamed that the battle would reach this point; he could only hurriedly order the noble private armies ambushed in the main formation and right flank to quickly adjust their direction, just in case the left flank was shattered, so they might at least hold on a bit. Simultaneously, he silently prayed, hoping that Lantonrand’s army would hurry to join them in this fight, for Madara had nearly ten thousand men, while the combined forces of Vieiro and Lantonrand only totaled around fifteen thousand; if the Lantonrand army could join the battle in time, the situation would not be as dire as it currently appeared.
But what made him feel bitter was that it was precisely because of the earlier consequences of abandoning Lantonrand and Duke Toniger’s army to act independently that they found themselves in this dilemma.
At this moment, the esteemed commander couldn’t help but feel a sense of self-inflicted misfortune.
Thus, a strange balance emerged on the battlefield, where both sides were praying for a miracle. The Vieiro side hoped that Madara would not quickly uncover their basic error, while the Bloody Staff was eager to figure out who was ambushing them, as well as how many human armies were in front of them. According to the dark lords’ judgment, the enemy likely fielded at least an army exceeding twenty thousand; if that assessment were true, the Bloody Staff could only pray for a miracle, as only then could its army possibly escape from the hills.
At this moment, it already had a glimmer of realization in its heart—this army before them was very likely from Vieiro or Lantonrand.
But then, everything that transpired on the battlefield left everyone stunned.
The knights’ charge was ongoing, and the meadow on the hillside resembled a wave of pale blue, pressing forward relentlessly.
The moment of greatest glory in Planche’s life was probably this moment; he was riding on horseback, holding up his shield and wielding a long spear. Though he stumbled along the way with nearly pathetic horsemanship, he contributed to guiding the army into battle. With thousands of soldiers following behind him, he felt like the tip of a sharp spear. At that moment, he finally understood what the knights meant by glory. This was glory. He couldn’t help but shout, as if he could compel those “necromancers” before him to surrender simply by raising his voice.
He felt magnificent at that moment, certain that he had entered the eyes of the notable figures. He was the first knight to launch an attack and was about to bring glorious victory to Vieiro; this time, he would surely become a vital minister beside the Duke. Of course, Planche could never have imagined that the true minister beside the Duke of Vieiro, the highest commander of the Vieiro army, would dismember him in piece if possible.
However, Planche was oblivious to all this, still immersed in the romance of knighthood. Suddenly, he felt as if he had wasted the first half of his life; it was in this moment that he realized he was truly living the life he desired.
For this moment alone, even if he were to die right now, he felt it was worth it.
But perhaps Martha, in some unseen way, sensed his desire and was willing to give him a push from behind, helping him to realize the ultimate goal of his life. In any case, in Planche’s eyes, those ineffective, floundering necromancers ought to make no resistance at all and would simply await his entry among them; these damned bony frames would dissipate like dust and smoke. If they were human armies, they might already be frightened out of their wits at this moment.
Yet contrary to Planche’s imagination, those skeletal frames raised their staffs in the first instant.
At that moment, he felt he might have been deceived.
Planche had once heard bards in a tavern recount the powers of wizards, and becoming a wizard was another of his dreams. Until the very last moment of his life, he finally witnessed the splendor of magic.
In truth, it wasn’t particularly splendid—
That skeletal mage pointed at him distantly, and Planche had almost no reaction as half of his body swelled and then exploded in a cloud of blood mist. This death was a rather unsatisfactory ending for the knight, but for everyone else, it was only the terrifying beginning. This shocking way of dying momentarily dumbfounded all the servants following Planche’s charge; a living person exploded into a puddle of gore in front of them, raining blood mist and pieces of entrails all over the soldiers behind him. The impact was such that, let alone these so-called noble soldiers hastily assembled, even true professional soldiers might find it difficult to endure.
As expected, these servants immediately collapsed.
Their minds were in chaos, with the only thought they could muster being to turn around and run! Then they collided into the knights behind them, causing a sudden commotion in the heart of the battlefield. Next, the dark mage’s black magic exploded one after another within the human army. Those knights, for the most part, were of a level similar to Planche. Although they had heard through various means that the undead were still manageable and that if they overcame their fear, they might actually be less than human soldiers. Most had come to the battlefield with such a mindset, but soon realized the gap between ideal and reality, recognizing that overcoming fear itself might not be an easy task.
Even the leading knights were terrified, let alone the servants behind them. The ones with slightly more courage simply pulled the reins of their steeds and went around the flanks of Madara’s vanguard. Among these, some lucky ones managed to survive. The more timid ones panicked and turned around, most colliding with their own people. It’s worth noting that this battlefield had a certain gradient, and the results of such collisions were predictable; many knights were thrown from their horses and stumbled onto the grass, being trampled by their less skilled comrades from behind, resulting in a scene of utter chaos.
And then, there were some who were completely paralyzed by fear, charging straight into the ranks of the skeleton army, but the problem was that this group was far too small. The few who burst into the formation ended up impaled on thickly clustered spears, serving as a spectacle.
Thus, just like that.
In no more than ten minutes, the entire left flank of the Vieiro army was utterly crushed by an undead force that didn’t even number one-quarter of their own; or rather, it could be said they crushed themselves. Of course, this wasn’t because the quality of the noble private armies on the Vieiro side was truly this poor; on one hand, it was due to mistakes made by their commanders, who feared those knights from various regions would burden the duke’s private army and thus concentrated them all on the left flank. While his intention was that the left flank would appear easier to fight due to the terrain, he never imagined that these damned guys would be so undisciplined and charge out recklessly.
Charging out was one thing, but they had inexplicably crumbled.
Of course, this was also because the majority of Vieiro’s local troops had never faced Madara before, just like the defeat of the Vanmil Legion against the undead in the First Black Rose War; this did not reflect true battle capability but rather the humans’ fear of the undead’s inherent nature at play.
Yet regardless, the outcome at this moment still sentenced the highest commander of the Vieiro side to death.
No matter how weak their left flank had originally been, the complete annihilation of the entire left flank, exposing the side of their own army to the enemy’s assault, had already declared the final outcome of this war.
The Duke of Vieiro’s minister stood there almost dumbfounded, his forehead drenched in cold sweat.
Meanwhile, the same stunned expression was mirrored among the Madara forces, with both the Bloody Staff and its dark lords equally dumbfounded. Just a moment ago, they had been praying to escape this ambush unscathed, but the next moment, what unfolded before them resembled a poorly executed comedy, unfolding inexplicably right in front of them. The human army, which had taken the initiative, arrived prepared and outnumbered them by several times, actually crumbled on its own just like this.
What was this, a play?
The dark lords under the Bloody Staff exchanged glances; they came from the brutal battlefields along the Sea of the Dead Moon where both sides were seasoned warriors, and it was rare for anyone on the battlefield to make such basic errors. When they witnessed this scene, their first instinct was not to think that these human beings were being ridiculous but rather to consider that this might not be a terrible trap. Imagine, a trap that required sacrificing one or two thousand men, whose ultimate goal would surely be to annihilate them all.
If those dark lords could sweat, they would surely be just as drenched in cold sweat as the highest commander of Vieiro.
But among all, only the Bloody Staff reacted first. It dealt the most with these Erluins and was well aware of some of their traits; it almost instantly realized something was wrong. Of course, being consistently cautious, it didn’t rush to rescue its vanguard; instead, it waved its staff and transmitted an order backwards. At the same moment that its order was issued, several dread spirits screeched up from the undead army, soaring towards the Erluin positions in front.
The highest commander on the Vieiro side, if he had any last shred of hope before this, immediately understood upon seeing the terrifying flying undead, whose wings spanned several meters wide, that this really was the end. Madara would soon discover what was truly happening before them. Imagine, a marooned army without a flank that could not be regrouped in a short period, exposed before the enemy’s main force; what sort of scene would that create?
Not to mention the enemy still had skeletal cavalry, leaving them with no chance to escape.
If at this moment this commander held any remaining hope, it was that the Lantonrand army and the Earl’s Toniger troops they had abandoned earlier would quickly appear on the battlefield, the sooner, the better.
