Chapter 69: Chapter 69: Endings and Beginnings

The night over Qingyu Ridge remained deep and dark, with remnants of fire flickering among the mountains, illuminating the bloodstained snow.

The battle had ended.

The Red Tide’s division tactics proved entirely effective, forcibly tearing the Snow Swearer forces into isolated, unsupported groups, which were then individually eliminated.

This was slaughter, not battle.

Although the knights brought by Yorn lacked combat experience, under the guidance of the Red Tide Knights, they were assigned to the outskirts to specifically deal with enemies attempting to escape.

They patrolled the battlefield’s edge in echelon, intercepting and killing any enemy trying to flee with a single sword strike.

But the Snow Swearers were ultimately not common soldiers.

They roared, ignited their internal fighting energy, and forcibly entered the “Blood Boiling Frenzy” state, still causing significant casualties.

A few managed to escape, fleeing north and spreading news of the bloodshed.

But that could not change the outcome.

Qingyu Ridge had fallen.

And Louis’s side suffered minimal casualties, losing only eighteen knights, while the Snow Swearers were nearly wiped out.

The entire battle was precise, swift, like a textbook night attack annihilation.

Of course, without that small path, and the cover of night, even with three times the troops, Louis would have been dragged into a quagmire by the Snow Swearers.

Bond stood in the remnants of the tent, staring incredulously at the now-pacified Qingyu Ridge.

He looked down at the mottled blood on the battlefield, then up at the ranks of Red Tide Knights forming up and reorganizing.

“Is this… how it was taken?” he murmured.

Qingyu Ridge, a stronghold that Duke Edmund couldn’t resolve over several years, was a constant thorn in his side.

Yet now, in one night, Louis had taken it.

Cleanly and swiftly, without a prolonged tug-of-war, without disorderly sieges, without even a proper frontal battle.

Bond looked at that young silhouette.

Louis stood at the high point of the mountain path, instructing several knights on the aftermath, his expression calm.

As if all this should have been so.

“A true young hero,” Bond said softly.

Yorn stood beside Louis, barely able to suppress a smile.

“Does this mean I’ve earned merit?” he asked quietly, excitement barely hidden in his tone, “Will the military report to the Governor include my name?”

He barely moved, just leading the knights to block a few waves of escaping soldiers.

He won somewhat by muddling through.

He rubbed his hands excitedly; clinging to the boss’s thigh indeed brought great benefits.

After clearing the battlefield, the soldiers began to tally the spoils of war.

Several camps and caves were thoroughly searched, filled with grain stores, leather, dried meat, and arrows.

There were also looted valuables — gold, silverware, gold coins, woolen cloth rolls, and some old currency from Snow Country.

There were even several thick tactical manuals, all sealed in moisture-proof oilcloth, well-preserved.

It seems the Snow Swearers were not ordinary bandits, but also knew to strive and improve.

But the most unique item was that mirror soldiers carried out from behind the tent.

The shattered mirror embedded in an obsidian round frame, with cracks like a spiderweb, reflected an eerie blue light.

“The Hidden Mist Mirror.” Bond recognized it, his tone complicated, “No wonder every cleanup was for naught… It was thanks to this.”

Louis glanced at him, reaching out to touch the edge of the frame, asking, “What is this thing?”

“From afar, it can only show illusions, but closing in within dozens of meters reveals its secrets, lasts only for a little over ten minutes, and cannot cover too wide an area.”

Louis’s gaze fell on the mirrored surface full of cracks, contemplating for a moment.

Something like a mirage?

“Truly an unexpected good find,” Louis said softly.

Bond listened nearby, noticing Louis’s calm demeanor, but a dangerous glint flickered in his eyes.

“They will soon realize Qingyu Ridge has fallen,” Louis continued, “then, they will undoubtedly send someone to scout and attempt to retake the stronghold.”

He turned his head, looking at the valley where the battle had just subsided.

“If we can use this mirror to disguise this place as ruins… and ambush a force here.”

He paused, a barely noticeable curve on his lips.

“I’ll wait for them to walk into the trap.”

The soldiers wrapped up the Hidden Mist Mirror, packing it into an iron box.

……

The snow night had deepened, the campfire flickering dimly.

Bond sat in the tent, pulled his cloak around him, spread a piece of parchment on the table, and began writing.

This was the formal victory report to Duke Edmund, detailing the recapture of Qingyu Ridge, the defeat of the Snow Swearers, and the performance of that young noble lad.

In the letter, he detailed how Louis led the forces in a detour surprise attack, how accurately he divided the enemy, and how the Red Tide Knights coordinated in battle.

Even the Divine Artifact that could obscure the camp’s aura, the Hidden Mist Mirror, was recorded in the report.

He also cautioned that although Qingyu Ridge had been reclaimed, the Snow Swearers would undoubtedly react, possibly already gathering forces for a counterattack.

This place is crucial to eradicating the Snow Swearers, earnestly requesting the Duke send reinforcements promptly to consolidate the victory.

At the end of the letter, Bond broke convention with a personal evaluation.

“This battle demonstrated Baron Calvin’s command ability and insight, far surpassing his age and experience. With further cultivation, he could become a pillar of the future Northern Territory.”

He sighed softly, stepped out of the tent, and tied the letter to a Gale Bird.

This was a messenger beast widely used by the Imperial Nobility and military, small in size but extremely fast, capable of evading regular tracking and magical interference during flight.

It chirped softly, seemingly aware of the task’s importance, immediately folding wings and launching into the sky, disappearing in an instant.

……

Viscount Webster was recently troubled.

The first day the Snow Swearers laid siege, they utilized fog and night to launch a probing offensive. They didn’t seem eager to attack, more like disrupting the defenders’ morale.

He kept vigil on the wall all night, nerves tense, but what truly vexed him was not the enemy, but his own men.

Noble forces from all over had no sense of coordination.

They didn’t follow orders or directives, reinforcements were sluggish, he lost his temper a few times for it, but to no avail.

The few old nobles from the Northern Territory at least followed his command.

But those pioneer lords from the South agreed readily but hesitated or perfunctorily when it came to troop deployment.

He knew he wasn’t suited to be a commander.

Back when Count Old Fors was in charge, he was only responsible for charging into battle.

At that time, he could earn merit by wielding his battleaxe without much thought.

But it was different now; Old Fors’s heir was too weak, unable to hold the situation.

He was forced into a role not meant for him, yet could not step down.

He stood on the wall, gazing at the dim distant horizon, feeling equally bleak inside.

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