– Looking at victory in the distance

Count Randner’s army advanced with difficulty. They were currently engaged with the enemy mercenaries. Even though the soldiers from the Grey Bear and Kruss regions scaled the fortress’s earthen walls, the mercenaries’ will seemed to greatly surpass the imagination of the various Aouine nobles who were observing the battlefield. The huge army was repelled at crucial moments several times, and they did not break past the enemy’s defensive lines for consecutive two days .

The battle was extremely vicious and the soldiers’ blood stained River Gris red.

The unmoved Lord Palas gripped his longsword and observed the entire battlefield like a cold Grim Reaper, stubbornly maintaining his army’s current pace. Once the battle had reached this phase, there was no need to care about many lives were lost, because it would be victory when they took one more step forward.

He sought to find the chance to deal the final blow— The geographical advantage that the rebels had was almost peeled away, while his army still kept their high morale.

His eyes suddenly glinted.

“Get Lord Weld to advance in that direction,” Lord Palas pointed at an empty stretch of trees, “stop looking at me like you’re questioning my orders, just get him to do it and he will understand where to attack!”

The messenger was momentarily at a loss for words.

[Is this really an appropriate order?]

The messenger whose name Lord Palas did not bother to remember suspected for a moment that his superior had become delirious after staying up for the entire night, but when he stared into Lord Palas’s eyes, he saw the latter had determined and bright eyes.

That was confidence—

“I understand, my lord,” the messenger replied and bowed.

=========== Nightsong Tiger’s POV ===========

(TL: Nightsong Tiger = Leader of the Mercenaries of Lopes)

The Nightsong Tiger whistled and got the surrounding men to gather. He pointed at a nearby area that had a stream:

“See that area?”

Everyone surveyed and spotted a field of fiery red swallow-tail banners. The men carried lances that were taller than some of the shorter trees, and they wore scarlet armor that covered their whole bodies.

“The Crimson Flagbearers, Count Randner’s private army.” One of the mercenaries remarked, recognizing their signature appearance from the reports that he read.

“How generous of Count Randner!” Another mercenary spat in hatred, his saliva tinged with blood.

“How strong is their combat prowess?” The Nightsong Tiger asked.

“Tier 1 Soldier Class, Light Cavalry, their mounts are specially selected horses that are violent, and their overall strength is the upper end of an Iron-ranker—” A tall Elf with slightly dull-green skin and a pair of ears that were longer than the norm answered by relaying Brendel’s words. He was different from the other hired mercenaries and was part of the Mercenaries of Lopes.

“Hmph, ‘Light Cavalry’ with full body armor!” The Nightsong Tiger tutted twice.

“The horses are not equipped with armor. Based on the burden and mobility they are indeed classified as Light Cavalry. These men are also equipped with Hazell’s three-barrel hand cannons, which have considerable ranged power in short distance engagements. Count Randner has put in quite the budget in this unit.”

“Their intention is to attack our left flank. The mercenaries under Cornelius are exhausted, and it seems like our opponent has quite the sharp eyes,” the Nightsong Tiger pointed at an area that thick foliage, “unfortunately there is no reason to let that old knight have an easy time. I’m going to bring my men to take down the enemies, how about you lot?”

The other mercenaries in the area were elites carefully selected by the various groups of mercenaries to support areas that needed aid, and they had strength close to Silver-rankers. There was a full company of one hundred men yesterday but now there were only forty-five of them left. It was clear how dangerous their fights were.

“Killing one of them is enough to break even.” Someone remarked and there was a burst of venomous laughter made from everyone.

The riders that appeared next to the stream increased in numbers, reaching the size of a full company.

Weld was sitting on his mount and looked at his subordinates with satisfaction.

[Indeed, this is Aouine’s most elite army. They are not lacking compared to the royal family’s White Lion Army.]

He thought in his mind, and even though it was just two hundred-odd men, he was confident that his men would sweep away the enemies that blocked his way.

The riders crossed over the stream upon hearing an urgent whistle from him.

Medissa naturally noticed them once they appeared. The Silver-Elf princess had been standing on the highest point of the fortress, and she waved a flag towards the direction of the newly arrived enemies, and there was a shower of arrows that struck that location as though she had willed it.

The arrows made agitated sparks of water across the stream, but they hardly did any fatal damage to the cavalry unit. The triangular arrowheads lost their momentum after piercing through armor, and even if some of the riders had three or four arrows sticking out of their armor, they were still able to maintain their formation.

It was not surprising to Lord Weld. Equipment was an important quality for an army’s battle strength. The Crimson Flagbearers were all equipped with armor resistant to projectiles, and greatly reduced the threat of ranged projectiles—

In his eyes, this resolved the greatest weakness of a light cavalry unit.

But he did not expect even in his dreams that his enemies were made up of a variety of races. Mercenaries had complex structures and adventurers had even more varieties. Weld was just feeling a little proud, but he did not know that the nearby Elven archers in the forest were targeting this conspicuous unit.

“Hanno, you’re left, I’m right.” There was an Elven archer covered in leaves on top of a tree approximately a hundred meters away, and he handed a green arrow to the human ranger behind him.

“The two in front?”

“Yes.”

Two bowstrings sang at the same time, and the first two riders who crossed the southern section of the forest collapsed from their mounts. Lord Weld was greatly surprised, and he turned his head to discover that the arrows were shot in between the gaps of the armor around the neck. Their throats were pierced through and they died instantly.

“Sharpshooters, be careful!” Lord Weld felt his hair raise up and he immediately cried out.

True sharpshooters were the nightmare of any heavy armor units, and that was because the latter’s armor was no different than someone who did not wear any protective gear. Their arrows were always capable of finding the weakest point and delivering a fatal blow.

It was rare to find good archers in a typical army unit, let alone sharpshooters. Nobles had to pay a handsome sum of money to hire them, but the best sharpshooters were almost always Elves or rangers, and these people preferred freedom.

[What the fuck is up with this rebel army? Druids? Rangers and Elves? A fucking alliance between the denizens of the forest? Are we fighting a Holy War?]

He trembled once he recalled about the November War.

“Over there!”

The Crimson Flagbearers rode quickly and maintained their speed in the forest. To move quickly in the range of sharpshooters meant survival, and these experienced troops understood this point clearly. It did not take long for them to discover where their enemies were.

A shadowy figure moved swiftly across the fortress’s earthen walls that were fortified with vines.

This tall, lithe Elf had dull-green skin and he moved behind the battlements without giving away his position, closing in the distance to the enemy’s cavalry unit. The Elf stopped to calmly observe with a pair of narrow almond-shaped eyes, then he continued to move, exposed half of his body, then raised his longbow to aim.

“An Elven archer!” One of the riders managed to spot him and shrieked, and the entire cavalry unit unbuckled the shields from their mounts to guard their throats. To a child, the Elven archers were legendary sharpshooters, but for a soldier on the battlefield, they were the definition of a nightmare.

It was especially so for Elves that had a greyish-green tinge to their skin. They were Windrunner Elves.

The Nightsong Tiger peeked out from a carefully hidden ditch, glanced at the enemy riders’ response, and then tucked his head back.

“These soldiers are quite the veterans.” He gestured.

“But it’s useless, hehe.” The mercenaries’ eyes were somewhat hollow because of the constant battles that they fought, but there was a streak of cruelty in them. They were smirking.

Indeed, the cavalry’s actions were useless.

There was a beam of white light. That projectile actually pierced through the center of a rider’s shield and neck. It even broke through the first victim completely to strike the rider that was behind him, and the latter was sent flying to the ground with a massive thud.

It was only then that the first rider who got shot fell silently to the ground.

“A Silver-ranked archer!” Lord Weld instantly thought he had fallen into a huge trap as he stared at the Grim Reaper on the fortress.

It seemed like that elf had turned into a cannon— Each time he raised his longbow, there would be at least one rider amongst the charging cavalry who fell down his mount.

Lord Weld felt a painful headache assaulting him, but he was at least still a capable commander. He immediately pulled out his longsword and ordered:

“Move closer and suppress him with the hand cannons!”

A Silver-ranked sharpshooter’s damage was too great. At the rate of two arrows fired in a second, Lord Weld thought that the morale of his men would collapse first before they even got to fight anything.

The whistling in the forest caused by the arrows was like summoning calls for their souls, but the Crimson Flagbearers displayed their tenacity as elites. They charged forward with high spirits despite the circumstances, and they reached the range to fire their hand cannons quickly.

Lord Weld secretly exhaled with relief. He raised his hand and the riders responded by aiming with their guns, and it seemed like victory was at hand as the crimson flags flew brilliantly. As long as they entered the enemy’s defensive lines, they would be able to give a decisive blow to the rebels.

Unfortunately, the victory that they had envisioned could only be seen from afar—

The Nightsong Tiger snapped his fingers:

“It’s time for our performance.”

The uneven ground that was covered with dead leaves and snow suddenly parted and rows of ‘scarecrows’ suddenly stood up.

Naturally, these were the mercenaries who had camouflaged themselves superbly.

Lord Weld felt his heart plummet.

“Ambush!” The Crimson Flagbearers panicked.

The Nightsong Tiger licked his lips and threw out his axe that spun quickly.

The nearest Crimson Flagbearer felt like time had slowed down, but there was nothing he could do to avoid the projectile. There was a sharp cry as he fell to the ground face-down. The rider next to him prepared his lance to strike the Nightsong Tiger, but the latter dodged without any excessive movement and struck back with a broadsword on his left hand, cutting a deep wound across that hapless rider across the waist.

A string of red liquid pearls scattered across the misty air along with a painful cry.

The impact on that man caused an imbalance on his mount and they both crashed onto the ground with terrifying force. Lord Weld stared at this scene in shock. The enemies in front of them were most likely knights, or at least they were incredibly experienced Silver-ranked mercenaries.

Hope shattered like a crystal statue thrown onto the floor.

“You fucking rebels!” Lord Weld felt a trace of sorrow in his mind, but he did not retreat and raised his longsword instead. He charged towards the Nightsong Tiger with a resolute expression: “Die!”

An arrow pierced through that noble.

The Elf on the fortress put away his longbow.

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