The silver moon was once again hidden behind a blanket of clouds, plunging heaven and earth into dim obscurity. The lake surface, once glimmering with silver scales, had turned dark and heavy, and the faint outlines of distant scenery could no longer be made out.
A dark night for killing, a windy night for arson.
For some reason,
At this moment, he stood on the lakeshore. Cold autumn gusts swept across the water, billowing the cloak draped over his armor, which snapped and fluttered loudly in the wind.
Behind him stood Pat and Reddy, each holding two mounts by the reins. Three of the horses were their own riding steeds, while the fourth was a spare. Four tubes of javelins hung on either side, swaying ceaselessly to and fro.
Behind them, squad formations stood in neat, orderly rows. Every soldier wore the same style of refined purple-brown iron plate armor. On the left breast of each suit was a palm-sized silver-gray lion emblem. Their right hands held lances of equal length planted upright on the ground, while their left hands gripped their warhorses' reins. Behind them billowed matching black outer cloaks. On their left arm guards were slung purple-brown, basin-sized riding shields. At their left waists hung matching swords. Below them were the same iron aprons, leg armor, and tall leather boots fitted with iron shin-guards and spurs.
These were the
Every soldier stood rigidly at attention, silent and motionless, like statues carved from iron and stone. Only the occasional neigh of a horse broke the darkness and stillness of the open field...
Killing intent hung heavy in the air above each squad formation, swirling and hovering. When the cold night wind swept across these formations, it carried with it the bone-chilling sting of murderous intent...
The silver moon peeked through the clouds once more, and gentle silver moonlight spilled across the world anew.
White Heron Lake's surface glittered with silver scales once again, and sheets of white mist drifted in the distance, obscuring the entire field of view...
Row after row of Locke small boats were placed side by side, each separated by over a meter. Planks more than two meters wide lay across the three-meter-long boats, linking them together into a narrow path leading deep into the mist. It stretched on farther than the eye could see...
Deep within the mist, two figures emerged faintly, running toward them in quick succession, one behind the other. The path began to sway and undulate...
The two figures were Guards Rull and Mord. Gasping for breath, they arrived before Lorist: "My lord, the pontoon bridge has reached the far shore. Lord Earl sent us to report — it is passable..."
"Well done." Lorist nodded and strode toward the pontoon bridge. Rull and Mord dutifully took one of the mounts from
The formations on the lakeside field began to move as well. One by one, soldiers led their warhorses into a single file behind Patt's mount and stepped onto the pontoon bridge...
Over four hundred meters of pontoon bridge — Lorist walked for more than ten minutes. Behind him, the bridge shook violently as the lake water beneath the small boats churned and crashed, eventually forming tidal waves...
Soon, one Iron-armored Lance Cavalryman after another led his mount ashore, then followed the waiting guards to the designated clearing and mounted up. Before long, they had assembled into two squadrons.
Rodd Wells crossed the pontoon bridge and came to Lorist's side: "My lord, should we set out now?"
Lorist softly said, "Good, we move."
In the dark jungle, the column of horses advanced in silence. Along the winding path, white ash arrows and marks painted on the trees beside the way were visible from time to time, looking exceptionally ghastly under the silver moonlight.
All the warhorses had their hooves wrapped in thick leather coverings, and on the silent path, the muffled echo of their hooffalls sounded like a dull rumble of thunder, shaking the earth and the jungle...
An hour and a half later, three mournful cries of a nightjar sounded from the distance. Erle, at the head of the column, reined in his mount, and the column halted.
Three black figures burst from the forest and ran up to the column. The leading figure whispered a few words to Erle, then vanished back into the jungle with his two companions.
"My lord, we are less than two li from the enemy's camp. I recommend we dismount and proceed on foot. Although the hooves are wrapped, the vibrations on the ground can still alert the enemy. We need to get closer to catch them completely off guard..." Erle said to Lorist.
To ensure the success of the night raid, as soon as the silver moon rose, Erle had led half of the guards hand-picked from the convoy's main camp, secretly crossing Lake White Egret. They had neutralized the watchposts on the opposite shore and successfully blocked and concealed the path leading to the enemy camp.
"Pass the word: everyone dismount, put on the bits, and lead the horses on foot. Be careful to make no noise." Lorist turned and instructed Pat.
Less than an hour later, the enemy's great camp appeared within an arrow's flight. A few sentries at the camp gate were dozing against the wall, and the two watchtowers flanking the gate were unmanned. Perhaps because it was behind the lines of confrontation, the camp's vigilance was surprisingly lax.
"My lord, I'll take a team to neutralize the guards at the gate and in the watchtowers, then open the gate." After finishing his words, Erle's figure flickered twice and vanished into the darkness...
"Everyone, gear up and follow the planned route..." After issuing his orders, Lorist crouched down and unfastened the leather bindings on his mount's four hooves.
—as if asleep, he slumped against the camp wall, slipping into eternal slumber.
A shadowy figure scaled a watchtower with the agility of a gecko, quickly climbed back down, then ascended the other tower.
The camp gates swung open without a sound...
Lorist raised his spear high and bellowed, "Kill!"
The thundering of hooves shattered the stillness of the night. A hundred-odd meters was but a handful of heartbeats beneath galloping warhorses. Lorist led the charge, bursting through the gate and plunging into the sleeping encampment...
Countless armored lancers swarmed in. Battle cries erupted throughout the camp, screams and wails merging into one continuous cacophony...
Tent after tent burst into flames. Amid the firelight, armored riders brandishing lancers appeared before the half-awake Iron Guard Corps soldiers like demons descending from the heavens, emerging from the blaze and thick smoke. They showed no mercy, cutting down the bewildered and unarmed Iron Guard soldiers who had not even had time to don their armor. Where the iron hooves passed, only corpses remained. Blood and raging fire...
Lorist spurred his horse straight toward the central command tent. According to intelligence provided by the
Lorist figured that among the ten-odd thousand Iron Guard soldiers at the Bread Hill encampment, there was certainly one
With a sweep of his spear, the two main pillars of the central command tent snapped in half. The entire structure tilted and crashed to the ground. Apart from the dozen-odd guards inside who became ghosts beneath Lorist's spear, Lorist did not encounter the Gold Knight he had expected to find.
Just as Lorist circled atop the collapsed tent, stubbornly probing suspicious spots beneath his horse's hooves with his spear, a tremendous clang rang out nearby, accompanied by a flash of golden light. He turned to look and saw Rod Wells, his lance blazing with golden sword energy, locked in combat with a figure on the ground whose longsword likewise shone with golden radiance. The tremendous sound just moments ago had been the lance and longsword striking each other.
Well, so the Gold Knight had fled over there. No wonder he couldn't be found at the command tent — Ross had snatched up the prize again. Lorist muttered to himself and urged his horse forward at a leisurely pace, reaching his right hand back. A throwing lance dropped into his palm. Lorist began to cover Rod Wells's flank, focusing intently on the duel between the two Gold Knights, ready to intervene at a moment's notice if the need arose.
Rod Wells fought like a maddened tiger, exploiting his mounted advantage to wield his lance like a saber. The blade, blazing with golden sword energy, carved dazzling arcs through the air as it hammered down upon the Gold Knight standing on the ground.
The Gold Knight was no slouch either. His longsword, glowing with golden sword energy, parried strikes from every direction without pause. But being on foot and wielding a shorter weapon put him at a disadvantage. Each parry forced him back a small step.
Rod Wells roared like thunder, and his final strike sent his opponent stumbling back several paces.
He wheeled his horse around, dug his spurs hard into its flanks, and the warhorse let out a shrill neigh as it surged forward. Rod Wells bellowed, "Die!" raising his lance high before bringing it slashing down...
The Gold Knight on the ground had just found his footing. Seeing Rod Wells and horse charging as one, he let out an unearthly cry, set his stance, and raised his longsword, preparing to block the incoming blow.
The lance descended like a thunderbolt. Just as it was about to collide with the longsword, it suddenly halted with a light, almost lazy motion, tracing a brilliant half-circle that curved around the blade. The strike transformed from a slash into a thrust, and golden sword energy erupted in a blinding flash...
The knight on the ground had never dreamed his opponent would suddenly change technique. His longsword, poised to parry, grasped at empty air. Realizing his peril in an instant, he tried to recover but it was already too late. His expression shifted from shock to despair in the span of a heartbeat, and with a sickening thud, the lance blade sank into his chest.
"Go to hell." Rod Wells lifted the Gold Knight's corpse with his lance and hurled it onto a patch of empty ground nearby. Blood dripped steadily from the blade of his weapon...
"Well done!" Lorist shouted his praise. "Fierce as a tiger, your feint was brilliant, and you killed him in one strike. From now on, I'll call you Tiger Ross."
Rod Wells grinned. "Thank you for the kind words, my lord. Tiger Ross it is then."
"That's so unfair! I contributed a lot this time too. Locke, you have to give me a title as well," a voice suddenly sounded next to Lorist.
Lorist turned his head to find El appeared silently at his side.
"Mm, I'll give you one too. You shall be Shadow," Lorist said.
"Shadow El? Not bad, I like it." El considered it for a moment and then beamed, clearly quite satisfied with the title.
"Right, I was looking for you. My lord, look up there." El pointed upward.
Lorist looked up and saw that the Iron Guard Corps soldiers stationed at Bread Hill had been alarmed by the fighting in the camp below. They had hastily organized a team, lit torches, and were now coming down the mountain, having already reached the halfway point.
"Judging by the number of torches, there are no fewer than a thousand men. Our own bodyguards, numbering only a few dozen, are blocking the mountain path, but I fear it will be very difficult to hold them off..." El reported.
"They're just digging their own graves. I was going to trap them for two or three days to force a surrender, but this works out perfectly. We'll storm up the hill and seize their position outright." Lorist watched the torches flickering down the mountainside as he spoke.
"Handle the aftermath. Rally a battalion of soldiers to abandon their horses and fight on foot — they'll follow me up the mountain. El, let's go." Lorist spurred his horse toward the rear of the camp. El grabbed a nearby mount and trailed after him. Not far off, Pat and Radi spotted them and gave chase.
The wailing blast of a horn echoed through the night sky…
The Second Prince, who had been pacing back and forth before the battle formation, halted in his tracks and cupped his ear. "Did you hear that horn, Chrisya?"
The golden-haired female knight answered joyfully, "I did. It's definitely a horn."
"Locke and his men succeeded!" the Second Prince exclaimed excitedly. "Sound the horn in reply! Light the torches and push the siege towers up to the border!"
Not far from the wooden palisade the Duchy of Madras had erected to seal the border, countless torches flared to life all at once, shining like stars scattered across the heavens, so bright they turned night into day. Thousands of voices roared the war cry of "Kill! Kill! Kill!" in unison, the thunderous sound shaking heaven and earth.
Liechtenana Fortress also blazed with clusters of candlelight, illuminating the entire castle in a wash of fire. Guards in helmets and leather armor appeared along the battlements, eyes fixed tensely on the distant torches as they converged into disciplined formations. They stood ready — the moment those formations crossed the wooden palisade, they would unleash a storm of crossbow bolts in retaliation…
The mountain path leading down from Bread Hill exited into a sparse patch of woods less than fifty meters from the camp. A sentry post of a dozen men had once been posted there, but it had long since been neutralized by the bodyguards who had sealed off the path.
The mountain trail was narrow, barely two meters wide. The soldiers coming down from above were almost upon them. By the time Lorist came galloping up, he could already hear the shouting and cursing and the clamor of marching feet from above.
The mountain path wound in an S-shape, and the enemies descending from the hilltop were not yet visible. Without a moment's hesitation, Lorist drew his sword and charged uphill. After barely a few dozen steps, he rounded a bend and found himself face to face with a throng of Iron Guard soldiers carrying torches. Spotting Lorist rushing up, they assumed he was a messenger sent ahead. A voice barked out, "Halt! What happened at the camp below?"
Lorist said nothing. The enemy was right in front of him. He suddenly let out a thunderous roar: "Kill!"
He plunged into the mass of enemies. His longsword glittered like starlight, and one after another, screaming soldiers tumbled off the mountain path…
Lorist surged forward against the tide of bodies, cutting through them like a blade through waves…
The enemies on the upper stretch of the path finally cried out: "The enemy! It's a raid!"
The soldiers on the lower path descended into total chaos. They had to watch their footing, guard against the enemy, and move all at once — their coordination was in shambles. They could not mount any effective resistance against Lorist, and the terrain, perfectly suited to his fighting style, only multiplied their casualties.
The enemies on the upper path began retreating toward the hilltop, while those below could not retreat even if they wanted to. Lorist moved at extraordinary speed and had already fought his way to the mid-slope. Everywhere he looked there were enemies, and he cut them down without restraint.
These Iron Guard soldiers were no match for him, not even for a single exchange. With no chance to coordinate, Lorist fought with absolute ease — every gesture, every movement was a killing blow. The most pitiful were the soldiers he left behind in his wake: not only were Al,
Lorist pursued the retreating enemy all the way to Bread Hill without pause, targeting the torch-bearers first. Without the torches to light their way, the Iron Guard soldiers had no idea how many enemies were chasing them. They could only flee in blind panic. Every now and then, some unlucky soul would lose his footing and plummet off the hilltop, his long scream trailing into the darkness.
The silver moon slipped behind the clouds once more, and the hilltop plunged into absolute darkness.
Familiar shouts came from behind: "My lord, my lord, where are you..."
Several torches flared to life at the mountain pass — it was Patty and the others who had also made it up to the hilltop.
Lorist was about to reply when a sudden chill shot down his spine, every hair on his body standing on end. He threw himself flat on the ground and roared, "Get down, get down now—"
— To be continued.