Chapter 100: Blood Valley

The battle did not last long, but to me it felt as if a hundred years had passed.

On my body, the magical halos were slowly fading away. With each layer that disappeared, I felt an uncomfortable sensation in my limbs. A body used to enhancement spells suddenly became heavy, like a bird whose wings had been suddenly cut off, forced to walk on its own legs — clumsy, slow, and hard to bear.

This meant that our Mages were exhausted and could no longer provide us with strong support. When Poirot cast the last Haste Spell on me and Eliot and then collapsed weakly to the ground, I lost my final support and had to rely on my own strength to fight.

Countless Cretans had already become ghosts under our blades, but compared to their astonishingly huge numbers, these losses were not enough to change anything. More than half of our Star Knights had already fallen, and the number was still growing. This was the greatest loss this army had suffered since it was formed. We were forced to fight the enemy in the way we were least skilled at, and looking at the situation, this battle was nearly hopeless. At this moment, noble words like “motherland” and “honor” had been pushed aside from my mind. In my eyes, I could only see two kinds of people — one called comrades, and one called enemies. I could no longer fight for those noble reasons. What was still driving my body and making me swing my sword was my extremely strong will to survive.

My performance might have been braver than the bravest warrior, but I knew that was not true courage. It was the cowardice and madness that lingered at the edge of death.

The gate of the pass was right before our eyes. It was so close to us that it seemed we could push it open if we just reached out. But it was also so far away — so far that this reachable distance had to be measured in life and death. More than once we tried to get closer, and a few times we even got within bow range of the city walls. But the Cretan army wrapped around us like a giant python, dragging us back into the abyss of death again and again.

Once again, we gathered the last of our courage and strength and, led by Fred, struggled our way toward the city wall. By this time, we had completely lost our formation, like a battle blade with a chipped edge, no longer sharp or deadly. This was destined to be a desperate strike that would achieve nothing — I knew that in my heart. But after all, we were still true warriors. After all, we could not just give up all effort and hand our lives over to the enemies we hated so much.

One step, two steps, three steps… My warhorse trembled and pushed forward under my urging. My legs ached from constantly squeezing, and my arms were filled with an indescribable weariness. The city gate kept growing bigger in my eyes, almost filling all my vision.

Strength was draining through my fingertips, and heavy breaths pressed down on my lungs. It seemed that my steps were getting closer and closer to the city gate, but I felt my life getting farther and farther away from it. It swayed and wavered in my sight, like a naughty child — every step I took forward, it retreated a little, so that I could never reach it.

At our most critical moment, Colonel Pekra made a decision that defied common sense.

He opened the city gate.

At that time, we were still at least two bow-shots away from the city wall. Between us and the wall, tens of thousands of Cretan soldiers in bright armor were gathered, ready to swallow us whole at any moment before turning back to attack the pass. In this situation, any commander with a bit of common sense would seize every moment to rest his troops and reorganize the defense line, not do something as crazy as this:

Open the city gate.

Even crazier was that a group of soldiers in tattered armor and exhausted bodies rushed out of the gate and ran toward us. Some of them were already panting after only a few steps. Some could not even stand steady, stumbling and falling to the ground. Apart from chipped weapon s and unyielding will, these people had nothing. But they charged here without hesitation, charging into this battlefield that was already covered in blood.

And beyond all of this, what made me feel so crazy that it was almost unbelievable was that Colonel Pekra himself also appeared in this army. He rode a cyan warhorse, charging at the very front of the formation, swinging a sword in his right hand, his left arm wrapped in thick bandages, his face pale. I almost did not recognize this knight galloping on horseback. He was mighty and grand, so different from the frail soldier I remembered.

“For Delanmaya! For our brothers! Forward! Forward!! Forward!!!” His voice was as hoarse as the sound of metal cracking, but it carried an irresistible power. The soldiers behind him responded fervently to their commander and plunged into the weaker ring of the encirclement.

“Break out! Reinforcements have come to save us! Break out!” Fred let out an encouraging shout. The appearance of our allies poured new strength into our desperate hearts. The Cretans were caught off guard by this scattered but fearless charge, and never expected that these opponents, who could barely even stand, would still burst out with such powerful fighting strength. These exhausted but crazy Delanmayans seemed to fight purely for the sake of fighting. They barely dodged the attacks coming at them, but every time they took a blade, their opponent would receive an even more deadly sword strike in return. They did not mind at all trading their own blood for the enemy’s blood, if doing so would help their allies open a gap.

I did not know how Colonel Pekra had rallied this force, but it was clear that they no longer cared about their own lives. And on the battlefield, those who chased death were always strong.

Under the attack from both inside and outside, the encirclement broke apart layer by layer, and we got closer and closer to Colonel Pekra’s force. Finally, with the collapse of the last layer of Spearmen, two equally brave and equally exhausted armies met in the middle of the enemy’s formation.

“Colonel, you should not be here!” Fred’s voice carried a somewhat affected anger, but mostly an undeniable gratitude. “If you came here, what about the pass? Who will organize the defense?”

“I don’t know, General! All I know is that the pass can do without me, but Delanmaya cannot do without you!” Under the protection of his attendants, Colonel Pekra also charged into the enemy formation. This was probably the first time he had charged with such a heroic posture. He looked a little nervous now, unable to control his horse well. But here, no one had the right to mock him.

“Please break out with us, General!” It was only then that I noticed Pekra called Fred “General” instead of “Your Majesty,” even though Hugh should have already delivered the news of Fred’s coronation to Pekra. This made me feel a little strange and a little worried.

But these thoughts did not linger in my mind for long. The tense battle forced me to focus all my attention on the battlefield. We were still trapped in a heavy encirclement. Wrapped in tens of thousands of enemy soldiers, we were like a small boat that could be swallowed by a devastating wave at any moment.

When this reinforced force began to break out again, we discovered that things were not so simple:

Colonel Pekra had been able to break through the encirclement smoothly, on the one hand because of the soldiers’ desperate fighting, and on the other hand because the Cretans had focused their attention on us, unprepared for the attack coming from the direction of the pass.

Now, the Cretans had readjusted their formation, and they had enough troops to surround both of our armies at the same time. Even worse, the Cretan commander had already begun pulling troops away to attack the pass.

“Fight our way out!” For us, this was the only order. Fight our way out — only by fighting our way out was there a chance to live. Only by fighting our way out could we continue our ideals and continue our journey. No one wanted to die here in such a humiliating and pointless way. There was only one thing we had to do, and that was: fight our way out!

Without the help of magic, all the warriors could only rely on their remaining strength to continue this final journey. The warhorses breathed out heavy pants, and the soldiers gripped their broken weapons tightly. It was not yet time to despair, as long as we had not given up fighting.

The one always charging at the very front was the fierce Elf Ranger, Red Flame. His sword-swinging movements were no longer so smooth, and his body was covered with many wounds. He was very tired — so tired that he could no longer crush his opponents overwhelmingly like we were used to seeing, coldly trampling enemy corpses under his horse’s hooves. He was no longer so powerful — only just a little stronger than all his opponents.

And that little was enough.

He was still that undefeated Ranger, the invincible warrior on horseback.

Kelsey and Fred followed closely behind. Kelsey’s rapier was not suited for a chaotic melee, and her exhaustion also greatly weakened her attacks. Even so, no one could deny that this beautiful woman with a red scarf on her head was a true fighting machine on the battlefield. Her enemies rarely died instantly under her attacks, but the muscles pierced by her blade always lost their ability to keep fighting.

Fred, while fighting, directed the direction of Red Flame’s charge from behind, charging toward the spots where the enemy’s defense was weak.

Colonel Pekra stayed together with the remaining Mages, wrapped in the middle of the formation by the soldiers. We were on the outside, protecting their safety as much as we could.

At this moment, the Cretans’ ladders had already been propped up against the city wall again. Without their commander, the defenders on the wall could only fight under the command of their own courage. The defense line on the wall still existed, but the soldiers’ movements were stiff and blind, lacking coordination. Without Colonel Pekra’s command, this defense line had only a solid shell but had lost its soul. If the enemy was allowed to attack so recklessly, the fall of the wall was only a matter of time.

But at this moment, we could not return to the city wall. Yes, we had been very tenacious, but that was not enough to offset our huge disadvantage in numbers. The Cretan formation was like the stomach of a giant beast, constantly churning, stripping away our protection bit by bit, trying to dissolve us completely here, leaving not even a trace behind.

We were powerless to resist these deadly churnings. They almost succeeded.

If it were only us, they would have succeeded.

Just as we were struggling desperately, the Cretan formation suddenly fell into chaos.

It was not the kind of mild disturbance caused by a small-scale harassment, but a complete collapse. Severe unease was projected into the hearts of all the Cretans, shaking not only their spirits but also their bodies.

Under the setting sun in the west, rows of soldiers appeared neatly at the top of the western slope, casting long shadows like a dark forest. This forest spread a thick aura of death and moved forward at a slow but steady pace.

The footsteps of the warriors, accompanied by deep horn sounds, pressed slowly down from the slope with the power to shake the earth. Before long, half the slope was covered with the color of metal armor. The blood-red color of the setting sun bathed the gleaming weapons, like an ominous omen.

“Slay the invaders who stole our land! Rescue His Majesty! All troops…” Rodrick’s voice scattered down from the slope with the colors of the setting sun, echoing in the air. On the slope, our soldiers heard the command and immediately assumed attacking postures. At the very front of the formation, rows of Spearmen lowered their weapons horizontally, like a wave of metal ready to surge, waiting for a wild rush.

“Charge!”

This scene was less like an army charge and more like a landslide. To the Cretans at the foot of the slope, the entire slope seemed to collapse, and what came crashing down was this irresistible flood. The attack came so violently and fiercely that most Cretans did not even notice the fact that they actually outnumbered the enemy.

Nothing could stop them. In fact, to surround us, the Cretans had long given up orderly formations and adopted a rather primitive human-wave tactic to wrap around us. This tactic was indeed very effective against us, who were at an absolute numerical disadvantage, but under the charge of a large-scale formation, such a scattered formation was no different from suicide. To be fair, the Cretan commander was not to blame — the appearance of this reinforcement was something he could not have predicted. But since he had made a mistake, he had to pay the price for it.

The price of blood!

Like pouring boiling hot water into a bowl of salt, the hastily built defense line of the Cretans was instantly dissolved without a trace. Under the overwhelming pressure of the unexpected enemy, they scattered in panic, no longer holding the belief in certain victory they had just moments before.

“Fred, where are you?” Even on a battlefield where tens of thousands of people were fighting, Dakla’s rough voice could be clearly heard. His voice was like a clap of thunder on the battlefield, coming from far to near, closing in steadily toward our direction.

“Dakla, we are here, we are all here!” I could no longer suppress the joy and excitement in my heart. Our friends had appeared at the moment we needed them most. They tore up the invitation that death had forced into our hands and dragged us back from the gates of hell.

The first person to appear in our sight was not Dakla, but Roll.

Roll the Bloodthirsty!

In just the short charge, his body was already covered with broken limbs and shreds of flesh. His eyes flashed with the color of blood, as if that was the only thing he could see in this world.

But we knew that beneath his cruel and savage shell hid a gentle and fragile heart. His bloodlust was never for himself, but for his friends, for the companions trapped in trouble.

No one came to harass us anymore, let alone organize an effective attack on the city wall of the pass. The Cretans had fallen into irreversible chaos. This chaos was not only shown in the battle but was deeply engraved in their hearts. Every corner echoed with Cretan officers loudly giving orders, but no two orders were related to each other. The soldiers could not find their commanders in this terrible formation. All they could see was the approaching enemy constantly stabbing down soldiers wearing the same uniform as themselves.

When the formation was orderly, the outstanding bravery of Cretan soldiers was the strongest power they could rely on. But once they lost discipline and fell completely into despair, their strong bodies and sharp weapons gave them more chances to hurt themselves. The Cretans in the front rows twisted their bodies, trying to squeeze past their comrades behind them and retreat. The Cretans in the back rows did not even know what was happening in front. Their formation was squeezed by their own people into a chaotic, irregular ball, and no one could choose a definite direction to advance. More and more people raised their weapons at their own companions. When your will to survive overpowers your reason and mercy, you will choose the former between equally cowardly companions and extremely fierce enemies.

“Seize the moment, completely crush them!” Fred commanded loudly. His left hand held the saddle pommel, and sweat dripped from his forehead down his cheeks in beads onto the ground. Every breath he took seemed to move his entire body, and his figure on horseback swayed weakly. Like us, he was truly very tired. Obvious blue veins showed on the back of his right hand holding the blade, and his whole arm seemed to tremble slightly from overexertion.

But he was still fighting. He used his actions to tell us that we must completely crush this huge enemy force before us and make them lose all will to resist. Otherwise, once they gathered their courage to fight again, we would have to face an even more severe situation.

“Crush them!” With his blade held across and his horse leaping, his fighting posture inspired every soldier present. Fatigue seemed to be driven away by Fred’s heroic figure to some unknown corner of our bodies, and our arms became full of strength again. At this moment, I even felt that I could keep fighting like this forever — fighting without counting strength or consumption. As long as I was by Fred’s side, as long as he was still leading us, I could keep fighting.

The Cretans had no chance to turn things around. Soon after, their commander gave up trying to reverse the situation. The blue-and-red battle flag began to slowly drift backward. With the commander’s permission, the Cretan formation began an even more complete collapse. They fled in panic in all directions, shattering the entire formation like an avalanche. At this moment, even if the God of War himself descended into the Cretan formation, he could not stop their defeat.

Once again, we had won. But it was not worth celebrating. Too many brave warriors had fallen in this battle, and especially the loss of the Star Knights could not be made up in a short time. Fewer than thirty Mages skilled in coordinating cavalry tactics remained. Many Mages had died of exhaustion on the battlefield from overusing their spells. Even our friend Poirot was down to his last breath. He lay over his horse’s back, his face even paler than paper.

But for our enemies, this defeat meant nothing. They had plenty of time and troops and could easily afford this unexpected loss.

This was a sorrowful victory. It might have added to our glory, but it could no longer change our fate of fleeing across the world.