Chapter 115: Battle Again, War Flames in a Foreign Land

The formation collapsed very quickly. The indigenous warriors’ hard efforts again and again were easily shattered by the Cretans. Although the battle was still in a stalemate, we knew that the maneuverability of the indigenous army had reached its limit, and the battle could not keep going on like this for much longer.

Sure enough, the Cretan rear formation made new moves. Several armies shuttled back and forth, adjusting their formations, making a show of a full-line attack.

“Get ready, my friends. It will soon be our turn to move out!” Fred loudly reminded our indigenous allies and mounted his horse. On the other side of the slope, the side the Cretans could not see, our soldiers received the order to fight and prepared for battle.

Sure enough, after finally putting out, one by one, the brave attack flames of the indigenous warriors in front of their sturdy shields, the Cretans opened their battle formation. The first to burst through were over ten thousand Heavy Infantry in neat ranks. Unlike the Winston Heavy Infantry, these bloodthirsty killing machines wore heavy armor, held tower shields almost half a person’s height in their left hands, and gripped spears fully two people long in their right hands, bravely charging toward the unyielding indigenous army. Even Light Cavalry could not face such tightly packed heavy spearmen head-on. The heavy armor and the long, sharp spears made them like moving fortresses, and charging straight into them was undoubtedly foolish.

The Heavy Infantry formation was like an enormous iron fist, slamming heavily into the front of the indigenous army and pressing these brave warriors back step by step. Behind them poured countless Light Infantry armed with short blades and leather armor. They ferociously threw themselves at the chaotic enemy, relying on their advantages in armor and weapons to overwhelm their opponents again and again. Although they caused heavy casualties, the effect was not as great as that of the orderly Heavy Infantry formation. These unremarkable soldiers, once separated from the protection of the formation, were essentially exposing themselves to the fanatical and ferocious indigenous warriors. Because they had never had a formation, our indigenous friends were not afraid to fight without one. In true one-on-one combat, the Cretan Light Infantry had no clear advantage.

That unit of Light Cavalry was still roaming the battlefield. They had been held up by many fearless enemies. After inflicting more than ten thousand casualties, fewer than two thousand weary Knights remained, and they were gradually being surrounded by hate-filled enemies. Now they were saved. About three thousand Light Cavalry charged out from their own position and routed the indigenous enemies who had been besetting their comrades. The two cavalry forces gathered together and became a strong force on the battlefield that could not be taken lightly. Although mixing weary cavalry with fresh cavalry could not bring out the greatest combat power, against indigenous opponents who had no cavalry at all, they had nothing to fear. This was already all the cavalry the Cretans had. The rugged roads of the highland mountains had made it impossible for them to bring more cavalry here.

Our opponent had just won a remarkable victory. With an army of about fifty thousand, he had met the offensive of more than seventy thousand indigenous inhabitants. At the cost of fewer than seven thousand lives, he had already killed and wounded more than twenty thousand enemies, and had turned from defense to attack, obtaining a perfect opportunity for a complete victory.

Just at that moment, Fred gave his order:

“Time for us to take the field!”

When regular soldiers in armor and with sharp blades appeared on the hillside, a brief wavering ran through the Cretan battle formation. Our appearance had caught them off guard, and moreover, they did not know exactly how many of us there were—we hoped they would never know.

A battle line gleaming like brilliant gems shot like an arrow toward those knights who were slaughtering lives. That was our pride, our most trustworthy warriors—the “Star Knights.” They had suffered heavy losses in the Umberlian Valley. Afterward, although we used every spare moment to train soldiers and replenish this powerful force, even now only a little over a thousand could truly be counted on for battle.

That was enough.

This frightening force, led by Red Flame and Poirot, charged straight at the ragged opponents. Although since stepping onto the soil of the Holy Fox Highlands, Red Flame had seemed like a different person—unwilling to join the excitement, unwilling to show himself, and even unwilling to speak with anyone except very close friends—once he stepped onto the battlefield, he was still that invincible twin-blade Ranger, the most awe-inspiring warrior on horseback.

“With blood as proof, we will not return without victory!” In Red Flame’s only emerald-green eye blazed a green flame, the kind that appeared when metal was being tempered. Perhaps right now, he really could melt even metal. With a light, clean whistling sound, this world had one less unlucky warrior. Blood sprayed from the wound on that unfortunate Cretan rider’s neck, splashing the area nearly ten steps around him with scarlet, yet there was not a single red dot on Red Flame’s blades.

What a fast blade!

The commander’s fierce boldness stirred up the most ferocious side of the soldiers’ nature. Nearly two thousand Magic Knights who surpassed human limits raised their blades and spurred their horses, charging at the completely unprepared enemy. Flaunting their overwhelming force, proving how easily the enemy could be broken, taking enemy lives with superior fighting methods—our comrades were doing exactly what their opponents had just been doing, but they were doing it even more bravely and even more cruelly.

Just as Red Flame was advancing smoothly toward victory, we also made contact with the enemy.

We charged straight down from the northern slope, and like a sharp blade, we cut the Cretan Heavy Infantry square that had thrust out from their main formation in two at the waist. Only the few ranks closest to us had time to turn their spears toward us. Behind them, many more strong warriors could not turn their bodies around to prepare a defense. When they faced their opponents directly, they were without doubt a powerful force not to be underestimated. But when the enemy attacked from the flank, their heavy armor and long spears became their greatest enemies, robbing them of the ability to make defensive moves in time.

The indigenous warriors followed closely behind us. Compared with their unlucky kinsmen, they could barely be said to have a crude “formation.” They ran far more concentrated than the other indigenous warriors, with relatively orderly movements. If every standard was lowered to the minimum, we could even say they ran in a charge formation. Even the worst army had a far neater formation than our indigenous friends. Yet this formation was already the result of Fred and the Chieftains emphasizing it again and again.

The heavy spearmen did not cause us many casualties; soon they crowded themselves into a lump. They did give us considerable trouble, but not because of their counterattack. Rather, it was because their formation was so thick that we could not break out a gap in a single charge.

“Charge backward!” After judging that this army could not harm us too much for the time being, Fred gave up the tempting idea of annihilating them all. His decision was correct. If we left them there, we might still suffer greater losses, but if we spent that much time wiping them out, we would miss what might be our only chance to win.

Before we became completely tangled up in endless combat with the Heavy Infantry, we adjusted our direction in time and stormed at the enemy’s main formation, whose footing was loosening. Although the Cretans kept recalling their Light Infantry from the battlefield to guard the position, without the cover of the Heavy Infantry that had originally held the line there, their position was no longer so solid.

“Archers, shoot! Shoot!” Panicked shouts came from the enemy ranks. Deadly arrows whizzed past my ears with a familiar sound of wind. Even protected by armor, our soldiers could not contend head-on with the death-feathers flying all over the sky. One after another, the wet sound of steel entering flesh rang in my ears, as if countless fragile creatures were heaving death’s sighs.

Many died, but many more were only wounded. The battlefield taught people how to ignore their wounds and throw themselves at the enemy without regard for themselves. At such a moment, you could only go forward. Ahead were dangerous enemies, but behind you there was nothing but death.

Without horses, the first to make contact with the enemy were Dakla and his Heavy Infantry.

In close combat, our strong friend could hardly meet a real opponent worth mentioning. The heavy warhammer in his hand was like the fury of the Thunder God, smashing every enemy before him with the sound of wind and rain. Shattered beneath this massive warhammer were short swords, long sabers, countless fragile slender spears, and even great shields as thick as two palms. Facing Dakla, who seemed like the God of War descended to earth, the Cretans could only flee in panic. In front of our heavy warriors, their formation was like a thin sheet of iron beaten by a heavy hammer, slowly caving inward bit by bit.

If encountering Dakla, they could still retreat and dodge, then the enemies standing in front of Roll could only be described as despair itself.

At Dark Cloud Castle, where Riley had sacrificed himself, Roll had lost the “Ghost Dagger” he had built single-handedly. Now he was only leading a group of ordinary Light Infantry behind Dakla, raiding enemy positions. But wherever Roll was, battle would never go along the usual track.

Three arrows were stuck in Roll’s right arm, and also one in his left leg. I could not tell how serious his wounds were. His whole body was soaked in blood so red that it looked black, and I could not tell how much of the blood was his own. These wounds did not slow Roll down in the least. He still kept his cruel and brutal way of fighting like a ghoul, dragging a long trail of enemy limbs and entrails across the ground. Sometimes he would unconsciously lick his dry lips, staining his tongue and teeth with the blood at the corner of his mouth in the terrifying color we were familiar with, then flash a neurotic smile. His opponents did not even have the courage to look him in the face. Some young, inexperienced new soldiers would lower their heads and desperately thrust their weapons at him. Such attacks were not out of bravery, but out of fear. They naturally could not escape Death’s summons. The whole process was swift and painful.

I did not know how our indigenous friends would react if they saw Roll truly fight, but I could imagine. Even the bravest indigenous warrior would never dare face Roll in battle. They might even suspect that Roll did not need to kill the enemy’s body at all, because he could directly devour the enemy’s soul and turn it into the source of his cruel power.

“Shield bearers, move up! Triple-layered spear formation! Archers, shoot at will! Hold the position!” Just as Dakla and Roll unexpectedly pressed the Cretans back into their own position, Rodrick quickly set up a defensive position on the outer edge, guarding against enemy counterattacks and encirclement. Several rows of Spearmen pointed their dangerous weapons at enemies in all directions, making sure the gap that had been opened stayed open.

Perhaps only the soldiers under Rodrick could truly be called soldiers. They did not have monsterlike strength, undeadlike cruel methods, flashing magical radiance, or abilities beyond human limits. All they had was everything ordinary soldiers could learn in ordinary training: thrusting, slashing, blocking, dodging, covering, retreating…

But when every soldier chose the most correct way to move, this army was also extremely dangerous. No, on a battlefield of such massive group combat, an army like this might be even more dangerous. Forgive me for putting it this way, but I could not find a more fitting feeling to describe their fighting. They were like lovers perfectly in tune with each other, able to predict the movements of the comrades beside them and cover for them in time. Of course, they did not have the special power of telepathy. This could only be the result of countless drills. Rodrick carved the most standard military combat patterns into the soldiers’ reflexes, letting them choose the most correct way to kill the enemy and protect themselves even in critical moments.

“Brothers of Lumburi, charge in from here! The chance to prove your bravery has come!” Fred pointed at the gap torn open by Dakla and Roll and shouted to Eckdin and his companions. Those bold indigenous warriors cheered excitedly and shouted as they flooded into the gap. Just now, the Cretans’ ranged weapons had made them suffer a good deal. Now, at last, they had the chance to get close to the enemy and take satisfying revenge.

When held outside by orderly formations, the indigenous warriors truly had few ways to deal with a tight, dense, well-disciplined defense. But once they were allowed to break into the defensive line, these strong, proud warriors would use their bodies to teach you how terrifying the destructive power of fanatical faith could be.

Eckdin and his Chieftain friends were the first to charge into the fray. Unlike soldiers, the Chieftains of the indigenous people had to be the bravest and most skilled in battle. In battle, they had to be the first to rush forward, or they would not be qualified to receive the respect of the whole tribe.

These strongest indigenous warriors each carried two spears. One was made with a crude metal spearhead they had traded animal hides for from dishonest merchants; the other was a gift from our friendship. When they leaped into the most crowded places of the enemy, the first thing they did was hurl their original spear forward with all their strength. Even without aiming, their attack would never miss. The enemy’s dense formation gave them perfect targets. I had seen many scenes of bodies being pierced, but those had been terrible effects created by powerful large Ballistas. This time, I stood in the closest place to them and witnessed an astonishing sight with my own eyes. Not a single spear had merely skewered one enemy. Even with such inferior weapons, these greatest indigenous warriors had all killed at least two enemies in a single throw. One spear, after piercing two bodies, still had strength left and, dripping with fresh blood, plunged into the chest of a third Cretan soldier. The wound could not kill this unlucky man immediately, but it was already deadly enough. He desperately tried to pull the murderous weapon out of his body, but the rear half of the spear was still inside the second person, making the task very difficult.

In the end, the dead one and the living one connected by the spear fell to the right at the same time. The dying soldier was still struggling hard. He coughed and sprayed the patch of ground in front of him into a miserable red with blood foam squeezed out from his lungs. He greedily opened his mouth wide, trying to keep his last breath, but he could not do it anymore.

When he died, his mouth was still wide open, and his face was blue-purple.

“Eckdin, this guy again!” The strong Chieftains did not care about the enemy’s deathly appearance. Hondos of the Flying Eagle Tribe, waving his spear as he charged into the most crowded part of the enemy, complained loudly and grudgingly. “No one has ever beaten him at spear throwing.”

“Of course! Eckdin is a warrior blessed by the gods, the greatest hero!” A strange voice came from another direction. A bald, burly man shouted at the top of his lungs.

“When he was sixteen, he could throw one spear and kill three people. Remember?” Another voice chimed in loudly.

“Don’t bring that up! That time my arm nearly got dislocated!” Eckdin answered loudly on my left. His answer drew a burst of hearty laughter…

These conversations all took place during the battle. In the meantime, a dozen more Cretan bodies had fallen to the ground.

The Chieftains’ outstanding performance made their young tribal warriors even more fanatical. They bravely poured into the enemy formation, like a swarm of greedy termites chewing on the enemy’s ranks. The Cretans were like turtles that had lost their hard shells, exposing their weakest bodies to their cruel opponents. The whole formation kept twitching and writhing in the sharp pain of blood loss, but that could not stop more indigenous warriors from slaughtering them without mercy.

In truth, such fighting was still dangerous. Although we had found the best battlefield for our indigenous friends, their losses were no fewer than their opponents’. Although they could defeat their opponents in one-on-one fights, the Cretans did their best to avoid such situations. Most importantly, the Cretan arrows did not stop for a single moment delivering cargoes of death to us. These weapons, already sharp and terrible, were without doubt even more deadly to the mostly bare-chested indigenous warriors.

Dakla and Roll received their orders and withdrew from the most crowded enemy areas, taking charge only of mopping up the outer battlefield. Rodrick commanded his soldiers to hold on desperately and prevent the Cretans from closing their encirclement, leaving our indigenous friends room to advance and retreat. This was already the last thing we could do. Forgive our small selfishness—we were, after all, different from the indigenous inhabitants. We had no reserve forces and no fresh blood to replenish our army. These fifteen thousand soldiers were our final strength. In fact, we could no longer withstand any blow or weakening. Even so, Dakla and Roll’s forces had still suffered heavy losses. We had done everything we could, and as for the rest of the situation, we could no longer control it.

No one knew what this battle would turn into. When more than a hundred thousand warriors bled and died before my eyes, this too-spectacular slaughter made me unable to find even a trace of a feeling of victory or defeat.