Chapter 119: Hunting in the Dense Forest

It was a quiet night.

Deep in the jungle, the cries of nocturnal birds rang out from time to time. The shrill sounds of those unknown birds shook the empty air, then slowly melted into the cool evening breeze, as if they had never drifted by.

It was a peaceful night.

If you lay in a warm tent, pressed your face close to the ground, closed your eyes tightly, and listened carefully, you could hear the rustling sound of grass blades scraping against one another. On an early spring night, full of life, you could almost hear the sound of plants growing. That sound made you feel how wonderful everything was, made you feel that this world was worth praising.

Except for being a little dim because of the dark clouds covering the sky, this night could be called perfect. In the noble banquets of those great cities thousands of miles away, young, handsome, and charming aristocratic youths would never casually give up such a beautiful night. In the corridors of those delicate little pavilions, in the courtyards of splendid mansions, beneath the balconies of innocent young maidens, and on the beds of seductive women, their flirtatious figures could be seen everywhere. For young people caught up in love and the impulses of youth, this night was a gift from the Supreme God, granting them all things magical, beautiful, and exquisite, to satisfy their romantic wishes and their endless vanity.

A spear pierced through a body, splashing blood high into the air. A rough, large hand was clamped hard over a mouth, cutting off air and sound. The body struggled, from pain and from despair. When the struggle reached its peak, it suddenly stiffened, then gradually grew weaker, until it was completely silent. That red-and-white body twitched slightly, but life had already left it. The corpse twitched along with the twisted rhythm of the branches, reciting a chapter of death in a season of life.

We disappeared into the night.

This quiet, peaceful night…

“Mr. Guderian, Uncle Eckdin said that you can help us drive away our enemies. I need your help.” Ten days ago, Evlinna, who had just become the new High Priest, had stopped us after the council meeting ended. Eckdin, Rotis, Horst, and several other chieftains of relatively powerful tribes accompanied her. Although before the council, the Son of the Running Wolf had insisted on punishing Eckdin’s crimes, when Evlinna declared them innocent, Rotis was the first to express his support. The customs of these indigenous people made us admire them greatly: Rotis’s accusation had no element of personal grievance at all; it came entirely from his devotion to his faith. And his accusation did not in the least affect the mutual trust between him and Eckdin. This could never happen in the court of any nation. On this point alone, compared to those “noble people” in fine clothes with elegant speech, these foreign barbarians before us, who were barely clothed and lived in hardship, were far more fair in separating public matters from private ones, and far more devout and just in their faith.

“Yes. If you can guarantee that all the warriors will obey my commands, then in at most a month, I can make our enemies fall apart without a fight,” Fred said with certainty.

“You mean, have all of us obey your orders?” Rotis asked uneasily.

“Yes, what I want is complete obedience,” Fred said, refusing to yield an inch.

“I trust you. I agree to your arrangements,” Evlinna said without thinking much, immediately nodding in approval.

“Ev… ah, High Priest, you must think this over carefully!” Rotis said anxiously. Fred’s request was too difficult for these people of strong faith; even our friend Eckdin and the others showed hesitant expressions.

“Yes, Evlinna, this is only the best method, but it is by no means the only one. You can choose. Whatever choice you make, we will do our best to help you,” Fred also advised. “Do you know that doing this means giving up your command over all the warriors?”

“If doing this can spare my people from harm as much as possible, then why shouldn’t we do it? I am only a priest, hoping to bring God’s blessings to my people. Why should I command my people? They have their own rights. And when it comes to fighting, Mr. Guderian, anyone is better than me. I trust you, my friends.” Evlinna completely ignored the warnings of both Rotis and Fred, placing all her trust in us.

“What do you need? We will do everything we can to assist you,” Evlinna asked.

“I need two thousand warriors who know the terrain well, are agile, and are skilled at hunting. Also, have the nearby tribesmen withdraw to three days’ travel away, making sure no one appears before the Cretans. Create an empty, uninhabited area around here,” Fred answered without hesitation. Before this, he had discussed this plan with us many times, and he knew every step of the battle by heart. Unfortunately, without the support of the Lumburi people, we could not have done anything.

“Are you going to give the pure land of God Lumburi to our enemies? And without us putting up any resistance? Are you insulting us?” Rotis flew into a rage. If the people beside him had not held him back, I think he would have picked up his spear and challenged Fred to a duel.

“It’s not giving it away; it’s creating a battlefield. You don’t want the innocent women and children of your tribe to be caught up in this, do you?” Fred patiently explained to the Chieftain of the Running Wolf. “I promise this will not last long. After a month, this land will still return to the hands of the followers of the great God Lumburi.”

Rotis looked at Fred with doubt, not knowing whether he should agree to his suggestion. In the last battle, he had witnessed with his own eyes the young leader’s skill in planning and command. Although that small, concentrated raid was far from enough to demonstrate my friend’s astonishing battle wisdom, to these indigenous people who lacked experience in formal warfare, it was already an incredible feat.

“Alright, Mr. Guderian, you will get what you want.” Evlinna’s reply was surprisingly quick and affirmative. I knew that making such a decision was not an easy thing. We had even prepared for the possibility that she might need several more days to think it over. But this young girl before us won our admiration with her extraordinary decisiveness. I think we really did earn her trust. In that moment, I felt that this trust was something precious we must not let slip away.

“Thank you very much for your help. Also, I hope you can call me Fred; all my friends call me that.” After everything was settled, Fred tried as hard as he could to show friendliness to Evlinna. His manner was a bit stiff and awkward, and he did not dare look directly at Evlinna’s face, as if he was avoiding something. Perhaps only I knew why.

“…Thank you, Fred. Thank you, and thank you all,” Evlinna hesitated as she responded to Fred’s kindness. When it came to topics unrelated to her people, Evlinna was still that shy young girl. When she spoke Fred’s name, her face looked as if it were wrapped in flower petals, fresh and lovely.

After saying this, Evlinna turned to leave. After she had walked five or six steps away, Fred called out to her again.

“Evlinna.”

“Is there anything else, Fred?” Evlinna asked in surprise. This time, when she said Fred’s name, she had her back to Eckdin and the others; she stuck out her tongue and smiled a little mischievously.

“N… nothing. About your grandfather’s death, I… I’m very sorry,” Fred said with his head lowered, looking uneasy.

Fred’s words struck Evlinna like an arrow. Her mischievous smile instantly froze on her face. Although her lips were still curved upward, the lively sparkle in her eyes was gone. Tears streamed down her cheeks in fits and starts. She struggled desperately to restrain herself, managing not to cry out loud.

“It’s not your fault, Fred. It’s not your fault. No one can be blamed for this…” Evlinna answered in a choked voice. Her answer did not comfort Fred at all. On the contrary, my friend looked as if someone had slapped him hard across the face—both ashamed and helpless.

“…You shouldn’t have brought that up. She’s hurt.” After Evlinna left, sobbing while tightly clutching Eckdin’s arm, Roll suddenly said to Fred.

“Perhaps so, my friend. But some things have to be said, or else you’ll end up hating yourself for it.” Fred watched Evlinna’s gradually disappearing figure, murmuring softly.

Fred’s plan was soon met with a response. Before long, two thousand clever indigenous warriors stood before us. It was clear they were reluctant, but the power of faith worked powerfully on them, making them obey us just as they would obey their own leaders. Soon after, the Lumburi people living nearby received orders to move. The orders were carried out well, without any opposition. In fact, when food became harder to hunt, or when the climate changed, the Lumburi people often migrated under the guidance of their priests. For them, this was a common occurrence.

Soon, Fred’s plan began to be put into action.

Apart from us officers and a few experienced veterans who had once been hunters, not many soldiers took part in this plan. With the help of the indigenous warriors, we quickly found the Cretans’ camp. After suffering a costly victory, our enemies did not dare to advance rashly. They held their ground in an open area, waiting for reinforcements and supplies. Thanks to this, our indigenous friends were not annihilated when they were panic-stricken and leaderless.

The first targets we struck at were the patrol soldiers they had sent out.

Under our instructions, the indigenous warriors, who lived by hunting, set up many ambushes along the paths that the Cretan patrols had to take. They truly deserved to be called the finest hunters of this forest. Besides common mechanisms like traps and trip ropes, there were many dangerous designs we had never seen before. Although these were only crude ambushes made of sharpened wooden stakes and heavy stones, we did not dare underestimate their power. Some of the most basic knowledge of combat told me that once these terrible things took effect, even great beasts like tigers, leopards, or rhinos would have little chance of escaping.

Soon, we witnessed the power of these things.

The next morning, a patrol squad of twenty men passed through this narrow path on schedule. Perhaps because they had not encountered any danger in recent days, they were not very alert. They walked along, joking and cursing, occasionally using their weapons to push through the grass, but only out of concern about beasts attacking people.

Suddenly, a young soldier walking in the middle of the column left the formation on his own because he needed to relieve himself, heading toward a thicket at the edge of the woods. His comrades laughed and cursed at him, not paying attention to his action of leaving the ranks. That unfortunate man unbuttoned his belt as he walked, stepping into the thicket completely off guard. Under his feet, there came the special sound of a branch breaking. He did not notice it, and that sealed his fate.

Several stones about the size of a human head dropped vertically from the branches beside the thicket. One of them grazed the young man’s head. Instantly, his face was covered in blood, and he screamed in terror. But by this time, he could no longer escape from that terrible trap.

Another large stone crashed heavily onto his back, making a sound like a wooden stick smashing a watermelon.

That was the truly fatal blow.

That Cretan soldier went limp on the ground. His hands kept flailing, grabbing at the grass beside him again and again, squirming his body. His body lay half-crawled there in an extremely strange posture; the upper part of his lower back was almost completely folded together with the lower part. His pants had fallen off, exposing his buttocks and thighs, which were covered in foul-smelling excrement. With my limited knowledge of medicine, I knew that at this moment he could not feel anything. His spine was completely broken, and his lower body had completely lost all feeling. His struggle at this moment was only due to the heart-piercing pain caused by the broken bones grinding against each other. It would not be long before he no longer felt pain, and at that time, his life would also receive death’s call.

His comrades heard the screams and rushed over, then were so shocked by what they saw with their own eyes that they could not speak. Anyone who saw this sight would go mad: just a moment ago, that was a lively, cheerful comrade walking beside you; he was young, outgoing, and likable. But now, his upper body was folded together, crying out in pain before you, like a piece of wood snapped in two. If it were you, what would you do?

The situation at that time was very strange. Those sentinels just stood there, watching their comrade’s wailing gradually grow weaker, until there was no sound at all. No one tried to save him. Anyone with eyes knew that the moment the stone fell, this man was already dead. No one left first; after all, he was still their comrade. This horrifying sight was like a huge magnet, firmly pulling those sentinels to the spot, forcing them to watch the whole tragedy. Only when it was all over did some people begin to vomit. They did not raise the alarm, because this looked very much like an accident. This carelessness cost them their lives.

Of this group of sentinels, only one and a half people returned to the camp. That half of a person had his right hand and right foot pinned under a pile of logs, unable to free himself. It was his sole remaining comrade who helped him—with his sword. If he received timely treatment, he might survive, but that was not necessarily a good thing for him.

The rest all remained in that forest. Some were pierced by wooden spikes at the bottom of traps; some were caught by the ankle with trip ropes, then dropped vertically from a height onto a stone slab that had been placed there deliberately, their brains splattering; some had their ribs smashed by logs swinging horizontally… I’m sorry, but I cannot describe the scene one by one. No one in their right mind would want to think about such a cruel sight, nor mention even a single word about it. That was a hunt that went beyond the scope of battle. Its purpose was to cast a terrifying shadow deep into the hearts of our enemies. I think we were successful—even more successful than expected.

No prey, only corpses.

Before the main force of the Cretans arrived, we left that place. In the jungle where cavalry could not go, with the help of the Lumburi hunters, we did not need to worry about anyone following us.

This attack marked the beginning of our counteroffensive.

Fred divided the two thousand indigenous warriors into three groups. One group was commanded by him personally, with Dakla assisting from the side; one group was commanded by Roll, with Rodrick assisting. This arrangement was very appropriate. Dakla’s personality was not suited for surprise attacks; perhaps only Fred could use him properly, allowing him to play a role in battles he was not good at. As for Roll, he had always been skilled at this kind of ambush warfare, and he enjoyed great respect among the indigenous warriors for his bravery. Rodrick was the most disciplined and rigorous soldier, and he could largely make up for Roll’s oversights. What surprised me most was that I was actually the commander of the third group, with Poirot and Eliot as my assistants. I had expressed my objection to this, but Poirot convinced me with just a few words.

“You have a bigger tolerance for alcohol,” he said.

That reason was enough. To the indigenous warriors, I was the one among us closest to God Lumburi. Except for Fred and Roll, no one was more respected and admired by them than I was, no one could win their heartfelt obedience more easily. However… I did not feel that this was anything to be proud of.

We scattered throughout the jungle, launching surprise attacks on isolated enemies again and again. Morning, noon, evening, dead of night… danger was hidden beside every tree, and death was buried beneath every stone. Those amazing hunters pushed their superb skills to the limit, and the magical talents of Poirot and Eliot added even more danger to these deadly devices. The training and inspiration of this period laid the foundation for Poirot’s considerable innovation in creating magical traps. And crafting sinister, vicious mechanisms had always been a required course for Dark Elves in their youth. Every trap that this gentle, refined couple modified was greatly improved, both in terms of concealment and attacking power. Their skills opened our indigenous friends’ eyes, and this earned them great respect among the hunters. The unfortunate Cretan soldiers who encountered these traps were worthy of pity—no matter what they had done before, receiving such punishment before death was too cruel.

Once discovered by the enemy, we would immediately dart into the woods. At first, there were always some people eager for glory who would give chase. Of course, they did not know that this was exactly what we wanted. Most of them stayed forever in the depths of the dense forest, their bodies not even found by their comrades. Only a few people, after leaving behind permanent scars, returned alive to their comrades and spread the terrifying scenes they had never imagined before. After three days, no Cretan dared to chase us after we fled into the dense forest. Most of them would aimlessly pull out their crossbows and hastily shoot in the direction we had fled, until all the bolts in their quivers were used up.

This kind of feeble counterattack naturally did not have much effect. Only a few indigenous warriors suffered some minor flesh wounds. They looked very happy, because they had effortlessly obtained a sharp metal arrowhead. Every time this happened, the other Lumburi people would come forward to congratulate them, then say to them with annoyance things like, “Why didn’t an arrow stick in me? What a pity.” The wounded warriors would then comfort them, saying, “It’s all right. Sooner or later you’ll be wounded too. Then you’ll also have a sharp weapon.”

They said this so often and so naturally that after a few days, I was infected by it too. After an indigenous warrior was wounded, I went up to congratulate him. That good man patted my shoulder with his wounded arm and said to me amiably, “It’s all right. You’ll be hit by an arrow too.” I was very happy to hear that and thanked him for his blessing. It was only much later that I found it strange: what was there to be happy about in being hit by an arrow?

Our attacks may not have truly weakened the Cretans’ strength, but I was sure we had hurt them. After several days, the Cretans withdrew further into their camp, not daring to come out. Even their patrols only circled tightly along the camp walls. During the day, they sent out large groups of men to cut down trees, trying to clear an open area around their camp. If it were not for fear of endangering themselves, I would even suspect they would not mind setting fire to the entire Moonstream Forest. In order to capture us, they had indeed organized large-scale searches, but finding hiding places in this vast jungle was far too easy for our indigenous friends who knew the terrain well. Instead, every time this happened, the Cretans, deprived of the protection of their camp, would become targets of our sneak attacks. On their way back to camp, the corpses kept increasing.

Once again, night fell.

It was drizzling tonight, somewhat cold. The Cretans probably thought we would not show up. At the camp gate, several sentinels wrapped in oilcloth were huddled up, cursing softly about the cunning of the enemy and the incompetence of their officers. The night rain covered us well, allowing us to get so close that we could clearly hear what they were saying. They reminded me of my days as a new recruit. Back then, I always stood night watch with fat Rama, and together we secretly cursed Carlson’s cold-heartedness behind his back.

Four spears and four crossbow bolts, under the cover of the rain sound, pierced their targets and took away their lives.

On this rainy night, death came, and we quietly left.