Chapter 120: Night Raid, The Battle of Farewell

Our enemies were worthy of sympathy. They had advanced deep alone, with no guides, no allies, and not even a single marching map to be found. They could only struggle desperately on a strange land full of hostility. Every day they had to force themselves into sleep while on the brink of death from fear, and then wait for dawn in sleepless nights of the same fear. In their eyes, every grain of sand and every handful of water on the Holy Fox Highlands was dangerous.

Our attacks had thrown the Cretans into an inescapable panic. They had once been brave warriors, sweeping over their enemies again and again with their powerful force across the vast Farvill Continent. But only today had they just learned what fear meant. It was a kind of terror that seeped out from the seams of your bones, making you lose confidence when facing everything.

Our enemies were stepping toward destruction. Seven days ago, we had discovered a Cretan army that was trying to search for and annihilate us. They had already completely lost their fighting spirit. Every soldier looked pale and feeble. They did not look like brave warriors going out to earn honor with the blood of enemies, but like a group of prisoners waiting to die. Even their commander showed no confidence when giving orders. His neck twitched nervously from side to side, afraid that in the blink of an eye, an arrow would fly from behind him and take his life.

With several damp sounds of hard objects piercing through flesh, two Cretan soldiers fell into a trap full of sharp spikes. They did not even have time to struggle before returning to that eternal silence. All the Cretans stopped in their tracks. Even the soldiers at the rear, who could not see what had happened, obediently halted their march without making a single sound of panic. They did not need to see it with their own eyes; they already knew what had happened. Over the past month, they had grown used to seeing such things. At first, they would scream, raise alarms, remind and encourage each other, form defensive formations, and some would even try to pull their comrades out of the traps, attempting to save them from the clutches of death—of course, such efforts were mostly futile. But now, there was nothing. Those people watched their comrades die miserably with numb indifference, without even showing a trace of sorrow on their faces.

This was not because of strength, I knew, but because of despair—that strongest, unstoppable despair.

A young soldier passed by the edge of the trap. Perhaps the sight of his dead comrade had stimulated him. Suddenly he screamed, drew the short sword from his waist, and frantically stabbed, slashed, and hammered at the grass in front of him, wailing loudly, not daring to take a step forward even if it killed him. Between sobs he shouted, “Save me! Take me away from here!” He kept digging into the dirt with his blade, as if he was certain there was a deadly mechanism hidden there. The Cretan soldiers beside him just stood there, coldly watching him go mad. No one stepped forward to stop him, and no one comforted him—when everyone’s fear was on the verge of collapse, who could you expect to comfort someone else?

This small commotion did not last long. A captain knocked out the collapsed soldier from behind and threw him by the roadside. The rest of the troops continued on with the column, ignoring the poor wretch who had been the first to break. Four days later, I saw the miserable end of that soldier in the same place: he was kneeling there, so thin that his bones were almost visible, his lips cracked, his eye sockets black, and blood seeping from the corners of his eyes because of dryness. All around his body, every blade of grass had been torn out by the roots. I think they had become food for this pitiful fellow. But a little farther away, beyond where his arms could reach, the grass still grew lush and fresh.

If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed that fear could drive a person to such madness. He actually stayed there without moving an inch for four days, until he died of thirst. He was the first person I had ever seen who thirsted himself to death. Only about a hundred steps away from him, a clear stream flowed by with a gurgling sound, forming many crystal-like bubbles.

He was more pitiable than those who died of thirst in the desert. Those people never gave up the will to live until death, struggling and fighting for their own lives. But this man had already lost the courage to struggle while still alive. Besides despair, he had nothing.

Seeing this scene, I knew without anyone telling me that our enemies were finished.

All of this had been caused by our own hands, and knowing this made me feel terrible. But what made me feel worst was not that I was so cruelly slaughtering my own kind, but that after doing all this, I still had to erase my pity and remorse, and treat them with even more brutal acts. I had originally thought I had nothing to do with the word “compassion” anymore, but when I saw those unlucky Cretans rolling on the ground screaming in pain, I could not help feeling a small thing twitching beneath the firm muscles of my left chest. That made me feel guilty.

Even so, we were still not the cruelest group. During one gathering, Rodrick told me that Roll had never left behind a complete corpse. They killed fewer people than we did, but you could never imagine what they had done. The armies targeted by Roll would fish out the eyeballs of the dead from well water, trip over the steaming fresh intestines of comrades by the door, and find at the camp entrance a corpse whose organs had been carried away by insects and ants… Even the indigenous hunters who had created all this with their own hands were on the verge of breaking down, but this could not stop Roll from spreading a plague called “despair” to the Cretans with even more vicious methods. In terms of the purpose of this operation, Roll was the best among us, and even Fred, who had arranged all this, could not compare to him. Under our repeated harassment, the Cretan army was truly collapsing at an unstoppable speed. Their morale had sunk to the lowest point. The only reason there were still no deserters was that the situation for Cretans acting alone was even worse.

Although we could tell from the last battle that the Cretan commander, General A·Stein, must have been a skilled general, he was helpless against our almost despicable tactics. In this dense forest that was hostile to them, this distinguished general was like a disabled person who had lost his eyes and ears. He only reacted violently when we stabbed him with needles. He once tried to search for local residents familiar with the terrain to serve as guides, and of course, he found nothing. Fred’s meticulous arrangements had thrown our enemies into an unprecedented predicament. They could only reduce their outings as much as possible, strengthen the defenses inside their camp, and cut down trees to build themselves as safe a shelter as possible. The Cretans’ reaction told us that they seemed to be waiting for something.

Soon we received news: a transport column carrying grain and supplies entered the Holy Fox Highlands under the escort of about twenty thousand soldiers. They must have been what General A·Stein was eagerly hoping for. In fact, we had also been waiting for it, because it was the key to ending this battle. Even if they actually arrived safely at General A·Stein’s camp, it would not have changed the situation much, but we felt that the Cretans had already stayed long enough on this land. Most importantly, the time Fred had promised Evlinna and her people was almost up.

Almost all the ambushes happened at night, and this time was no exception.

Those more than two thousand indigenous warriors took part in this ambush. Besides them, Fred had also brought five thousand well-trained soldiers. After a month of training, the indigenous friends had gradually learned to obey orders and halt on command. They were no longer the ignorant brave men who would only charge and kill aimlessly at the first sign of battle. The combat talent they had shown over these days made us experienced veterans dumbfounded. When they learned to integrate their hunting skills into combat, they became a powerful force that could not be ignored. This tangled, disorderly jungle was like their garden. Here, their movements were as swift as mountain wind. They could stick close to an opponent they were pursuing like a shadow without being discovered. Likewise, if they wanted to shake you off, you would feel as if they had used an invisibility spell right in front of you, making them vanish without a trace. They did not lack patience; they just had never thought of using it on the battlefield. They were the most patient hunters, and few prey that they had locked onto could escape the trap of death.

Now, they were lying in ambush at their respective positions, watching the supply convoy pass by.

Even though I had fought alongside them for so long, I still could not completely see through their camouflage. These seemingly clumsy indigenous people would reveal their hidden wisdom the moment they entered the jungle. I had seen with my own eyes a teenager complete his camouflage using mud, weeds, and a little tree bark. I swear, unless you watched him finish this magic on the spot, even if you stepped right on him, you would not find him.

In the darkness, I vaguely saw an indigenous warrior named Kent lying by the roadside under the cover of tree shadows. He was so close that I had to worry whether the escorting soldiers would step on his fingers. Even so, still no one could discover him.

A horizontal log tied to a long vine suddenly swung straight out from the roadside and struck a horse’s body. That poor beast could not help letting out a painful neigh and struggled frantically. The escorting Cretan soldiers warily searched in the direction from which the log had flown. They quickly found that on the left side of the road, dozens of savages from the wild land were shouting and running toward the depths of the dense forest, making provocative gestures as they ran.

“They did it! Catch them! Don’t let them get away!” These newcomers, who had just entered the Holy Fox Highlands, clearly did not understand the dangers of this land as well as General A·Stein’s men. Over a thousand reckless soldiers rashly charged into this jungle where even starlight could not penetrate, chasing after the gradually vanishing backs.

The Cretan commander signaled the whole army to stop and wait for the result of this pursuit. Of course, this pursuit would not produce any result. If everything went smoothly, no one would be able to report anything back to him. In the direction where those figures had disappeared, Fred had set up an ambush with two thousand soldiers. Besides them, several hundred indigenous warriors were assisting from the side. Their task was: not to let a single Cretan return to his own ranks.

The night was very quiet. The wind brushed past your earlobes gently, carrying the scent of new grass and buds to your lips.

In a place the wind could not reach, a bloody slaughter was taking place, or perhaps it had already ended. This was naturally something our enemies could not have foreseen.

A long time passed. The Cretan commander gradually seemed to lose patience. He looked anxiously in the direction where his men had disappeared. After a while, he finally called over his adjutant and ordered him to lead five thousand soldiers into the forest to search. He probably thought he had encountered an indigenous tribe hidden deep in the jungle. Usually, no matter how powerful that tribe was, five thousand well-trained soldiers would already be enough.

At that moment, another thick log swept across from the right side of the road. It broke the shaft of a wagon. The startled warhorse reared its front hooves high, then galloped off struggling frantically, pulling the wagon crookedly and toppling it over by the roadside. Its driver spent great effort to calm the horse’s anger, while the other soldiers scrambled to set the wagon upright.

Two sharp short spears shot out from the shadows of the trees, killing two unprepared Cretan soldiers. In the tree shadows, the lively figures of the indigenous people appeared again. They shouted loudly and disappeared into the jungle on the other side of the road.

The Cretan warriors were just about to give chase when their commander stopped them. That officer thought for a moment, and a proud smile hung on the corner of his mouth. He called over a junior officer and whispered something in his ear. The officer who received the order similarly led about five thousand soldiers charging into the jungle and vanished in the blink of an eye.

After a long time, when no more sounds came from either side of the road, the Cretans saw their enemies. Rodrick and Dakla led more than three thousand fully armed Delanmaya soldiers in a surprise attack from behind the enemy column, trying to create chaos while the Cretans’ attention was focused on both flanks. They threw their torches onto the wagons, then began to attack the soldiers of the Cretan transport convoy. This attack was indeed somewhat unexpected, and the Cretans looked somewhat confused. Although they had a considerable numerical advantage, they were still thrown into disorder by this unexpected assault.

At the fiercest front line, Dakla wielded a heavy warhammer, swinging it forcefully. One by one, warriors who dared to face him fell at his feet. Rodrick stood in the middle of the formation, issuing commands from time to time, which made many Cretans eager for merit charge at him. Those Cretans who could get through the soldiers’ blockade and approach him were truly brave men, but they still could not harm Rodrick. They did not know that the young officer in front of them was himself a remarkable martial artist. His bravery was in no way inferior to that of the strong stonecutter’s son who was enjoying the thrill of battle. Although his opponents were all courageous, he was always a bit stronger than them.

At this time, the forests on both sides poured sharp steel toward the middle of the road. Whether arrows or thrown spears, all were stained with Cretan blood. The indigenous warriors originally hidden on both sides of the road appeared with shouts, vigorously supporting the Delanmaya brothers’ battle with their weapons. At this moment, the scales of victory seemed to be tipping toward Rodrick’s side. All the facts showed that our battle plan was going smoothly. A small number of Lumburi warriors had dispersed the Cretan forces, and Rodrick’s raid had also hit the Cretans’ weak spot heavily.

“Quick, retreat! They are ambushed by the roadside!” Suddenly, a loud shout broke the situation on the battlefield. With that shout, Cretan soldiers who had gone and returned rushed out from the right side of the road. It seemed we had underestimated the Cretan commander. Apparently, from the moment the second log attacked the wagon, he had seen through this as a trap. Therefore, he had hidden a considerable number of soldiers on the right side of the road in advance, planning to annihilate the Delanmaya ambushers at the critical moment. Fortunately, the Lumburi indigenous warriors lurking in the dense forest had discovered them and raised the alarm in advance. Otherwise, Rodrick and his men would inevitably have been completely wiped out.

The Cretan ambushers, shouting loudly, charged over from the side, trying to complete the encirclement of the enemy. However, they had lost the best opportunity. Rodrick, seeing the critical situation, immediately gave the order to retreat, and his order was immediately faithfully executed. After leaving behind more than a hundred corpses, the Delanmaya warriors finally escaped the Cretan encirclement smoothly. Before that, they had already killed several times that many opponents. Several hundred indigenous warriors of the Lumburi Tribe burst out from the woods on both sides of the road. They shouted in panic, threw the precious weapons in their hands to the ground, and followed the retreating Delanmaya soldiers in a disordered stampede. The sneak attack had failed. The Cretan commander resolved this crisis with his wisdom and strategy, seizing the initiative in battle into his own hands.

“The whole army, pursue! Annihilate all the attackers!” At this moment, the Cretan commander decisively gave the order to pursue, while at the same time dispatching a unit into the woods on the left side of the road to support the first detachment that had charged into the jungle. His order seemed correct: the enemy’s main force had been exposed, and the indigenous people hiding in the forest were also fleeing in all directions. This was exactly a good opportunity to seize the moment and expand the results of victory. Once they concentrated their strength, nothing could stop soldiers hungry for honor and reward. The brave Cretan warriors followed their commander without hesitation, waving their sharp weapons and charging at the enemy. For them, this was not just a counter-sneak-attack, but an excellent chance to wash away the shame of their allied troops and boost morale with a victory. I guessed that some soldiers might already be thinking about how to show off in front of their disgraced allies. They truly had the right to: while their allies had been thrown into a panic by the enemy’s sneak attack tactics, they had crushed the enemy’s sneak attack in one stroke, and might even annihilate the enemy’s main force. This was enough to prove their bravery and their allies’ incompetence.

A long dragon formed by torches extended far along the rugged mountain path. At the head of the dragon, from time to time came the sounds of metal clashing in battle. With every one of those crisp sounds, those unfortunate people reached the end of their lives.

About two thousand weary Cretans were tending to the transport convoy. They put out the flames on several wagons. Some began to repair the damaged wagons and replace the injured horses. The other soldiers, full of resentment, looked in the direction where the fiery dragon had disappeared, feeling indignant about their duty. They believed that if they had not had to guard the wagons, they would long ago have charged at the very front of the ranks, trading enemy heads for their own honor and reward. But now, they could only sit there, waiting for their comrades to return in triumph and show off their shiny coins and fragrant wine.

At this moment, they encountered a nightmare.

“Crash!”

An earthenware jar was thrown from my hand, traced a parabola in midair, and smashed onto the shaft of the wagon nearest to me. A clear, slippery liquid burst out from the broken pieces. Most of it splashed onto the large cloth sacks full of grain on the wagon, staining them with a wet color. This signal brought more containers filled with liquid. Over a hundred jars of all shapes were thrown from the dense forest by the roadside and shattered beside the Cretan wagons.

With crisp sounds one after another, some familiar fragrances spread through the air. Oil and rosin—these smells that usually seemed fragrant and pleasant now revealed an extremely sinister and vicious flavor, causing great uproar among the remaining Cretan guards. Immediately after, torches lit up one after another in the jungle and were thrown at the completely unprepared wagons.

Flames leaped into the sky, illuminating the night. The screams of the Cretans woke the sleeping darkness.

“Kill!” I drew my longsword and charged out first, cutting down a Cretan who was trying to extinguish the flames. This dutiful fellow did not even have time to draw his weapon before he died. On the other side of the road, Roll similarly led several hundred strong indigenous warriors charging out, satisfying their thirst for battle with blood.

The fact was exactly this: we were the true perpetrators of this sneak attack. The indigenous warriors who had run away from the woods had actually been our cover. They appeared before the enemy, then left, relaxing the Cretans’ vigilance, making them subconsciously think that there were no more ambushes by the roadside and that they could safely pursue Rodrick with their whole army. That created the opportunity for us. Naturally, the Cretan ambushers who had been hidden in advance had never escaped our sight from the very beginning. We simply chose an appropriate moment to expose them.

After a whole month of sneak attacks and assassinations, I felt that solving problems face-to-face with swords was intimate and beautiful. I felt my long-suppressed blood burning, making me want to shout uncontrollably.

“I still like this!” I shouted, and incidentally found the familiar sensation of thrusting my sword into a human body on an enemy who lunged at me.

My words drew loud agreement from the indigenous warriors. Although they were skilled at hunting opponents, by their nature, they still preferred such heated battles.

A cold, sinister voice came from not far away, instantly extinguishing my battle passion at that moment. I saw Roll’s mouth stained with an evil red, and an abnormal battle fervor burning in his eyes. The roots of the weapons in his hands were covered with fresh blood—strangely, he always liked to thrust his weapons completely into an enemy’s body, then twist them, causing pain to the opponent in front of him. That was also why the handguards of his short sword and dagger were always stained crimson.

“I like this too,” Roll said expressionlessly. It seemed that except for his eyeballs, all the muscles on his face were stiff and dead.

I suddenly felt that a battlefield with Roll on it would never be something I could get used to.

We did not hope to defeat the Cretan defenders, who were nearly twice our number. We were only trying our best to hold them back, leaving them no time to put out the fires. When we withdrew from the battlefield, most of the supplies General A·Stein had eagerly awaited had been burned into piles of charcoal. The scorched smell of wheat and oats dissolved into the forest, as if mocking the Cretans’ carelessness.

Now, Rodrick and the others had probably already shaken off the pursuers behind them. Fred should have more or less defeated the Cretan troops who had gone deep into the jungle. I did not know how long it would take for the Cretan commander to realize his mistake after losing the enemy’s trail. I guessed it would not take long—he seemed very smart, although that was still far from enough for them.

I thought, we could say goodbye now, dear Cretan friends.