Chapter 50: Saving the One Who Cannot Be Lost

“What’s wrong, Jeff? You look terrible.”

“I’m a little worried…”

“Worried? Why?”

“The Winston Heavy Cavalry. I’ve been thinking about how we can stop their charge. I’m afraid of what might happen in the future…”

“I know, Jeff. I’ve been thinking about it too.”

“Do you have any good ideas?”

“It’s not exactly a good idea, but perhaps this is what we can do. If it is impossible to stop their charge head-on, then we must…”

…

This was a conversation between Fred and me after the First Battle of the Centuria Plains. In that battle, the Winston, though outnumbered, almost miraculously routed the Delanmaya Army. After that, the might of the Winston Heavy Cavalry was carved deeply into our minds, and it even woke me from my dreams again and again. In the dreams, the huge hooves of those silent knights trampled down on my head. Everything around me was silent. I could not even hear the sound of the hoofbeats, nor the screams I let out in fear.

So when a burst of rapid, majestic drumbeats came from the Winston formation, I felt my palms full of sweat.

It was about to begin—that was the prelude to their assembly, the omen that the legendary invincible Formation-Breaking Iron Cavalry was about to launch its final charge.

I suddenly felt that all the Winston’s earlier actions had been nothing but preparation for this charge. Now, all our positions were in chaos: Riley’s left formation was still locked in melee with Duke Rivera’s infantry square; Dakla had pulled a large number of men out of the right formation to reinforce Fred’s main formation; and the main formation in the center, although it looked numerous, was a jumble of different units with no order at all. At a time like this, no matter where the two thousand Heavy Cavalry charged, they would deal us incomparable damage. With their tremendous impact, not to mention breaking through, it would not be impossible for them to completely shatter our formation and once again win a great victory while outnumbered.

The drumbeats continued. Crown Prince Louis, the young leader of the Winston, appeared in the formation. The knights began to gather around him, and the soldiers in the front ranks had already drawn heavy spears from their saddles. I knew that once the drumbeats stopped, they would sweep over us like a flood from an opened sluice gate, crushing every obstacle in their way.

No one could stop them.

Unless…

Before the drumbeats began, Fred led the only remaining cavalry formation out of our position. He did not chase the retreating Winston. Instead, from afar he made a gesture toward Red Flame, who was hurrying up, and charged straight at the Winston position. Red Flame followed close behind and led the troops in the charge as well.

“If it is impossible to stop their charge head-on, then we must stop them before they charge!”

That was Fred’s tactic.

The Winston had not expected Fred to make such a move, and for a brief moment they lost their composure. By the time they could react, the two forces were already very close, and our silent, ferocious enemy no longer had time to launch a full-power charge.

“Kill!” Fred charged into the enemy formation, taking the lead. Under his black war blade, one proud warrior after another unwillingly became nothing more than a name to be remembered.

The enemy’s line began to waver. It seemed they could no longer withstand the violent assault, and part of them began to fall back. The riders arrayed on both flanks drifted loosely toward the sides, almost appearing to be on the verge of rout.

The Winston infantry units that had been entangled with us in the middle of the battlefield seemed greatly frightened. Those Winston troops who, even when retreating, had retained powerful combat strength and inflicted heavy casualties on our pursuing forces, had now abandoned their formations and ran back toward their own main force like headless chickens. Even the battle-skilled Duke Rivera could no longer maintain his infantry formation. Thrown into confusion when Riley seized the chance to scatter it, he began to retreat in haste.

At this moment, it seemed to me that the Winston were already lingering on the edge of complete collapse. The fruit of victory hung on a branch very close to us, waiting for us to put in just a little more strength, stand on our toes, and easily grasp it in our hands. Great glory had never been so close to this group of languid and exhausted soldiers.

But we were wrong.

We had overestimated the impact of our cavalry and the defensive power of the Winston Heavy Cavalry, and we had underestimated Crown Prince Louis’s ability to control the battle situation. Even though we had been careful from the very start, trying not to give the enemy any opportunity, we still underestimated our opponent.

The retreat of the Winston Heavy Cavalry formation was not entirely because of the impact they had received; their withdrawal was orderly. After paying a certain price and completely absorbing the tide of our charge, they successfully slowed down Fred’s charging pace.

When the center began to fall back, the cavalry on both flanks quietly spread outward and extended forward from the two sides, unexpectedly forming a huge V-shaped formation that surrounded Fred’s and Red Flame’s charging force in the middle.

Then their infantry formations retreated madly, pressing right up against the front of the cavalry formation. Duke Rivera once again demonstrated his extraordinary control over his soldiers’ formations. He quickly organized the originally chaotic routed troops into neat, dense ranks, trapping Fred and the others inside an encirclement.

Indeed, the number of our soldiers was almost twice that of the enemy, but that number did not include the cavalry. Of the twelve thousand soldiers we had mobilized for this battle, there were only three thousand Light Cavalry—about the same number as our opponent’s.

At this moment, the Light Cavalry trapped in the enemy formation numbered only a little more than two thousand.

The deadly thing was that among them was our commander, Fred.

The Winston infantry formations assumed a desperate posture and blocked the Delanmaya Army’s attacks again and again. They were waiting for news that the enemy inside the encirclement had been wiped out.

Inside the encirclement, our Light Cavalry had completely stopped charging. They were shocked to discover that they had somehow already fallen into a heavy encirclement.

The Heavy Cavalry on both sides pressed in at a slow pace. To their enemies, they were like two tall, solid walls that could not be shaken.

The withdrawn Winston infantry formations pointed their spears at the enemy inside the encirclement. Having lost their charging momentum, the Light Cavalry simply could not get through this defensive line woven from spears as long as two men.

Many fell beside Fred; the rest fought with all their might. They looked at their young and distinguished commander, hoping to break out of the encirclement under his lead. Hadn’t he led them time and again to create miracles, never showing a look of despair no matter what kind of opponent he faced?

All they got from him was a single word: “Charge!”

Charge, charge to the rear, and as fast as possible open a path through the enemy infantry formations to join up with our comrades who were launching a fierce assault. Only in this way could they save their lives. Only in this way!

But that was easier said than done. Everyone on both sides of the battle knew that this was the moment that would decide victory and defeat. For those brave and fierce Winston warriors, killing the enemy commander and winning this glorious victory was also their only chance to survive.

“Courage! Glory! Victory!” Fierce shouts erupted among those Winston warriors holding their blades—all because of the appearance of a banner. Beneath that azure banner, which symbolized a newly rising war myth, a young golden-haired commander appeared at the rear of the formation. Even in the midst of the brutal battle, a gentle smile still hung at the corners of his mouth, as if he were radiating the brilliance of the sun. His appearance greatly boosted the Winston’s morale. He was our enemy—the outstanding commander of the Winston Imperial Army, the soul of the army, the first heir to the imperial throne, His Highness Crown Prince Louis.

From those mountain-shaking, thunderlike cheers, I felt that, to the Winston, he might be an irreplaceable existence just as Fred was to us.

Fred was in danger. The battle was in danger. The entire army was in danger.

Everyone who had ever fought alongside Fred felt this danger. In all our time fighting side by side, there had never been such a precedent: our brave and resourceful comrade was trapped in an enemy encirclement, able to fight only with his courage and strength. He had never needed our help as much as he did now. Now, the only ones who could help him were ourselves.

Dakla went mad. Swinging the war hammer in his hand wildly, he charged the enemy on foot. He and his soldiers spared no effort, charging back and forth tirelessly with their heavy weapons. His body was soaked through with the enemy’s sticky blood; no one knew how many had died under his heavy blows.

“Fred, hold on!” His rough, heroic shout rang out from the formation. It was the sincere wish of the young mason. Hold on. You must hold on. We will break through this defensive line and get you out of danger. You are our commander, you are the guarantee of our victory, and more importantly, you are our friend.

“Assault formation! All troops forward! For our loved ones, for our friends!”

Rodrick once again bared his sharp fangs—his “Fangs of Longing.” This was no longer the time to hide his strength or train his troops. In this battlefield frenzy, he strained to keep his most elite subordinates in a complete formation while also holding back his own emotions. A neat formation was the most powerful. He wanted to show his strongest side, to use his sharp fangs to tear at the Winston ranks and save our leader.

“Fred, remember what you promised me. You’re my commander, after all. If you die, you’ll bring great shame on me! Red Flame, if you still want to see Kelsey, then step it up!”

Carlson shouted without stopping. With every call, a body fell in response. His jesting words revealed a tension that had never been there before: he had found Fred—the young man who could inherit all his dreams and principles—and he had become Fred’s subordinate, one of his most loyal companions. This was the embodiment of the justice and ideals Carlson had sought in his youth. He could perhaps no longer bear the blow of losing all of this again.

Riley was throwing himself into the fight in a way he never had before. Once again, he appeared at the most critical point of the battle, but this time he was not a defender patching up weaknesses, but an attacker ruthlessly striking at weak spots. His troops were still a shield—an incomparably tough shield—but this shield was violently slamming into the Winston formation, trying to smash out a passage. It did not need to be big. A small passage was enough—enough to save our friend in distress, a comrade dearer than a brother who shared our very blood.

Wherever Roll appeared, it remained the place where the smell of blood on the battlefield was the strongest. That ferocious unit known as the “Ghost Daggers” put down their daggers, took up longswords, and fought the enemy head-on in a way they were not skilled at. Even so, they still spilled the enemy’s blood in great quantities, fighting coldly like ghouls. Every Winston who faced Roll could not believe that such a warrior could exist in this world—silent, bloodthirsty, mad, and cruel. They did not know what kind of passion and pride lay behind Roll’s silent coldness. None of this was for himself—it was for his friend.

My comrades-in-arms had already worked hard enough, but it was still not enough. Many times they had almost torn open the Winston formation and could even see the backs of the Delanmaya Light Cavalry inside the encirclement. But the Winston always managed to seal the gap again at the last moment. They had already shed too much blood under this unprecedented pressure, yet they still held on. I could not imagine what could be the reason that made them persist so stubbornly. Could it be their commander—that equally young and outstanding man?

The battle was deadlocked.

“Emergency assembly! Charge formation!” I issued orders to my subordinates anxiously. I could not stand by and watch while my friend was trapped in an encirclement with his life hanging by a thread. I was not completely helpless. As the logistics unit of the whole army, the last cavalry force was in my hands, even if it was only a paltry eight hundred men.

I swung onto my horse, unable to contain the immense restlessness in my heart. At this moment, I was not an officer, nor could I even be called a warrior. I was a person, an ordinary person, determined to use all my strength to save my friend from danger. That was my duty, my obligation—something I had to do, and had to accomplish. Otherwise, I might be willing to lie in eternal rest together with my dearest friend on this battlefield where souls drifted.

“Wait, take me with you.” Poirot found a riderless mount. On the horse beside him was his assistant, a Dark Elf holding a spear and wearing Shaded Crystal Spectacles.

“And me.” Millia also spurred her horse up and stopped in front of me.

“Damn it! What do you two think you’re doing! This is war, soldiers’ business! What good will you do there!” My voice was nearly angry. “I promise, Miss Millia, I promise I will bring Fred back safely. Poirot, you—”

“You go fulfill your mission. I’m going to help my friend. Jeff, let me go. I can take care of myself.” Poirot answered earnestly. Millia, however, said nothing more. Her expression was enough to make me understand that even if she were all alone, she would still charge at our enemy to rescue Fred.

“Damn it, fine. Stay in the middle of the formation and don’t run around. I can’t protect everyone.” It was a headache, but my heart felt warm.

“Good luck to us!” I shouted, and was the first to charge down the slope.

“Good luck to us!” The soldiers behind me raised a howl and followed after me.

Ahead were the impenetrable Winston formations. There lay perhaps the most powerful enemy in this world, the sharpest weapons, and the most dangerous future.

And what I had to do was to use my insignificant strength to rescue my precious friendship from that place.

Perhaps what I needed was only a little good luck.

So—good luck to us!