Chapter 51: Rescue of Friendship

Across the entire Farvill Continent, the reason why no country’s army had a mage unit was not just a matter of religious belief, but also practical factors.

A mage might be able to cast a fireball power ful enough to match a large catapult, but on a battlefield, under normal circumstances, he would probably be shot into a pincushion by enemy archers while he was chanting his spell.

The range of the most distant attack magic could not exceed that of a bow. And the frail mage, who could not bear the weight of heavy armor, was not much different from a moving target covered with circles. Maybe there was a difference: their targets were so obvious that they were even less challenging than moving targets.

And the money spent on training a mage was not something an ordinary archer could compare with.

Therefore, although mages were an indispensable and powerful aid in small-scale adventures, they were not welcomed by the powerful machinery of the state. They were not monks with faith. Those believers who received the blessed powers of the gods could always obtain skills from various deities to heal the wounded. They were indispensable battlefield doctors, able to provide obvious help to the army. Moreover, those monks protected by a powerful deity were themselves outstanding fighters. This was perhaps one of the reasons why the power of the Temple could pass freely through all countries.

This was also why I opposed Poirot and Millia charging with the army: they could only distract me, not provide help.

Before launching the charge, I paid attention to the situation on the battlefield: Fred and Red Flame were attacking a relatively weak point on the inner side of the defense circle with all their strength. Outside that point, Dakla’s heavy troops were fighting fiercely, trying to open a path.

That was exactly the breakthrough point I wanted to choose.

The war horse galloped, the long spear in hand. I felt as if I were a flame. No, I was a flame, burning hotly. In front of me were thousands of strong and skilled soldiers. They had proud battle records enough to shake the entire continent. The names of some of them were already written into history, destined to be immortal, becoming heroes sung by the present age and even ten thousand generations later. And I was just a tavern owner’s son, an ordinary man without ambition or talent, determined to become a tavern owner.

That was not the thing I needed to think about. I only knew what I had to do: break open this gap and save my friend.

Fred, wait for me, I’m coming.

The Winston formation appeared not far ahead. When I was not paying attention, Poirot’s horse suddenly sped up and rushed to my side.

“Danger! Go back to the rear!” I shouted angrily. At a moment like this, anything that distracted me could cause irreparable consequences.

“Jeff, remember…” He did not pay attention to my shout, but gave me a proud smile. His silver hair swayed in the wind, like the magic spirits I could not see with my own eyes.

“This is the fighting posture of a magic warlock!”

His eyes stared straight ahead, as if he was concentrating all his mind on some invisible soul in front of him. Then, a series of unbelievable words and symbols came out of his mouth. Although the horse was bumping, his voice was steady and powerful, carrying a sincere pleading tone.

A familiar white light shot out from his hand, then attached to the soldiers behind me. I felt all the equipment and weapons on my body suddenly become light, and the speed of the war horse suddenly increased a lot.

Haste Spell, I remembered. That was once the only magic Poirot had learned, that life-saving trick. Now, in his hands, this magic greatly increased our speed and became our deepest hidden and most powerful weapon.

Eight hundred people. His magic power supported the entire formation of eight hundred people. Although I knew nothing about magic, I knew this was definitely not an easy thing.

Poirot’s face was already slightly pale, but he still stubbornly rode side by side with me, rushing at the very front of the formation. We flew forward at a speed the enemy could not predict, and white light flashed on us. The distance was getting closer and closer. I could even see their surprised and fearful expressions. No horse could gallop like us. This charge had surpassed any army I had ever seen.

When we were about to reach the enemy, Poirot cast another spell. I did not see any flash of light or any sign of wind, but I knew the enemies in front of me were shaken. Suddenly they could not even hold their spears. Their bodies trembled, and they struggled weakly.

It was probably some kind of curse spell, I thought, recalling the scene when he stopped the citizens from abusing Eliot.

Poirot wisely withdrew to the rear of the formation. He had done the best he could. The remaining problem had to be solved by swords and spears.

We seized the opportunity Poirot created and plunged deep into the enemy formation. I lightly drove my spear into a Winston’s chest, then pulled out my sword. The speed and sharpness beyond human limits let me find gaps in the chaotic battle group, sending my opponents to the place they did not want to go again and again.

“Keep the formation, protect the three of them, charge with all strength!” I repeated my order over and over.

Millia had always been under the tight protection of the soldiers. For days she had often appeared beside Fred and taken care of the wounded and sick soldiers as much as possible. She had already built up an image in their hearts that was almost like a goddess, even surpassing Fred. I believed that even just by her beautiful face, she was enough to make many soldiers give their lives for her safety.

But Poirot did not receive such good care. The label of Necromantic Warlock was not very welcome, even though he had given us such great help. But he was basically safe. The crazy Winston were unlikely to get close to him, because…

Oh my god, I must have seen wrong. This was impossible!

In a casual glance back, I saw Miss Eliot, wearing her shaded crystal spectacles, gentle, kind, charming, and elegant, holding a huge chain hammer that she had gotten from somewhere, cruelly dealing with the Winston around her.

“I’m sorry!” she said with a red face, but her hands did not stop at all. A heavy infantryman’s head burst open.

“Forgive me!” In her polite reply, another tall warrior fell into eternal sleep under her fierce blows.

“I don’t want to do this either…”

“Don’t force me…”

“I’m really sorry…”

…

Her achievements made me ashamed. The facts made me believe that every Dark Elf was a born warrior.

“Ah…” Poirot’s miserable cry came. A scimitar slipped around the soldiers’ layers of defense and left a bright red wound on his right hand.

Miss Eliot’s expression suddenly changed. A mass of black flame rose from her body and surrounded her whole person. I knew this was a little trick that every Dark Elf knew. The purpose of this flame was only to scare the enemy; it had no actual effect. But the enemies in battle were unlikely to discover the fact that this flame could not burn people. The stunned, unlucky Winston soldier was smashed into broken bones at the first moment.

The appearance of this magical flame only showed one thing: our Dark Elf young lady was angry.

“Don’t hurt Poirot!” Behind the pair of shaded crystal spectacles that covered her eyes, her face became ferocious.

“Eli, come back.” Poirot stopped the Dark Elf’s madness. He frowned slightly, as if he did not want to see the beautiful hands of his exotic assistant stained with too much blood. “Eli”, this intimate nickname somewhat explained a story I did not know.

Millia rode her horse closer to Poirot: “Do you need help?” she asked loudly.

Poirot did not insist on his so-called “faith hatred” and showed his wounded arm. After a small spell, his wound healed.

He did not express his thanks as cleverly as usual. That was no longer necessary. On this battlefield of life and death, there was no religious disagreement, no opposition between magic schools. In front of the choice of life or death, we were all comrades, those who trusted each other with our lives.

“Fred!” A black flash of light burst in front of my eyes. It was the light of a blade I knew well. Unable to hold back the joy in my heart, I shouted loudly.

My brave friend was covered in blood and dirt. The battle beyond his limit made him gasp nonstop, but he was still the most outstanding warrior on this battlefield. Red Flame was also covered in blood, but the Winston still held awe in their hearts for this fierce elf who had ruled the battlefield in front of the two armies the evening before. Beside them, fewer than three hundred Delanmaya cavalrymen were in scattered formation, relying only on their instinct to survive, unconsciously struggling to hold on.

I finally caught up. They were still alive! The ecstasy infected me and made my movements precise and powerful. If there was any moment in my life worth being proud of, it was undoubtedly this one: leading fewer than a thousand light cavalrymen, I broke through and even pierced the iron wall of elite soldiers that had once swept the continent in an instant, and at the moment when my friend was in the greatest danger, I completed an almost impossible task for him.

“Fred! Red Flame! Over here!” I shouted. Although the Winston defense had already been broken, relying on their rich experience and strong will, this passage could not last long. In fact, this small wound had already begun to heal, squeezing us more and more tightly in the position. We had to leave as soon as possible.

Fred saw me. An excited expression flowed across his face. He raised his battle blade and shouted loudly:

“We are saved! Follow me, charge out!”

Then, together with Red Flame, he led the remaining soldiers rushing toward this gap.

“Ah!” In the chaos, Red Flame let out a miserable cry. A treacherous spear suddenly flashed out from the left side. The sharp spearhead happened to cut across his exposed left eye. A stream of blood splashed out from his shining jade-green eyeball and slid down his handsome face. The severely wounded elf lowered his head in pain, venting his agony with an almost desperate howl.

“He’s blind!” The enemy who had succeeded in the sneak attack shouted. They thought Red Flame’s decorative eye patch on his right eye was meant to hide a disability. So when Red Flame lifted the eye patch, glared angrily at the despicable sneak attacker, and delivered his fatal counterattack, his opponent stood there stunned in amazement.

“Charge out!” Pain and anger made the elf rush forward with courage.

When were soldiers the bravest?

When they saw the ambushed enemies at a loss and suddenly delivered the most fatal blow to them?

When they met on a narrow path and competed with an evenly matched opponent?

When they charged head-on at the opponent with the courage and belief of certain victory?

None of those.

It was when they were trapped in a hopeless situation, thought they would surely die, but discovered hope of continuing to live.

Those soldiers who could not even hold their swords regained their will to fight. The desire for life made them treat the enemies in front of them mercilessly. Every step forward cost blood—whether it was theirs or their enemies’. They were like a sturdy boat stubbornly drifting on the rough sea, risking capsizing at any moment and moving forward to find a way to live. They advanced so hard that at one moment I even felt they would never reach my side.

Only when Fred’s blood-stained hand weakly landed on my shoulder did I confirm that this was not a desperate dream at the last moment.

“Rear formation becomes front formation, protect the General, whole army, retreat!” I did not hesitate for a moment.

But it was already too late.

Behind us, the Winston had almost woven a defense line again, surrounding us inside. Our eight hundred people were like a piping hot sweet potato. Although it burned the Winston’s tongues at first, they still swallowed us.

“Fight our way out!” I shouted. I could not believe that at the last moment of this rescue, we would fail after all our efforts. Strange. I had always been very afraid of death, but at this moment I did not think of it at all.

What I thought was: no matter what, I had to get Fred out.

But this was too difficult. The magical spell Poirot had put on us had long disappeared. The light cavalry lost their speed and almost only had the future of being slaughtered. The heavy knights on both sides were still approaching step by step, speeding up our collapse. We fell into the exact situation Fred had just faced.

“You shouldn’t have come, Jeff… You shouldn’t have come…” Fred leaned over the saddle and said in a low voice. Two tears fell down his handsome face, washing away the bloodstains on his face.

“Bastard! I came to rescue my brave friend, not to see a crying coward! Miss Millia, take good care of this idiot!” For the first time, I treated my best friend so roughly. “I am going to get out, and take everyone out. No one wants to die with you!”

I was not as confident as I claimed, but I knew that the exhausted Fred and Red Flame could no longer provide any help to the soldiers. If even I began to despair, then there would not be even the last bit of hope.

If there was no accident, that last bit of hope was already gone.

My soldiers were not elite troops. On the contrary, they were almost the weakest group among our cavalry. Because of this, they did not become the main force on the front battlefield, but became the logistics security for escorting and transporting supplies.

In front of the powerful enemy, they had already begun to collapse.

Could it really all end like this? In the face of death, would my ordinary hope and Fred’s great vision both be destroyed together in this cruel, inhuman slaughter?

The facts told me that I was always lucky.

Just as the encirclement in front of us began to tighten and force us to a dead end, a commotion and uneasy screams came from behind them. After that, I heard Dakla’s passionate shout.

“Damn it, you saved him. Good job! Go quickly!”

I was not the only one who could risk his life for others.

We charged out of the Winston death wall.

The horse galloped, the sky was clear and the clouds were green.

“Fred…” I held back tears of joy.

“We are still alive!”