Chapter 62: The Act Becomes Real

Davo City, the largest port city on the southern bank of the Morning Light River, was built around a zigzag bend in the river. Surrounded by water on three sides, with tall walls and thick fortifications, it was divided into three layers: the Outer City, the Inner City, and the Central Castle. Calling this city “indestructible” might be a bit much, but it absolutely deserved the reputation of being as solid as an iron fortress. Especially when Crown Prince Louis, considered the most outstanding young commander since the founding of Winston, was stationed here with his eight thousand loyal and power ful warriors, almost no one believed the city could be taken from the front. That was simply absurd. Unless you had tens of thousands of brave soldiers throwing themselves forward one after another, paving a bloody road into the city with corpses piled as high as the walls, you could forget about succeeding.

And that was exactly what Fred intended to do. The total forces in his hands were fewer than twenty thousand. That number was hardly small, but for this city, it was far from enough.

Starting two months ago, Kelsey and her pirate fleet had been blockading the supply routes leading to Davo City. They had done so with great success, allowing only a very few transport ships to reach the city in the entire two months. The Winston had no way to deal with these fierce people of the water. They didn’t even know why these Skull Flag warriors, who should have been enjoying freedom a thousand miles away, had suddenly appeared here at this time. Whenever their weak transport ships showed up on the water, they would quickly discover that the pirates had sharpened their teeth, ready to swallow them whole with a single bite.

Kelsey’s actions greatly distressed the enemies inside Davo City. They hadn’t completely cut off the Winston supply routes, but they had greatly increased their transportation costs and made the consumption of supplies far exceed the amount being replenished. The defenders in the city had no choice but to take great risks to gather grain, cloth, weapons, and other supplies from nearby villages and towns, and they did so more and more frequently. This gave us the chance to wipe them out in small batches. However, sometimes we deliberately spread the word, telling our opponents that a shipment of supplies would be moved from one place to another, and when they launched their ambushes, we would flee at the first sign of them, leaving behind a few carts of goods for the Winston — a drop in the bucket compared to what they truly needed.

“What are we doing? Weren’t we supposed to starve them out? This is basically handing them food!” Dakla’s eyes went wide, unable to understand what Fred was up to.

“Fishing, my dear friend. I’m fishing. Before I make the Winston take the bait, I need to build them a nest with sweet illusions. However…” Fred replied with a deep smile. “Our opponent is no ordinary fool. Even doing this, I can’t be sure it will work…”

Finally, when we learned from the prisoners that the city’s stored grain couldn’t last more than seven days, and the nearest reinforcements wouldn’t arrive for at least twenty, Fred knew that our chance had come.

Under Fred’s scheming, we made several clever prisoners believe that a shipment of supplies would be transported along the small road from Laza Town, not far from Davo City, to our camp beneath the city walls. The grain being sent this time was more than enough to let the defenders of Davo City survive in comfort for a whole month. Then, we naturally let those prisoners find their chance to escape. To make them believe that this escape opportunity was hard to come by, we even chased after them for a long time, killing most of them on the spot.

The rest was no longer something we could control. We could only hope that the surviving prisoners’ loyalty to their country and their commander would drive them to deliver the message. Fred wasn’t too worried that the shrewd opponent would see through the deception. Crown Prince Louis had already fallen into a dilemma with no way forward and no way back. Once he got this news, even if he knew it was a trap, he would dive straight in, because he no longer had a choice.

Late the next night, Rodrick and I appeared at the designated spot with the “legendary” supply convoy. The night sky was shrouded in an uneasy shadow. The moon was nowhere to be seen.

“Stay alert!” Rodrick’s shout came from the front of the formation. To avoid giving anything away, the soldiers didn’t know this was a premeditated trap, and the carts really were loaded with actual supplies. In fact, we really were a genuine supply convoy. Although the odds were good, no one could be certain whether the Winston would take the bait tonight. If they didn’t show up, this convoy would truly be delivered to our camp at the front line.

A gentle evening breeze blew, rustling the leaves by the roadside and making unsettling sounds. I shivered and instinctively looked around, scanning for any trace of the Winston.

“Will they come?” I thought anxiously. “If they do, when? And where?”

“Sir, what are you thinking about?” A soldier beside me looked at me with confusion. This man, who respectfully called me “Sir,” was at least forty years old and not tall at all. On his head, where the muscles had already begun to slacken, signs of balding were starting to show. Yet here he was, treating me with great respect, with the attitude one might have toward a father or an older brother, calling me “Sir.”

This was not funny.

If there were no war, he might have been a respected customer at my tavern. I would have treated him the way he was treating me now, calling him “Uncle,” attentively wiping down his table, and placing a mug of ale beside his hand. He would have called me “young lad” or something even more familiar, patting me on the head, or laughing and cursing while kicking my backside, drawing a round of laughter from the patrons around us. That was life. That was the proper life we were supposed to have.

“Sir”? What had turned this world upside down, making a man who should have been living an ordinary, happy life accept a respect that didn’t belong to him? Was it people’s stupidity that had caused this war, or was it this war that had made people stupid?

“Nothing, soldier. I was just thinking that the weather is nice today. It’s about time for the wheat harvest, isn’t it?” I steadied myself in the saddle and spoke to him gently.

“Yes, sir, it’s just the right time. My woman should be out harvesting right about now. The weather has been good lately, no rain. There will be a good harvest this year.” There was a touch of joy in his voice.

“Then you’d better treat your wife well.” Something had loosened my nerves, so much that I actually cracked a joke with him at a moment like this. I put on a mysterious look and asked, “She must be very pretty, right?”

The older soldier turned red in the face and lowered his head without a word, drawing a round of quiet snickers from the soldiers around us.

“How many children do you have?”

“Four. The oldest is almost twenty now, a son.” The moment he mentioned his children, his face lit up with a ruddy glow.

“He must be a remarkable young man.” I took out a finely crafted dagger from my chest and handed it to him. “This is my gift to him. Tell him it’s an award for his father’s bravery on the battlefield.”

“…Thank you, sir.” He looked at me with gratitude, respectfully accepted the gift, and carefully tucked it into his chest. The soldiers around him watched with envy. A few of the younger ones tried to borrow the dagger to take a look, but he scolded them and refused.

Watching him treasure it so dearly, I felt a twinge of shame. I had given him the dagger out of friendliness, even as a harmless joke, yet he was preserving it like it was the highest honor. He believed this small gift symbolized his courage and his pride, proved his honor. But in truth, it was nothing more than a momentary impulse from the young officer standing in front of him.

What was I even doing?

“What’s your name, soldier?” I suddenly felt a strong urge to know his name. There was no particular purpose behind it. I just felt that I should know, as if knowing his name would let me do something for him and his family, even though the chance of that was extremely slim.

“My name is…” Just as he was about to tell me, his answer was cut off by Rodrick’s loud, sharp cry.

“Enemy attack! Enemy attack! Draw your weapons! Enemy attack!”

Ahead of the convoy, I saw a band of dark figures charging toward us at frightening speed. The weapons in their hands reflected the faint starlight, flowing with a thirst for blood. Arrogant howls poured from their mouths without pause, filling this dim night with a murderous air. Winston Light Cavalry. Yes, it was them. They had finally come.

“All troops, attention! Carts to the front! Spear defense!” Rodrick commanded calmly. According to the original plan, we had to put up a real fight before abandoning the supplies; otherwise, the enemy might grow suspicious. At the same time, this was to give Fred and the others time to set up the next ambush — after all, we couldn’t be sure where the Winston would appear, so we needed to stall for as long as possible. But for the soldiers who didn’t know the truth, this meant they had to survive a brutal, desperate resistance.

In an instant, the wild knights had already crashed into our formation. The hastily assembled spear wall didn’t do much good in the pitch-black night. While the panicked soldiers thrust their spears into the unknown darkness, the blades of the brave and skilled Northlands knights had already been stained with their blood. Our enemies hollered and whooped, treating our soldiers as cruelly as if they were butchering livestock.

We were not entirely without means of defense. The transport carts and draft animals became our natural barrier, keeping many cold-blooded knights at bay. Spears, crossbows, stones… anything that could help us was put to good use, ringing the death knell for those unlucky Winston. In the chaos, I chopped through a cart’s shaft, then stabbed my sword into the rump of the horse pulling it. The horse neighed and bolted into the darkness, and from the direction it ran came startled cries from soldiers of unknown allegiance.

“Release the horses!” I shouted. “Let the horses block them!”

“Let the horses block them” — perhaps that was how you could read it, but that wasn’t my true intention. In any case, my order was carried out well. All the draft animals were freed from their harnesses and charged at our enemies, covered in wounds. I didn’t know how much of an effect they had, but for the Winston, who understood the temperament of livestock well, I figured this kind of defense might slow their advance a little, but it couldn’t do much to change a battle that was already destined to be lost.

“Ah!” A sharp pain shot through my left arm, nearly sending me into shock. To my left front, a Winston cavalryman was swinging his battle blade, already stained with my blood, at me once more. I swung my sword and desperately blocked the strike, but the searing pain in my left arm left me numb. Before that fierce opponent could bring his blade down a third time, I rolled off my horse and hit the ground.

“Sir!” Just as I thought I was done for, a short, stocky figure darted out from the side. He used the short sword in his hand to block the killing blow for me, then threw himself at the knight without a care for his own safety, driving the short sword deep into the knight’s leg. The knight howled in agony, whipped his blade around, and slashed my savior across the face, then, unable to endure the unbearable pain himself, tumbled to the ground. I struggled to my feet, lunged over to the Winston, and drove my sword into his chest. After he finally breathed his last breath in this world and fell in defeat, I rushed to the soldier who had saved my life and dragged him aside.

“How are you?!” His face was drenched in blood. A gash so deep it exposed the bone ran from his right forehead all the way down to his left jaw. The wound was too large and too deep — it had even crushed his right eye and his nose, making it impossible for me to recognize his features. I frantically pressed both hands over his wound, trying to stop the torrent of blood, but it did no good at all. His life was still draining away from his body along with the blood, bit by bit.

“Sir… as long as… you’re all right…” the soldier gasped out. This voice was familiar to me. He was…

“This dagger… I can’t give it to my… my… child anymore…” He reached into his chest, searching, but found nothing. Yes. He was the old soldier from just now, the one I had given the dagger to. I couldn’t believe that this shy middle-aged man, who had been blushing under our teasing only moments ago, had traded his own life for mine at the most critical moment.

“I’ll help you. I’ll give it to him. Soldier, tell me — tell me your name!” I found the dagger in his chest and shook his shoulders. This was no time to deceive him. He was going to die, and we both knew it. I only hoped I could help this brave man fulfill his last wish.

“My name… my name… Ha… Han…” He only got out a single syllable before his head drooped silently and he fell into a peaceful sleep. I had asked this brave man’s name twice, and still, he never managed to tell me.

I didn’t even know my savior’s name.

I didn’t take the dagger. Instead, I placed it back inside the soldier’s chest. I couldn’t fulfill his last wish, and I felt ashamed of that. If the first time I gave this dagger to this dead man had been out of friendliness and impulse, this time it was truly because of his bravery and the debt I owed him. The spirit of sacrifice he had shown fully deserved this meager token of honor. If I could, I would have done even more for him.

Now, this dagger belongs to you, soldier. No one can take it away from you. It stands for your courage and your honor, and even before Death’s judgment, you have the right to keep it.

Tears were pointless. I felt my eyes growing tight, as if every drop of blood in my body had rushed to that spot. The wound on my left arm seemed to have gone numb, no longer hindering my movements. I picked up my sword and charged back into the fray. A Winston spotted me, and I spotted him. Then, he disappeared. And then, another Winston… On the faces of my enemies, I seemed to see them flinch. It wasn’t because of my bravery. Perhaps it was only because of my madness.

The battle didn’t last long. If we were putting on a show, then this show had been far too bloody. We had lost nearly a third of our escort team, and that number was still climbing. The Winston Light Cavalry that had ambushed us had also left behind nearly a hundred corpses. Rodrick, his bloodlust roused, seemed to have forgotten our original mission. He was carrying on like a martyr seeking death, not an officer planning to escape.

“Abandon the carts! Retreat!” I gave the order. We had already sacrificed more than enough. Whoever the enemy commander was, he surely couldn’t tell this was a trap anymore. Since the goal had been achieved, there was no point in continuing this meaningless fight.

My shout snapped Rodrick back to his senses. He began tightening the formation and retreating toward the rear in an orderly manner. Our enemies had no interest in dragging out the slaughter. They pressed us back with restraint, seizing the transport carts one by one. Finally, Rodrick let out a whistle, our soldiers abandoned their last resistance, and soon they broke into a rout, fleeing out of the Winston’s sight. As we had expected, the Winston didn’t give chase. Their target was the supplies.

Before retreating, I fixed my gaze on the woods on both sides, searching for any trace of our allies. I hoped that the fight just now had lasted long enough to give Fred and the others plenty of time.

Night crows cawed. Not a single sound came from the woods. I saw nothing, but I knew they were there. Don’t ask me how I knew. It was just an instinct — yet this instinct felt so real it might as well have been visible to the naked eye.

We halted, formed up, and rested. Moments later, we advanced along the path we had just fled, heading back toward the direction where the battle had taken place. Our soldiers were probably puzzled. They couldn’t understand why we, a defeated army, would go back to throw our lives away. But their discipline as soldiers made them obey our orders in silence.

At the very top of the sky hung a huge, gleaming star. It had taken the moon’s place, casting a sinister dark-red glow, as if foretelling that tonight was destined to be a bloody night.