Chapter 63: Chain Trap

At night, the wind rolled through the wild grass, making a rustling sound. The moonless night was like a maiden with her eyes closed—quiet and beautiful, like a dream full of lingering tenderness.

But this quiet was soon broken by the neighing of horses and the shouts of riders driving their livestock.

Rodrick and I led the returning soldiers as we silently hid in the grass. To make sure we made no sound, every one of us had a blade of grass between our teeth, and even our breathing became hushed as we let the air pass through our noses. The moonless night helped us get close to the busy Winston Light Cavalry without being spotted, while the torches on the wagons exposed their busy figures to our eyes.

I was glad that the little trick of letting the horses loose earlier had worked. Those brave warriors had chased around frantically and only managed to catch five of the runaway draft animals, so the rest of the transport wagons simply could not move. The supplies were piled up too full and too heavy, so much so that two horses had to pull one wagon together just for it to barely move forward.

“Dismount!” the Winston commander ordered. He was a middle-aged man with thick eyebrows and big eyes. He was tall, with a purplish-red complexion, and wore long hair characteristic of the northern nomadic tribes, looking mighty and fierce.

“Use the warhorses to pull the wagons.” That was his order, and as he gave it, he went ahead and harnessed his own tall warhorse to the shafts.

It was obvious that those brave knights were reluctant to use the warhorses that had shared life and death with them as if they were common beasts of burden, but the situation did not allow them to object. Between honor and orders, they reluctantly chose the latter. A few soldiers affectionately stroked the horses’ necks by the shafts and whispered something in their ears, as if both calming them down and apologizing to them. Their love for the horses was like the love for their closest comrades in arms, a feeling that every soldier who had ever fought in battle could understand. I felt a little sympathy for these enemy soldiers before me—they were walking step by step toward death according to Fred’s plan.

They moved very quickly. Before long, every wagon was fitted with warhorses to pull it, and at the same time, nearly two-thirds of the riders lost their mounts and had to temporarily become foot soldiers.

At that moment, their time of death arrived.

From the woods on both sides of the road came the deadly twang of bowstrings and crossbows, and one powerful arrow after another shot toward the remaining cavalry with sharp whistling sounds. The unprepared Winston soldiers were caught completely off guard. In just a single brief moment, the proud Winston Imperial Army lost dozens of brave warriors.

The enemy warriors, who had just been through a battle, were stunned by this sudden attack. This was a battle they could not understand. They had clearly already won victory and gained the spoils they wanted. They had even checked through the goods on the wagons, and the clever ones among them were already calculating how much profit they could get from this. Just when they were at their most relaxed and most defenseless, death met them unexpectedly. If the Delanmayans had this much strength, then why had they been so fragile in the earlier battle and handed over all these supplies so willingly?

What they could not figure out was exactly what we wanted. What we sought was not just a small-scale encirclement and annihilation. The tall, sturdy Davo City behind them was the real target. For the sake of that goal, Fred had given his order for this battle:

Annihilate them all!

Annihilate them all, and do not let a single one escape! When the enemy was the fierce Winston cavalry, this order was not easy to carry out. Almost everything we did was for the sole purpose of keeping these riders right where they were, eliminating every possibility of them slipping through the net. The genuine supplies and the real battle had lowered their guard, and the wagons that had lost their horses had taken away their mounts. Riley now had large numbers of soldiers lying in ambush in the woods on both sides, cutting off any possibility of escape from the flanks. Red Flame led a squad of Light Cavalry to block their path forward. To make absolutely sure, Fred himself personally led three hundred men to set up a second line of defense on the only road back to the city, determined not to let a single Winston man escape back alive.

And on the other side, our escort force had turned around and returned, sealing off the only passage leading deeper into the rear.

Against an ambushing force of fewer than five hundred, we had used nearly five times that many troops to complete this encirclement and annihilation. Designing such complicated steps and mobilizing so many troops to deal with this scattered enemy force might seem like more than was necessary, but if you knew that this was the key that determined the fate of a city, a piece of land, or even the entire war situation, you would never think this ambush was too grand.

“Retreat!” the Winston commander shouted. No one could deny his bravery and composure. In this extremely unfavorable situation, he showed no greed for the spoils already in his hands and immediately adjusted his formation to fall back. But his wisdom was not enough to change the situation. When Red Flame and the Light Cavalry appeared before them, their misfortune was already engraved into tonight’s night sky. To make sure no enemy escaped, Red Flame’s Light Cavalry did not use their most devastating fast charge. Instead, they formed up in ranks like Heavy Cavalry, holding long spears to block the road, and pressed toward the enemy slowly and forcefully. The Winston warriors bravely threw themselves against this wall of death, trying to gamble their lives with their extraordinary courage. But without a doubt, they were the losers. Their blades pointed forward, their eyes looked forward, their steps advanced forward, but in the end, their bodies fell forward. Those pained faces kissed the earth. That was their final resting place.

“All troops, turn and charge!” That officer accurately judged the reality of the situation and gave the most correct order of the moment: if there were ambushers on both sides and a blockade behind, then it was better to muster all their strength and charge forward, to test their luck.

And so, in the dark slaughter of tonight, we met for the second time.

In the earlier battle, they had crushed us by relying on their cavalry charge. They recognized us from our uniform colors and faces, discovered that we were the same beaten opponents from just before, and so they charged at us ferociously, hoping to break a path of survival through our lines.

But they had lost their most powerful support. More than half of their horses had not even been unhitched from the shafts in time, and the few remaining mounted warriors had also lost the space to charge, so they could only move slowly toward us, swept along among their infantry.

“Kill them all! Wash away the shame from just now!” Rodrick shouted. His words stirred up the soldiers’ sense of humiliation, and I took the opportunity to remind our men of our favorable situation:

“They have no horses! Kill them!”

When our shame met the enemy’s disadvantage, what erupted from it was the courage of revenge. The soldiers around me shouted loudly and once again bravely faced their opponents. This time, they fought in the way they were used to. The formation of swords, shields, and long spears gained an overwhelming advantage when it clashed with enemies who carried only a single kind of weapon. Such advantages in troop type and numbers were not something that courage alone could make up for.

The ambushers hiding on both sides joined the battle as well. They had achieved their planned objective, not letting a single living enemy into the woods by the roadside. To accomplish this, like Red Flame’s cavalry, they abandoned a more ferocious way of fighting and pressed inward from both sides like two walls.

“Press forward! Press forward!” That brave officer tried with all his might to control the situation. It was precisely because of his presence that the Winston soldiers did not completely collapse. He was a true soldier, always appearing where the fighting was most brutal. He had already seen through our intentions and shouted his orders loudly.

“Break out! Even if just one man gets through, return to the city quickly and report to His Highness!”

“Jeff!” Rodrick gave me a look from not far away and spurred his horse toward that officer in the middle of the melee. I took over his position and gave orders while fighting, struggling to keep the formation tight and complete.

“Clang!” The weapons of the two commanders clashed together with a crisp sound, and then their two tall warhorses got tangled up with each other. In terms of combat skill and experience, Rodrick was clearly no match for his seasoned opponent, but the favorable situation and the abundant stamina of youth made up for what he lacked. The Winston commander, trapped in the encirclement, had to spare part of his attention to direct his already chaotic troops, which kept giving Rodrick chances to strike.

Suddenly, with a heavy, unreserved strike from Rodrick, the Winston officer, unable to concentrate, was finally wounded and fell from his horse. The sword cut into his left chest, and a great gush of blood poured out from his wound, instantly soaking the earth beneath him. In the chaos of battle, I saw him seem to say something to Rodrick. Rodrick dismounted, listened in silence, and took something from him. Moments later, Rodrick’s longsword pierced through his body, forever ending the enemy’s pain. When my comrade, who had just achieved great merit, returned to my side, his expression was a little melancholy.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, holding my wounded arm and looking at the battlefield where the outcome was already decided.

“Killing a good man does not make one happy.” Rodrick replied. He took out a pendant. Set in the center of this pendant was a small, exquisite sketch of a young, handsome soldier in uniform, whose eyes and brows bore a slight resemblance to Rodrick.

“He said I looked just like his son, and that I was as brave as his son too. He wished me good luck, and to survive the war…”

“…His son died in battle.”

Rodrick’s voice was dim. He lowered his head and carefully hung the pendant around his neck, gently stroking the patterns on it, and used a brief moment of silence to absorb the kind blessing from a noble opponent. When he raised his head again, the expression of a brave and resolute warrior returned to his face, and he carefully observed the changes on the battlefield.

On the battlefield, more sons and fathers were dying!

…

Before long:

“Help! Open the city gates!” About a hundred ragged Winston Light Cavalry soldiers shouted wildly as they charged toward the towering Davo City. Their armor was broken and battered, and they were covered in blood and filth—clearly they had just been through a brutal battle. Behind them, a large number of Delanmaya soldiers shouted as they chased after them.

The Light Cavalry soldiers being pursued seemed very exhausted, struggling to keep their bodies on their horses’ backs. But even so, they still displayed the fierce fighting skill of the people of the Northlands. From time to time, they twisted around to shoot arrows, knocking the pursuing Delanmayan riders off their horses.

During the flight, one rider tumbled off his horse and lay motionless on the ground. His back was stuck full of arrows. Those vicious weapons greedily drank his blood like vampires.

“Calvin!” A fleeing Winston soldier turned back and shouted, his voice full of grief and pain. It seemed that the man who had fallen from his horse was his close friend or relative. The footsteps of the pursuers instantly swallowed up the dead man’s body. What he had lost was not only his friend’s life, but also his friend’s body. He looked back unwillingly and resentfully, then turned his angry and sorrowful gaze toward the city.

“It’s a trap! Those supplies were a trap!” He shouted desperately toward the city wall. “Our commander sacrificed himself, but we fought our way out! Go report to His Highness quickly! Do not let our brothers die in vain!”

“Don’t let them get away!” Dakla’s voice came from the infantry formation farther behind. Although they could not see him, this wild and rough officer’s voice from the Delanmaya Army was no stranger to the defenders in the city.

The tightly shut gates of Davo City opened, and the drawbridge was lowered. Another squad of knights swiftly passed through the city gates, kicking up dust like a gust of wind. They swept across the rear flank of their comrades, using a tight, precise rain of arrows to slow down the pursuers, then quickly wove back and forth, doing everything they could to slow the pursuit and protect their fellow soldiers.

With the cover of their allies, the fleeing Winston cavalry seemed much more at ease. They slowed down, reorganized their formation, and filed one by one through the city gates. The wide-open gate suddenly seemed crowded in the twilight, like a greedy mouth stuffed with too much bread and meat.

Suddenly, the Winston riders who had retreated into the city gate began to stir. Their horses charged around wildly as if out of control. Some, as if gone mad, knocked the gate guards to the ground and then stomped them with their hooves. No matter how much the riders on their backs shouted at them, the horses refused to stop. Some riders simply gave up on their mounts and jumped off, and then somehow “accidentally” left several deep wounds on the horses’ rumps or hind legs, sending the warhorses charging deeper into the city or straight out of the gates to rescue their allies.

Before long, the madness of the horses spread to their masters. Some soldiers, whose nerves had been frayed by the cruel battle, swung their blades at every figure that passed in front of them. Although their comrades tried to stop them, it did not seem to work very well.

By the time the defenders realized something was wrong with this group of soldiers, the situation was already completely out of control. These hundred or so fleeing cavalry had seized the city gates and the ropes of the drawbridge. Their behavior did not match soldiers who had just been through a fierce battle at all. They shouted morale-boosting slogans while viciously swinging their weapons at their own comrades who wore the same uniforms. The soldiers who had just been listless, pale, and quiet now seemed like wild beasts biting with blood in their mouths, slaughtering in ways beyond the ordinary. They splashed the blood of the defenders onto their own bodies again and again, as if watering their own courage with the enemies’ lives.

The soldier who had been calling out at the gate from outside tossed a torch far out through the gate and shouted at the top of his voice:

“Charge!”

That was Riley’s voice.

The large force of pursuers outside the city suddenly sped up, ignoring the entanglement of that squad of Light Cavalry, and charged straight at the city gates. Only a small squad of Light Cavalry rushed toward them, tangling with those panicked and confused soldiers.

This was, of course, a trap. Under our encirclement, not a single soldier of the Winston army that had seized the grain had slipped through the net. Some of them tried to surrender, but what received their requests was merciless slaughter. Slaughtering opponents who had lost their will and were too weak to resist—this was not something we wanted to do, but tonight we did it once. Compared with what we hoped to gain, the honor of soldiers had to be temporarily cast aside. We did not need this small victory, but we needed the fact that this army had come out of the city to raid, and we needed their uniforms.

We had once considered disguising ourselves as victorious enemies escorting the grain to trick our way into the city, but Fred analyzed that it would not work: if we did that, the main force attacking the city would be too far away, the enemy would have too much time to react, and we could not count on persuading the Winston commander to help us. Therefore, pretending to be a defeated army was the best method. This way, the appearance of a large number of troops was reasonable, and the Winston soldiers would not have much time to think.

This disguised defeated army consisted of Roll and his “Ghost Daggers.”

They were the most suitable ones. They had appeared several times in the densest gatherings of the enemy, inflicting massive casualties with their tiny numbers. When it came to inflicting large numbers of casualties and seizing control of a situation in a short time against an opponent who was completely unprepared, even Dakla’s Heavy Infantry was no match for them.

To make the act look even more real, Riley volunteered to join this unit. His job was to use his talent as a former street performer to make the defenders on the city wall let down their guard even further. His performance was a great success. If we had not known the truth, we would probably have been fooled by his passionate performance as well. As for that unfortunate “Calvin” who fell off his horse, he was nothing more than a dead Winston soldier’s body tied to a horse’s back.

This was the trap Fred had designed. For others, this trap might have been too complicated and too massive—if any one link in it went wrong, it could have led to complete failure. But in Fred’s hands, it was completed perfectly, and the gates of Davo City were opening wide for us. This reminded me of the ambush at Dragon’s Spine Canyon—that was our first battle on the battlefield, and also the decisive ambush since the war began. In that battle, we lost our comrade, my kind and amiable partner, fat Rama. In two years, the war had quickly turned a full cycle, giving Fred the chance to declare war on that enemy entrenched behind the city walls with an equally brilliant ambush. In fact, the two of them were even exactly alike in their method of impersonating friendly troops and using deception to seize the city gates.

Time really had flown by, and everything seemed to have changed too much. Those greenhorns who had been inexperienced and knew nothing of the world back then had now been pushed to the front lines of the ranks, becoming commanders who led troops to attack cities and take territory. And the invincible commander who had won every battle at the start of the war was now squeezed into a lonely city.

The only thing that had not changed was this: the war was still going on, and we were still fighting.