Chapter 78: Deadly Chaos

It was a silent night.

The impenetrable blackness sealed heaven and earth like an iron curtain, clutching everything tightly in its boundless, enormous hand. A few strands of faint light escaped fearfully through the gaps between its fingers, giving us the last weak scraps of vision, letting us barely make out the huge, mysterious shadows in the distance. Even beasts and insects shrank back from this lonely, almost terrifying night, sinking away to hide in places they thought were safe, using mind-blanking sleep to resist the loneliness of the darkness. Almost even the stars had fallen asleep; the few tiny, glimmering specks left on the sky struggled wearily, as if using all their strength to break free from the encirclement of the dark.

I loved this night. This dim, lightless night was exactly what we needed. It let us approach Chamela City, where torchlight swayed, as closely as possible, and let the soldiers hiding in the thick grass conceal their forms with the help of the murky darkness.

A grasshopper seemed to have crawled onto my ear—or maybe it was a large ant. That naughty little thing made my ear itch. I carefully raised my hand and brushed away the troublemaker with the smallest possible movement, my eyes never leaving the tightly shut city gate ahead. There was no need to look back. I knew that nearly twenty thousand pairs of eyes around me were watching that place with the same tension and focus as mine. No explanation was needed. We all knew that behind that city gate lay not only our deadly enemies in this battle, but also our only chance of victory and survival. At this moment, even a brief lapse of attention could cause us to miss the entire battle and deliver our lives into the hands of the god of the dead, who showed no mercy. Faced with this utterly grave matter of life and death, everyone forced out the toughest side of their character and poured all their focus onto that wall behind which their lives lay.

Suddenly, a faint noise came from atop the city wall, and then a few torches swayed gently. Perhaps it was a nervous reaction from being too tense, but I suddenly thought I heard the slow, chaotic sound of livestock hooves and the creaking of turning wheels. A strange sensation made my sensitive nerve endings tingle, as if an electric current were crawling up my spine. I licked my dry lips, and the fingertips of my right hand gripping the short sword had turned white from gripping too hard. Though I had been through countless battles, I still felt nervous like a novice every time before combat. I was not ashamed of this: only those whose humanity had truly been erased by war could feel nothing about slaughtering their own kind.

From the direction of the city gate came a rumbling sound. The gate was opened, and the drawbridge crossing the moat was also slowly lowered. Then I clearly heard the coarse, gasping hisses and cries of livestock. There was a rustling stir from the grass around us, like a night wind sweeping across the meadow—this was the sound of my soldiers preparing to move. With their movements, I felt my tense, stiff muscles becoming soft and elastic again, gradually approaching the right state for battle. Years of fighting had truly turned me into a warrior, making me better able to adjust my body the closer I came to life-and-death combat.

When about ten grain wagons had driven out of the city gate, a heavy, oppressive, yet overwhelmingly loud horn blast shattered the loneliness of the night. As the horn sounded, countless soldiers in armor and holding sharp weapons rose up from the previously calm grass not far from Chamela City. The metal scales on their bodies reflected the torchlight swaying atop the city wall, like boiling blood. Fred and Red Flame were not there, because cavalry could not get that close to the walls. They were hidden in the woods farther away, and by now they should have received the signal to attack and were already heading here.

“Charge!” I swung my short sword, pointing toward the city gate. No more complicated orders were needed. The soldiers already knew their mission and surged toward where my sword tip pointed.

The area around the city gate had already fallen into chaos. The Cretan defenders probably had never dreamed, even in nightmares, that we would appear there in such an unexpected way. In their imagination, we should have been far away in an unreachable distance, struggling with supply problems. The transport wagons that had already left the gate panicked and tried to turn around, but heavily loaded wagons, slow livestock, and drivers who had never been tested on a battlefield were clearly no match for trained soldiers. They simply could not get back through the gate in time. On the contrary, the frightened people and animals crowded together in panic, clogging the originally spacious-looking gateway so tightly that not even water could pass.

The Cretan soldiers escorting the wagons anxiously drove the vehicles, trying to clear them away from the gate. Their long spears and heavy swords did not achieve the desired effect; instead, they only made the drivers more frantic with fear. Those frightened animals leaped and butted restlessly, shoving their companions aside. The wagons on the drawbridge wriggled helplessly like a giant green caterpillar. From time to time, a person or a sack of grain on a wagon was squeezed off into the water, splashing up foam and bringing cries of surprise.

Just as chaos was erupting around the city gate, our army had already charged to the foot of the wall.

“Seize the gate!” On my left front, Rodrick gave the order at just the right moment. He calmly adjusted the formation and directed the swiftest Light Infantry units to capture the gate.

God only knew how tempting this wide-open gate was to us, who had to take Chamela Town as quickly as possible. It was like bread placed at the mouth of a starving man, enough to make even the most cowardly person summon the fiercest courage. The soldiers waved their weapons and charged there shouting, almost completely ignoring the thick rain of arrows falling from atop the wall. Many were stuck full of those dangerous long-range weapons and collapsed to the ground, their crimson blood pouring from their wounds into the soil, merging their body heat into this land, becoming part of the wild grass, earth, and stone. But more people, wounded, stepped over their soulless bodies without even looking at these friends and kin who had been alive and moving only moments ago, rushing forward without hesitation. Their eyes were fixed on only one point: the gate, that gate, that gate bearing the blood-red color of death and the hope of life!

I wanted to praise them. I wanted to praise those warriors who were driving their weapons into the bodies of the enemy. I wanted to praise them for being brave, strong, loyal, and fearless. But I knew those words had nothing to do with those people at that moment. Their courage did not come from great convictions or noble ideals, but from being squeezed between the despair of death and the craving for life. What they were pursuing was not the glory of capturing Chamela City, but the preservation of their own precarious, humble lives—so that their breathing could continue a little longer on this land that had never lacked bloodshed.

How strange. Why was I thinking about these useless things on this battlefield where life hung by a thread? What did it prove? I was no nobler than those soldiers fighting desperately. In this war, aside from the friendship I could boast of, I did not desire anything more than they did. I was calm and clear-headed, perhaps, but I was also a fool. Those useless thoughts could not help me; they only made me weak and wavered my resolve.

“True idiots and madmen can live longer on the battlefield.” That was something Carlson had once told us. Back then, when I was young, I took it as just a joking remark. But now, I felt I was beginning to understand what it meant.

“Heavy Infantry, cover! Archers, move forward! Target: enemy archers on the wall! Shoot!” I steadied my mind and shouted the order. Compared to useless wild thoughts, this was what I should be doing.

A dense rain of arrows defied the law of gravity set by the gods, arcing upward toward the top of the wall. Compared to the enemy’s attacks from above, our long-range fire was not very powerful, but it was enough to briefly suppress the threat from the wall. Taking advantage of the short moment when the Cretan archers fell silent, Delanmaya’s Light Infantry quickly closed in on the city gate. They formed an overwhelming numerical advantage at the foot of the wall, cutting down one Cretan officer or soldier after another who had been escorting the grain. The foremost fighters had already stepped onto the drawbridge. Everything seemed to be developing in the best possible direction. Once the soles of our soldiers’ boots were stained with the dirt inside the city, the outcome of this battle would be settled. The few thousand defenders, having lost their support, could never withstand a frontal attack by nearly twenty thousand troops.

The battle should have ended right then. This victory fruit, so close at hand, was thrown away by foolish allies.

Suddenly, from the formation on the right rear came a fanatical shout, hoarse with blood-filled vocal cords: “All troops, charge! Take this town for me! Whoever enters the gate first will be heavily rewarded!”

I silently cursed “not good.” Just as I was about to shout to stop it, a similar cry suddenly rose from the right front: “Charge! Charge! Charge! This city is mine!”

As such shouts spread one after another, groups of noble private soldiers in messy formations poured out from the back ranks, pressing toward the gate in a disorderly mob. Their irregular action not only destroyed their own formation, but also smashed the orderly battle lines beneath the wall to pieces. Under the nobles’ clamor, those private soldiers even brought their bows and crossbows into the melee, and naturally they became the first targets to be slaughtered.

“Bastards! Who gave that order? All of you, fall back!” Unable to suppress the fire in my heart, I roared furiously. These greedy, ignorant scum of the army had enjoyed the best family education since childhood, yet their understanding of the battlefield and combat was far below that of an ordinary soldier. They could not even manage the most basic discipline of obedience. When their own safety and lives were at risk, they might temporarily learn to accept orders, just as not long ago they had been able to lie hidden in the dark for a whole night waiting for a chance. But once they saw the dawn of victory, they threw military honor aside and fought each other for personal gain. How could these pampered fools understand that the wrong orders they gave out of momentary greed for glory would cost the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers? And that was exactly what my mentor Carlson hated and could not tolerate the most.

“Don’t listen to this fellow! I am a Count! I don’t need to obey the commands of a commoner. Charge!”

“That’s right! No retreat! Charge…”

These fools draped in gold and silver completely ignored our warnings and self-righteously wrecked our formation. Sweat the size of beans dripped from my forehead. My chest felt as if a long rope were tightly bound around it, squeezing me until I could hardly breathe. In this chaos caused by our own side, I had completely lost control of the battlefield. All I could do was desperately try to sort out my own formation and avoid unnecessary losses caused by the disturbance of our allies—if those fools could truly be called “allies” at all. Not far away, Rodrick stood on a high spot, doing the same thing as me. His face was twisted with anger and frustration. Whenever a crazily shouting noble flashed before his eyes, his gaze shot out a light that made people afraid. I almost suspected that if those idiots ran past him while still yelling, he might actually run one of them through with his sword.

The disturbance did not last long before the thing I feared most finally appeared. With the help of the Delanmayan noble private soldiers, the Cretans survived the initial confusion caused by being caught off guard and organized active, effective defense. More archers gathered on the city wall, shooting death-carrying arrows into the bodies of Delanmayan soldiers. The escort soldiers who had been exposed outside the city gradually retreated back into the city under the cover of the blocked wagons. By this time, the noble private soldiers had completely taken the place of the troops that Rodrick and I had commanded, packed tightly into the narrow space between the wall and the drawbridge. Figures could still be seen falling into the water from time to time, but now those falling were no longer Cretan escort troops, but eager, glory-chasing Delanmayans.

Even if things continued in this way, victory would still be ours, because although the noble private soldiers were in disorder, they still held a huge numerical advantage, and many Cretan escort soldiers had already been swept into the chaotic battlefield, with no way to get back into the city.

But our opponents were not sentimental people. Just when those noble lords were dreaming of the merits and rewards about to come their way, the Cretans dumped a big basin of cold water over their heads.

No, I misspoke. What the Cretans dumped was not cold water—it was fire.

No matter how sadly the comrades trapped outside the city begged and screamed, the city gate was still shut. The commander defending the city abandoned the lives of the soldiers outside and chose a steady, cold-blooded strategy of holding the city. Then, one flaming arrow after another shot from the wall into the transport wagons. They ignited the grain on the wagons, and also ignited the deepest fear of the draft animals. The instinct of animals to fear fire drove these originally tame and strong beasts mad. Between the shut city gate and the chaotic crowd, they chose the latter. These enormous, powerful animals pulled the burning wagons and charged into the scattered private soldier formations. The noble private soldiers at the very front tried desperately to dodge, but their retreat was completely blocked by those same private soldiers who were just as eager to earn merit.

An ox horn plunged into a human body. That thing was not very sharp to begin with—the animal’s owner had deliberately filed down its sharp horns to keep it from hurting people when it went mad. But even so, that brute ox still used its sheer strength to create a terrifying wound on a soldier’s body. A hole the size of a fist appeared in that unlucky soldier’s body. In the instant the ox swung its head, I seemed to see the light from in front of him through the bloody hole in his back. His blood did not just flow or spurt—it poured out of his wound like a waterfall, and along with it poured out organs from who knew which part of his body. The most sickening part was that even so, the man was still alive. He clutched his terrifying wound, desperately tried to scoop up his scattered entrails, and used the last of his strength to open his mouth wide, but could not make a single sound. Finally, he slowly fell to the ground, writhing helplessly.

He was trampled to death by the maddened brute ox.

More arrows fell, reaping lowly lives in swaths. By now, no one could organize any threatening counterattack against them. The Cretan archers shot without restraint, even letting out bursts of piercing laughter from the city wall, mocking the deaths of the Delanmayans.

With great difficulty, the Delanmayan noble private soldiers at the front finally tipped the last transport wagon, together with the ox pulling it, into the moat, and began to slowly retreat. But the Cretans gave us no chance to catch our breath. At that moment, the city gate burst open, and what came out from it were rows upon rows of neatly lined-up Pikemen. Seeing their standard three-tier pike thrust formation, Rodrick and I both changed expression. We both remembered how, back under the walls of Kampnavia, Rodrick had used the same formation to meet Winston’s Heavy Infantry. In such a narrow passage, this kind of pike formation could be called the most threatening attack-and-defense formation, and no close-combat unit could stand against it. The unit before us might not be as good as the “Fang of Longing” that Rodrick had personally built, but it could still count as a fairly outstanding pike unit. And their opponents were far inferior to Winston’s elite Heavy Infantry.

“Archers! Defensive formation! Cover the retreat!” I gave the order in a panic, trying my best to save the lives of the soldiers at the front, but it was useless. Because the road was blocked, the noble private soldiers simply could not withdraw from the narrow drawbridge area, and the Cretan soldiers came very quickly. In a moment, they had already made contact with the scattered private troops. The two forces were too close together, and we were too far away to provide any effective cover.

If there was any word that could express how I felt at that moment, it was “despair.” I had never felt despair so vividly as I did now, especially when that despair was built on a feeling of overwhelming grievance and humiliation. We were very likely going to lose a battle that should have been an easy victory, and the people who caused all this would escape punishment through death. What they had destroyed was not just their own reputations, but the honor of Fred—my noble, honest friend—and of my many close comrades in arms. Even I, a tavern owner, an insignificant nobody, would have my reputation dragged down by their stupidity. When I thought of this, I felt a depression in my chest with no way to vent. I only wanted to scream wildly or swing my sword and hack at something.

Who could save us? Maybe Fred could, if he were here. But at this moment, he was still galloping here. Although I could already see the figures of our cavalry formation, by the time he arrived, everything would probably already be out of control. The Cretans would finish their slaughter at the foot of the wall, calmly retreat back inside, and leave us with enormous losses, low morale, and final defeat.

“Prepare the ladders! Cross the river and assault the city!” Suddenly, a steady voice came from some unknown corner in the distance, startling me.