Chapter 95: The Battle of Falling Snow

“Clang!” I blocked a heavy sword, the massive impact climbing up my right arm to my chest, making my heart sink. My right hand could barely hold steady, and the longsword in my hand threatened to fly out at any moment.

That sword came again, sweeping toward my left waist. I wisely chose not to meet it head-on. Instead, I raised my sword vertically to the left, lightly scraping against the incoming blade, then turned right and stepped forward, closing the distance between me and my opponent. Before he could retract his weapon to defend, my sword slashed down diagonally from his left shoulder, splashing up a cloud of red.

This turning slash made me dizzy. My feet staggered two steps to the right before I steadied myself. At that moment, I felt my right hand go numb.

How many enemies had died by my hand now? Eleven, or twelve? I couldn’t remember anymore. In battle, I couldn’t even see their faces—only swinging my sword again and again, defending, attacking, until one of us fell.

I was so exhausted I could barely describe it. I truly wanted to just lie down and leave this troublesome, sorrowful world forever. But whenever I closed my eyes in exhaustion, I could always seem to see Miraze sitting upright on his horse beneath that banner symbolizing power and authority, gleefully watching our destruction. Every time that happened, I managed to muster my remaining courage and strength, cutting down the opponent before me at the crossroads of life and death, again and again.

In a person’s life, they encounter many opponents. Some of them are outstanding, excellent, and worthy of respect. When facing them, you might even think, “Even losing to him would be an honor.” And in fact, that was true—many warriors on the battlefield earned the sincere admiration of their enemies, and even in defeat, they felt no shame at all.

But there was always that one kind of person who made you feel hatred and disgust almost instinctively. Not just losing to him—even bending your back slightly in front of him would feel like a tremendous humiliation. That kind of enemy made you feel you must not lose to anyone more than to him. Merely mentioning his name or recalling his face unleashed endless hatred within you, driving you to accomplish things beyond your abilities.

For me, Miraze was exactly that kind of person!

I knelt on one knee, planted my sword vertically into the ground, tore off a strip of cloth, and bound it around the wound on my left hand using my right hand and my teeth. Then I spat out a mouthful of saliva mixed with blood and dirt, gasping heavily as I stood back up.

Another enemy rushed at me. Perhaps it was my imagination, but his eyes were wild and arrogant, reminding me of Miraze’s revolting face. In a daze, Miraze’s face grinned at me maliciously, as if my dying right in front of him would bring him immense satisfaction.

How could I lose to him? Even the thought made my blood surge with fury, making me want to tear open my own chest to vent this rage!

The next moment, my sword pierced through my opponent’s throat. His left hand flailed and grabbed onto my shoulder, clutching me fiercely, then gradually slackened. I pulled back my sword and staggered to push his body away. His face wore an expression of disbelief, as if even in death he couldn’t understand how someone whose stamina had reached its limit could still counterattack with such terrifying speed and strength.

He didn’t know that although my body was exhausted, my soul was burning.

“Jeff, are you alright!” Finally, Rodrick led his men to join my side of the defense line. My task was temporarily complete, and I could catch my breath.

“Never better!” I leaned on my longsword, swaying as I walked toward him.

“You’re worn out. I was afraid I’d come too late and find your corpse.” He directed the soldiers to fill the gaps, preparing for the next wave of attack.

“Don’t be ridiculous—who would die at that man’s hands!” I made a contemptuous gesture toward Miraze’s main camp to the north. It was only then that I realized my strength had truly reached its limit—even the simple act of raising my arm caused shortness of breath.

“Take my horse. Fred is waiting for you. This battle should be about to end…”

“Is that so? I really can’t wait.” I took his reins, climbed onto the horse with effort, and turned back to point at the battlefield behind me. “They’re coming up. You should be careful yourself—don’t die here.”

“Impossible!” Rodrick’s eyes shone brightly as he drew his sword. “Like you said, who would die at the hands of that despicable man.”

“Defensive formation! Spearmen to the front! Archers, prepare…” Rodrick’s voice was firm and powerful, just like his unshakeable heart.

No army could defeat an enemy by relying solely on defense—especially when that army, with only a little over ten thousand men, faced more than fifty thousand enemies head-on in an open plain.

Our line remained solid, but that solidity was built entirely upon the completeness of our formation and the bravery of our soldiers. If we let this battle drag on pointlessly, then when exhaustion and despair completely overwhelmed the soldiers’ will to win, our end would come.

We had come for revenge. For us, only total victory would give this battle any meaning.

So, while the battle was still deadlocked, Fred shattered the temporary balance on the battlefield.

When I reached Fred’s side, the northern section of our defense line seemed to be collapsing. The soldiers holding that line were retreating step by step, seemingly at the limits of their stamina, no longer able to block the enemy’s attacks.

Even as they retreated, those brave people still displayed their toughness and tenacity. Although the line had nearly collapsed into a U-shape, they still held the advantaged enemy firmly at the perimeter, continuing this difficult battle with the most tenacious aspect of their nature.

This defense line was so strong that no matter how the enemy before us trampled and stomped, they could never break through.

But this defense line was also so fragile that it seemed just a little more pressure could topple it entirely.

This fact, which even I could see, naturally wasn’t lost on the shrewd Miraze. He seemed tired of this battle with no end in sight and wanted it to conclude sooner. He brought up about five thousand cavalry from his rear formation, advancing them toward this side of the defense line.

The cavalry didn’t charge immediately. The horrific slaughter at the beginning of the battle had made them cautious. Although they didn’t know exactly what had happened, anyone could see that we had set up traps specifically targeting cavalry on the battlefield.

Of course, they didn’t know that the magic effect of the Slipperiness Spell had already worn off. When they cautiously crossed about four-fifths of the open ground between the two armies, they finally became convinced there were no more traps ahead and began their charge. The infantry formation originally blocking the front of our defense line withdrew to both sides in advance, clearing the way for their more impactful allies. The deeply concave defense line was now completely exposed before the powerful cavalry, like a wounded sheep facing a pack of hungry wolves.

“Can you still fight?” Fred looked straight ahead without turning his head, but I knew he was asking me.

“Who are you asking?” I straightened my back, drew my sword, and retorted defiantly. Yes, my limbs might no longer be able to withstand any intense movement at this moment, but I would rather die than miss this final battle.

Hearing my words, Fred’s face broke into a smile: “Then let us end this battle…”

“…with our victory, or our death!”

As the enemy cavalry was about to close in, they saw in surprise that the precarious defense line actively split to the left and right, exposing a completely undefended passage before them. The brave soldiers who had been stubbornly holding their positions now completely abandoned their line, removing the last obstacle protecting the battlefield.

Then, they saw the starry sky.

Warhorses neighed, light flashed, and a group of knights burst forth with a proud bearing they could not have imagined. Galloping? Leaping? Neither. Before these warriors like Gods of War, all the words in the world seemed insufficient—no one could find an appropriate term to describe their movements. If we must find a word close to it, it would be “flying.”

They crouched low on their horses, riding against the howling cold wind, flying close to the ground. The dazzling light radiating from their bodies reflected across the snow-covered battlefield, painting a brilliant trail of light and shadow, like rainbows and flowing clouds. They were stars flying across the horizon, illuminating the path of our victory.

Finally, Fred drew his blade, and also revealed his “Star Knights.”

From the very beginning, this battle had been unfolding step by step according to Fred’s plan: Miraze’s cavalry fell into magical traps, forcing him to send a large number of infantry to engage us head-on, greatly reducing the troops that could guard his flanks. Then the defensive battle was really just to buy time—the dense magical traps on the battlefield were equally dangerous to us, and we had to wait until their effects completely wore off before we could launch our offense. When the time came, Fred deliberately showed a weakness, once again peeling a powerful force away from Miraze’s side. At that point, nothing could stop our charge.

This was not a risk-free tactic, but it was a gamble we had to take. If Miraze, after seeing our weakness, remained completely unmoved and relied entirely on his numerical advantage to gradually dismantle our defense line, then our Magic Cavalry would have no room to charge, and could only be ground down uselessly by the enemy’s attrition, with even the chance of escape slim. We were betting on Miraze’s intelligence and tactical acumen: after all, he was an outstanding and proud commander. If there was an opportunity to win faster and more brilliantly, he would never choose an ugly way.

In fact, his choice wasn’t wrong. Any excellent general would not miss such an opportunity for victory. I believed that even Fred, in his position, would have made the same decision.

His only flaw was not knowing that his opponent still possessed such a terrifying force.

When the two cavalries clashed, our enemies were still at a relatively slow speed because they hadn’t been given enough space to charge.

They no longer had any need to charge!

“Shrrrk!” Fred raised his black war blade and effortlessly took the head of the foremost opponent. The headless knight seemed not yet aware of his own death, galloping far on his warhorse while still holding his long blade. A flood of red sprayed from his neck, dyeing the path he had ridden red.

Fred licked the blood-stained edge of his blade cruelly, then shouted: “By blood as witness, no victory, no return!” That vivid color hung at the corner of his mouth, adding a touch of wickedness to his handsome face.

“By blood as witness, no victory, no return!” A mighty roar rose across the battlefield as we charged head-on at the enemies who had no time to dodge. Our opponents fought desperately, trying to counter our strength with their courage. But the power we possessed was not something they could resist. The enemy cavalry formation was like paper beneath a blade before us—torn apart the moment we made contact, without even a loud cry of resistance.

If we were a drifting sea of stars, shimmering in this gloomy winter morning, then the land we trampled was a red Milky Way formed by flowing blood.

At this moment, the sky, suppressed by dark clouds for too long, finally erupted. A bright blue arc of lightning streaked across the sky from the other end, piercing through the heavens, as if a sword had cut open a wound in the darkest place between heaven and earth, letting the long-suppressed light burst forth completely.

Like an all-too-obvious omen, the sky suddenly darkened. Even if you hadn’t yet heard the thunder, the lightning would tell you everything. A thin layer of snowflakes, like grains of salt, was carried in the wind, lightly tapping against the soldiers’ armor and faces. The snowflakes grew more numerous and denser, soon becoming clearly visible crystalline flakes, swaying unceasingly in the wind.

They landed on my face, but I felt no cold touch. On the contrary, I felt them scorching hot, like clusters of white flames burning.

What was burning was not snow—it was blood—the springs of life that filled my body and gave me strength.

“By blood as witness, no victory, no return!” This was not a shout from my throat, but from my boiling blood. Fatigue and exhaustion—those negative feelings hindering my fight—vanished in an instant. I felt like a sharp sword, capable of cutting through any obstacle before me.

“Kill!” With a swing of my longsword, an arm holding a weapon fell to the ground before me. The wounded soldier wailed as he clutched the wound with his remaining hand, where his arm once grew.

“Kill!” After a clash of double swords, the enemy charging at me couldn’t withstand such tremendous impact and tumbled off his horse.

“Kill!” My sword lodged in the ribs of the enemy before me, and I couldn’t pull it out in time. As our horses crossed paths, my enemy left this world with my weapon embedded in him.

I drew the spare sword from my saddle…

I guarantee you’ve never seen cavalry combat like this. Our opponents didn’t even have the right to rout—they could only let us ride through their midst, splitting them into left and right halves from the very center of what should have been their strongest formation, like a bamboo knife splitting bamboo strips, like a pair of scissors cutting through cloth.

In the end, we completely pierced through them.

It was like passing through a tunnel of blood. Every Star Knight who burst out of the enemy formation was covered in a layer of wet red. The colorful magical light refracted through that flowing layer of red, revealing an unprecedented, chilling murderous aura.

No one paid attention to those scattered cavalrymen anymore—they no longer posed much of a threat. Behind us, the defense line that had nearly collapsed had healed itself, looking even more solid than when it was first formed. This was the true face of this defense line; this was the real strength of these soldiers. There was no longer any need to lure the enemy with displays of weakness—all they had to do was hold their ground. The key to the door of victory had already passed from their hands to our sword edges. In the current situation, we three thousand light cavalry were the key to this victory or defeat. No matter how dangerous our situation was, as long as we killed Miraze before being annihilated, we would win this battle.

“Target, enemy main camp! Full charge, forward only, never retreat!” Fred shouted, pointing his war blade toward where Miraze stood.

“Miraze, your life is mine!” Red Flame roared loudly. The Elf Ranger’s voice carried to nearly every corner of the battlefield. He swung his blade with his right hand, the remaining blood on the edge flying off like a blood arrow, pointing straight at Miraze’s direction.

Everyone raised their weapons at that moment—even Poirot leveled his staff, pointing it at Miraze. Everyone knew we had only one true enemy, and he was directly ahead of us. He had betrayed our brothers, stripped us of our honor, and forced our comrades to face us in battle. Kill him—that was truly the only command.

This was the final moment. Do you see, Riley? The enemy who sold your life is straight ahead. If your soul still has awareness, if you know how eager we are to avenge you, please protect us, inspire us, and let us reclaim your justice with our own hands.

If you permit, I hope the hand that holds the sword of vengeance is mine!

I extended my right arm, raising my sword horizontally. At the tip of the blade, Miraze’s frantic and panicked expression grew clearer and clearer. He had no time to retreat, and could no longer move the ten thousand soldiers behind him to shield himself.

Before the most powerful charging force that human power could create, all his actions were like those of a clown in a theater troupe—meaningless except for provoking laughter.

“Stop them! Stop them!” The north wind carried Miraze’s desperate roar as he did everything possible to move his royal guards in front of him to block us. I didn’t envy the knights across from us at all, with their bright armor and tall horses—I knew what kind of enemy they were facing. Caught unprepared, they were doomed to lose this contest of strength against strength.

Snow drifted, blood burned. The notched swords and blades hummed low in the wind, as if singing for the departed heroes, as if chanting the prelude to death.

The final battle had finally arrived.