Chapter 111
Chapter 111
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 111
Chapter Title: Battle in the Darkness
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"The security is fucking tight, boss. We barely got close and locked eyes with three or four soldiers!"
A mercenary who had sneaked into Lucas's camp under cover of night clicked his tongue in frustration. In truth, they had underestimated the army of Lucas's territory. Back when the Brown Eagle Mercenaries had visited the castle, the soldiers had been a ragtag bunch.
But something had changed in the meantime. They now commanded hundreds of troops, all of them elite soldiers who moved with the sharp discipline of honed blades. Harding smacked his lips at his subordinate's report.
"This won't be easy. Well... if they still had that old level of strength, there wouldn't even be a territory war."
But they'd already taken the advance payment and boasted big, so they had to at least go through the motions. Harding and the Brown Eagle Mercenaries set up camp far from the army and slowly trailed them, scouting for the perfect ambush spot.
"Flatlands are out."
The open plains offered no cover for an ambush, and even if it succeeded, escape would be impossible. Especially with the cavalry and knights in their ranks—they'd be slaughtered in the middle of nowhere.
Harding eyed the crude map, barely distinguishing forests from mountains, calculated the army's route, and jabbed at one spot.
"We hit them here. Timing: just before sunset. They'll hesitate to chase us in the dark."
Full night would make the ambush harder, and broad daylight meant a long pursuit after escape. The veteran mercenaries nodded at Harding's words.
Clop-clop.
The scouting cavalry passed the spot where the mercenaries hid. Kyle had ordered no slacking on vigilance, but even they couldn't easily spot hidden foes in such dense woods.
Besides, they were still bound by their noble birth—they weren't hunters by trade. The cavalry handled scouting because they were less fatigued and highly mobile, not because of any woodsman skills.
And then the army marched through. At the vanguard rode a knight, with Kyle right behind.
The perfect moment arrived. Harding raised his hand. As the mercenaries drew crossbows, aiming at the troops passing right in front of them, Kyle glanced around and raised his own hand.
"Halt."
"Halt!"
"He said halt!"
The column stopped in an instant. The knight at the front turned puzzled eyes toward them.
"What is it, my lord?"
But only for a moment. Even the knight sensed something off and scanned the surroundings sharply. Then he lowered his visor and shouted.
"Battle stations! Battle—"
Shh! Twang!
The knight's shout. The air-ripping whistle of a bolt. Luckily, the crossbow bolt glanced off someone's armor with a deafening clang, spinning harmlessly into the air. But that wasn't the end of it.
"Enemies! Urk!"
One soldier struck by an arrow staggered and fell. But their training wasn't wasted—the troops quickly dragged him back, while shield-bearers stepped forward to weather the bolts and arrows.
In the darkening woods, officers bellowed desperately. They hated looking incompetent in front of me. To my eyes, it was an excellent response, but to those under scrutiny, maybe not.
"Fire! Return fire, you bastards!"
"Stick to training!"
"Aaaagh!"
The archers unleashed volleys blindly into the unseen woods. They might not see precisely, but ten shots meant at least one hit. Screams erupted from the trees.
And just like that, the tide turned. The initial ambush meant nothing against a fully formed defensive line. Our arrows inflicted little damage, while our counterfire drew ever more screams from the forest.
Soon, swordsmen charged in, clashing with the attackers. The raiders had no intention of a frontal fight, but our response was too swift.
Screams and clashing steel echoed through the dark woods.
"They're fleeing, my lord! Permission to charge! Let us pursue!"
As the raiders broke and ran amid our soldiers' cheers, an emboldened knight bellowed.
"No. No pursuit. For the troops as well."
Night was already falling. And in the woods, it came even sooner... They'd timed their attack for this. Pursuit would be impossible once dark set in.
"But my lord!"
I didn't mean no pursuit at all. Did we really need to send valuable soldiers after them? Risk them getting hurt before even reaching the battlefield?
"Time to dust off my old skills. Give me a bow. The strongest one you've got."
I extended my hand. One soldier swiftly handed me a longbow, its draw weight reduced for emphasis. In my grip, it looked like any ordinary bow.
"My lord! We'll follow you!"
The knights mounted up as I nocked an arrow, snorting eagerly to charge and slaughter the bastards. The raid had bruised their pride.
"You planning to chase on horseback through these woods? Lucky if your horses don't drop from exhaustion."
"Well..."
They wouldn't admit it'd kill them to dismount. I heard the shouts and clashes in the woods dying down sharply and leaped from my horse.
"Enough. I'll handle the pursuit. You lot assess the damage here and prepare a report."
I dashed into the woods, leaving the army behind. A familiar scene unfolded—not the exact forest from my old days, but woods were woods, more or less.
Tree shadows cloaked everything dark, but their traces littered the ground here and there. Tracking basics: follow the signs. Their heavy armor and weapons made footprints starkly clear, making it easy.
"Scatter and regroup there!"
"Run!"
They dispersed like they'd planned it, crashing through brush and yelling every which way. I drew on the rearmost one.
Creak!
The bow bent like it might snap. I released, feeling the heavy kick through my fingers. The arrow shot out like it'd been waiting, embedding in the thigh of the last fleeing bastard.
"Aaaagh!"
He rolled on the ground. Deep in the thigh—he wouldn't go far without yanking it out. Even if he did, blood loss would finish him.
First aid might change that... but he still wouldn't get far. As I approached the crawling man,
"Damn you!"
A figure hidden behind a tree swung an axe at me. It whistled viciously through the air. But my sword blocked it effortlessly.
"Kill that guy!"
Harding shouted at the man charging them with bow and sword. He knew who it was: Lucas Kyle, lord of Lucas territory.
"Gaaah!"
The mercenary who'd just ambushed with an axe lost his arm in a flash. Chainmail, great against thrusts and blows, tore away like paper to a slash.
"Kill him! He's alone!"
Mercenaries rushed from all sides at Harding's yell, but none withstood Kyle's blade. He deflected attacks with armor and sword, and each swing sprayed blood.
Worse, the darkness they'd counted on turned against them. In the chaotic melee, only Kyle pierced it clearly.
Each flash of his blade brought screams, and the mercenaries faltered back in fear. Amid them, Kyle roared.
"Come at me all at once, you brainless fucks!"
Clang!
A sword from behind glanced harmlessly off his back. The attacker wasn't Kyle. His blade couldn't pierce the chainmail. Then Kyle's sword whipped around. It flashed in the dark, and blood fountained from the man's neck.
"Gurk!"
The mercenary clutched his throat and collapsed. The next rush fared no better, flailing uselessly.
"It's me, you mad bastard!"
"Over here! He's here!"
Kyle didn't wait, weaving through them relentlessly. In the confusion, some swung at allies.
A crossbowman, panicked, fired at any movement nearby. Screams followed each bolt, but none hit Kyle—to their misfortune.
"You idiots! Target the big guy!"
Frustrated, Harding ranted, but to the panicked mercenaries, it was just battlefield noise. No impact.
Crunch!
A mercenary's head and helmet shattered under Kyle's sword, body crumpling. Then a scream pierced the dark:
"Run! Regroup there! Get the fuck out!"
No telling who. But with death striking unseen, they obeyed like an order. Money mattered little if dead.
Lowborn scum they might be, they valued their lives—their greatest asset.
"No! Running now means we're all dead!"
As subordinates scattered like sheep from a wolf at that single cry, horrified Harding bellowed.
Would the pursuer just give up? They might survive scattered—from their view. But for Harding, it was doom.
A mercenary band with broken cohesion was done. It was his everything... He screamed at their backs, unheard.
And then...
"So it was you."
A chilling voice came from behind. Harding whipped out his sword in haste.