The Amber Sword

Chapter 222 – Looking at victory in the distance

Count Randner’s army advanced with difficulty. They were currently engaged with the enemy mercenaries. Even though the soldiers from the Grey Bear and Kruss regions scaled the fortress’s earthen walls, the mercenaries’ will seemed to greatly surpass the imagination of the various Aouine nobles who were observing the battlefield. The huge army was repelled at crucial moments several times, and they did not break past the enemy’s defensive lines for consecutive two days .

The battle was extremely vicious and the soldiers’ blood stained River Gris red.

The unmoved Lord Palas gripped his longsword and observed the entire battlefield like a cold Grim Reaper, stubbornly maintaining his army’s current pace. Once the battle had reached this phase, there was no need to care about many lives were lost, because it would be victory when they took one more step forward.

He sought to find the chance to deal the final blow— The geographical advantage that the rebels had was almost peeled away, while his army still kept their high morale.

His eyes suddenly glinted.

“Get Lord Weld to advance in that direction,” Lord Palas pointed at an empty stretch of trees, “stop looking at me like you’re questioning my orders, just get him to do it and he will understand where to attack!”

The messenger was momentarily at a loss for words.

“An Elven archer!” One of the riders managed to spot him and shrieked, and the entire cavalry unit unbuckled the shields from their mounts to guard their throats. To a child, the Elven archers were legendary sharpshooters, but for a soldier on the battlefield, they were the definition of a nightmare.

It was especially so for Elves that had a greyish-green tinge to their skin. They were Windrunner Elves.

The Nightsong Tiger peeked out from a carefully hidden ditch, glanced at the enemy riders’ response, and then tucked his head back.

“These soldiers are quite the veterans.” He gestured.

“But it’s useless, hehe.” The mercenaries’ eyes were somewhat hollow because of the constant battles that they fought, but there was a streak of cruelty in them. They were smirking.

Indeed, the cavalry’s actions were useless.

There was a beam of white light. That projectile actually pierced through the center of a rider’s shield and neck. It even broke through the first victim completely to strike the rider that was behind him, and the latter was sent flying to the ground with a massive thud.

It was only then that the first rider who got shot fell silently to the ground.

“A Silver-ranked archer!” Lord Weld instantly thought he had fallen into a huge trap as he stared at the Grim Reaper on the fortress.

It seemed like that elf had turned into a cannon— Each time he raised his longbow, there would be at least one rider amongst the charging cavalry who fell down his mount.

Lord Weld felt a painful headache assaulting him, but he was at least still a capable commander. He immediately pulled out his longsword and ordered:

“Move closer and suppress him with the hand cannons!”

A Silver-ranked sharpshooter’s damage was too great. At the rate of two arrows fired in a second, Lord Weld thought that the morale of his men would collapse first before they even got to fight anything.

The whistling in the forest caused by the arrows was like summoning calls for their souls, but the Crimson Flagbearers displayed their tenacity as elites. They charged forward with high spirits despite the circumstances, and they reached the range to fire their hand cannons quickly.

Lord Weld secretly exhaled with relief. He raised his hand and the riders responded by aiming with their guns, and it seemed like victory was at hand as the crimson flags flew brilliantly. As long as they entered the enemy’s defensive lines, they would be able to give a decisive blow to the rebels.

Unfortunately, the victory that they had envisioned could only be seen from afar—

The Nightsong Tiger snapped his fingers:

“It’s time for our performance.”

The uneven ground that was covered with dead leaves and snow suddenly parted and rows of ‘scarecrows’ suddenly stood up.

Naturally, these were the mercenaries who had camouflaged themselves superbly.

Lord Weld felt his heart plummet.

“Ambush!” The Crimson Flagbearers panicked.

The Nightsong Tiger licked his lips and threw out his axe that spun quickly.

The nearest Crimson Flagbearer felt like time had slowed down, but there was nothing he could do to avoid the projectile. There was a sharp cry as he fell to the ground face-down. The rider next to him prepared his lance to strike the Nightsong Tiger, but the latter dodged without any excessive movement and struck back with a broadsword on his left hand, cutting a deep wound across that hapless rider across the waist.

A string of red liquid pearls scattered across the misty air along with a painful cry.

The impact on that man caused an imbalance on his mount and they both crashed onto the ground with terrifying force. Lord Weld stared at this scene in shock. The enemies in front of them were most likely knights, or at least they were incredibly experienced Silver-ranked mercenaries.

Hope shattered like a crystal statue thrown onto the floor.

“You fucking rebels!” Lord Weld felt a trace of sorrow in his mind, but he did not retreat and raised his longsword instead. He charged towards the Nightsong Tiger with a resolute expression: “Die!”

An arrow pierced through that noble.

The Elf on the fortress put away his longbow.