Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 509 92 Act 2

The forest fell into complete silence, devoid of insect chirps or bird calls, and was thick with the aura of imminent danger.

Therefore, the series of horse hoof beats in the distance seemed particularly abrupt.

The soldiers atop the camp walls raised their muskets, aiming in the direction of the hoof beats, their fingers resting on the firing lever.

The smoldering match cord flickered dimly, and the musketeers' taut jaws were barely visible, each unconsciously swallowing saliva.

Three horsemen broke through the night, heading straight for the camp gate.

Seeing the lead horseman's black armor and silver warhorse, the soldiers on the walls immediately shouted, "Don't shoot! It's Centurion Montaigne!"

A chorus of relieved breaths filled the air above the wall as the musketeers replaced their pan covers, unhooked their matches, propped their muskets against the wall, and returned to a ready stance.

"Open the gate!"

"Creak... Creak..."

The heavy wooden barrier slowly rose, and just as the three horsemen entered the threshold, it thunderously crashed down again.

Two horsemen went to rest their mounts, while the leading one walked straight into the command tent.

The command tent was quiet, with only a few people inside.

"What's the situation?" asked Colonel Robert, propping his chin on his hand and staring at the map without looking up.

"I headed north from the bridge forest, then west. I ran at least two kilometers before encountering the enemy cavalry." Winters, removing his helmet, marked out the approximate range on the map: "I found no sign of the Herders in the bridge forest; not even a rabbit."

The barbarians didn't seem to be attacking the bridge forest camp—at least not from the north. That was the conclusion Winters had drawn from his own reconnaissance mission.

Footsteps and the clinking of armor plates once again approached from outside the tent.

"Lieutenant Varga has returned," a guard reported as he entered.

Soon after, Varga, who had scouted south, entered the tent.

"The south has erupted," Varga reported bluntly, skipping formalities: "Shouts of battle can be heard from the Northern Highlands, and flames are faintly visible from the Southern Highlands. The main camp is safe for now."

"What about the bridge?" asked Colonel Robert.

"Half destroyed," replied Varga. "The sappers are trying to repair the rest."

Paratu's cavalry had their operational space drastically reduced; the battlefield turned into a dense fog, with no one knowing what the White Lion was planning.

Despite the tactical advantage of defense, it also ceded the initiative to the enemy as a trade-off.

The tent fell quiet, and the mood turned somewhat oppressive for a moment.

"Nothing strange about it," Colonel Robert eventually said, seeing that his subordinates remained silent: "Yasin has been holding it in for over ten days; it's about time they had a good relief."

The metaphor was crass, too crass to come from a man of Colonel Robert's refinement.

A few accompanying chuckles rose, but Winters couldn't appreciate the lead's sense of humor; he felt more alarmed than amused.

"When the barbarians make a big move, it's for one of two reasons. Either their reinforcements have arrived, or ours are about to. For better or for worse, we'll see what happens in the next few days." The colonel said nonchalantly, "Everyone go get some rest. We need to eat well and sleep well to have the strength to fight."

The colonel arranged a watch schedule, and the officers dispersed.

That night, everyone was on edge and alert.

The soldiers on watch strained their eyes wide open, both hoping to spot the enemy emerging from the pitch-black tree line behind them and wishing to see nothing at all.

The soldiers not on duty also slept restlessly, most without even removing their armor, simply lying down to sleep as they were.

Gradually, wounded cavalry from Alpad's Department returned to the bridge forest camp, many bearing injuries.

When asked about the battle, they couldn't give a clear account—they had been separated from the main force during the melee.

One moment they were brandishing sabers, charging and slashing, and the next they realized their enemies and comrades had vanished; thus, they headed toward the nearest friendly forces.

It wasn't their fault; most night battles were chaotic like this: the two sides clashed, fought blindly for a while, then retreated, leaving behind the wounded and dead.

In such situations, those who come prepared always have the advantage.

After questioning each one, Colonel Robert gained a clear understanding of Alpad's situation.

Clearly, General Alpad's cavalry had encountered an ambush.

After a fierce battle, they apparently repelled the barbarians—otherwise, it wouldn't just be a few wounded stragglers coming back.

And General Alpad continued northward along the riverbank with the main cavalry force.

Colonel Robert ordered the scattered cavalry to be accommodated and arranged for hot salt water to be prepared for treating the wounded.

As time went on, more and more separated and wounded soldiers returned to the bridge forest camp; several officers were unconscious and had been carried back by their warhorses.

Colonel Robert received increasingly detailed reports: the Herders upriver had been routed, and Alpad continued to advance north, encountering more and more Herder cavalry.

The fierce onslaught of Paratu's cavalry ended with a great fire that turned the sky a blazing red.

The billowing smoke rose high into the sky, clear even to the scouts sent out by Colonel Robert.

Before this, General Alpad had burned every tree within fifty li of the bridge, excluding the bridge forest.

In hindsight, the range of fifty li was too conservative and underestimated the White Lion.

This time, Alpad likely fought even further afield.

While everyone celebrated Alpad's victory, Winters had a nagging sense of foreboding. He couldn't explain why—perhaps it was just because it all seemed too easy.

It wasn't just Winters who felt uneasy; Colonel Robert also harbored worries—though he concealed them well.