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Chapter 14: Infiltration
When Brandon led his light cavalry swiftly through the forest, pinpointing the undead scout cavalry groping their way through the valley below, everyone was stunned.
It was as if fantasy had turned to reality—this young leader truly possessed foresight.
Only Retto and Voltaron guessed the role of the Gargoyle, but there was no time to dwell on it. Brandon had already issued the attack order. Fifty riders surged downhill under his command, sealing off all possible retreat routes for the skeleton cavalry—or rather, they had none to begin with.
Because Brandon knew exactly how they would react.
As he arranged the cavalry’s assault paths, his image in the mercenaries’ eyes transcended that of a mere excellent commander—he became something miraculous. The battle began with a horizontal slash of his sword, cutting four or five skeleton soldiers in half. Brandon charged ahead into the undead ranks, scattering any skeleton cavalry foolish enough to block him, sending them flying seven or eight meters back with a single strike. Soon, only the skeletal wizard leading them remained.
One swift decapitation later, Brandon regrouped his forces for another lightning-fast ambush. The battle ended almost identically to the previous night. Only one peacekeeping cavalryman had suffered an injury—a shallow cut to his left rib. Brandon left him behind, knowing the militia following up would take care of him, and then they pressed onward.
Within fifteen minutes, they had routed another undead scout cavalry unit on the opposite hillside. After two battles, three men had been injured or incapacitated. Naturally, Brandon attended to each of them personally, applying bandages. Though his actions seemed meticulous, in truth, he was exploiting his Battlefield First Aid ability—an absurdly overpowered skill that worked faster than even the most potent hemostatic agents.
This seemingly minor act further solidified his reputation among the troops. Even Voltaron, who had consistently opposed him, couldn't help but think that Brandon must be a war god descended from the heavens.
Only the mythic war god Mars could possess such overwhelming dominance.
Yet Brandon found it somewhat dull. Madara’s cavalry tactics in this era were rigid and predictable, far less flexible than those refined by Enstallone’s reforms. To him, it felt like fighting training AIs again.
The only consolation was the 779 experience points he gained from the two battles, leveling him up to level 17.
Meanwhile, as Freya’s refugee column began abandoning their wagons behind them, Madara’s side encountered an even greater problem.
…………
It was well-known that Magus, the Corpse Grub, was a half-zombie. Its rotting flesh required constant maintenance to prevent it from falling off entirely.
But even exposing its bones wouldn’t matter; its necromancer apprentices regularly replenished its decaying tendons and skin, making zombies stronger and more resilient than skeleton soldiers. As a commander, however, Magus prioritized aesthetics when arranging the placement of its rotting flesh.
Yet reports from the frontlines troubled him. His necromancer apprentices had sent over ten wraiths south before nightfall, but only half returned on schedule.
Was it the refugee column? Or a trap?
Magus scratched at his patchy scalp, disturbing countless fat white maggots that scattered from his forehead, quickly burrowing into the hollows of his eye sockets and cheeks. He chewed thoughtfully.
He marked the areas patrolled by the missing wraiths on his map. Along that line, there was a high probability the refugee column was hiding.
But if the enemy could counter his wraiths, it suggested something more complex. He ordered his cunning wizard apprentices to dispatch a second wave of wraiths for confirmation. Magus estimated how long that would take, but in the meantime, he urged the zombie army ahead to quicken their pace, hoping to complete the encirclement alongside Eberton and Wesah.
There was a saying in Madara: No matter how clever the rat, it cannot escape a sealed oil jar. Under the combined pressure of himself, Kabirus, Eberton, Wesah, Diran, Ladios, and Gulob, this tiny refugee column, no matter how cunning, would have nowhere to run.
By sunrise, the southern region of Thornstone Valley would be shrouded in the shadow of Brovento’s blooming black roses, ensuring Madara’s victory. Magus reached out, patting a ghoul crouched obediently beside him like a dog. But this half-zombie commander didn’t realize that the company commander of the undead army directly ahead of Brandon was now in a dire predicament.
In fact, roughly fifteen minutes earlier, Black Knight Sasal had confirmed losing contact with two squads of skeleton cavalry under his command. He suspected they had been targeted by an unidentified Eruin force. He immediately dispatched scouts to contact the nearby eleventh company, but whether he sent wraiths or skeleton cavalry, none returned.
Now, this Black Knight realized the situation was grave.
……
When Brandon and the mercenaries appeared on the hilltop, they saw the undead company below halting to establish a defensive position. Barthom, Retto, and Mano failed to discern anything unusual, but Brandon frowned slightly.
The quality of Madara’s mid- and low-ranking officers was astonishing. Brandon had hoped the enemy commander, gripped by uncertainty, would choose to regroup with allied forces in another direction, allowing the refugees to safely pass through the gap.
But this undead commander made the most precise decision in the shortest time.
“What are they doing?”
Voltaron, familiar with Madara’s tactics, couldn’t help but ask. He glanced at Brandon, his doubts about the young man’s abilities now completely dispelled.
“They’re holding their ground. We eliminated their scout cavalry too cleanly, giving them the illusion that a force three times their size is watching them,” Brandon explained.
“Three times? Then why aren’t they regrouping with their allies? Why stay here and risk being surrounded?”
“Their commander is waiting for reinforcements from allied scouts.”
“Aren’t they afraid we’ll intercept those scouts too?” Mano asked casually, wiping his scimitar.
Brandon glanced at him. Intercepting scouts wasn’t so simple. Without the Gargoyle—an unparalleled reconnaissance unit from Amber Sword—they wouldn’t have moved so freely within the overlapping scout ranges of several undead armies.
“Eliminating scouts would confirm our presence to them. We dealt with those two skeleton cavalry units because Brandon plans to annihilate this entire company,” Retto interjected.
“Doesn’t that leave us with little time?” Mano asked.
“One hour to finish the battle and clean up,” Brandon replied.
………………
Freya led the militia into action twenty minutes later.
When Sasal saw the fir trees on the hilltop sway, rows of spear-wielding soldiers descended from the hil. He froze, their attire unlike any White Mane Legion unit he recognized.
Turning his head, he rasped, “What army is that?”
The skeletal wizard beside him bowed respectfully. “They appear to be militiamen.”
“Militiamen?”
Sasal was stunned. Could mere militiamen silently eliminate two of his skeleton cavalry squads? Something felt amiss. Rising in his saddle, he signaled behind him.
“Switch to bows—”
“Aim at 140 feet, volley fire, release!”
The skeleton soldiers quickly drew their longbows, the creaking strings releasing a dark cloud of arrows that arced high into the air, plunging into the fir trees on the slope.
The wind was strong, and the arrows lacked precision. But for poorly trained militiamen, the psychological impact was significant. The advancing militia faltered, their formation breaking.
Yet they still had Freya. The long-tailed maiden rode from the left flank to the right, rallying the mercenaries and White Mane Legion light infantry. She urged them to lead the charge, inspiring the militiamen.
“Stay low, keep your heads down! Remember your training! Don’t stop, follow me! Fight for your families!”
Freya charged ahead, her sword raised, shouting encouragement.
Her efforts bore fruit. Under her leadership, the militiamen regained their courage, reformed their ranks, and slowly advanced down the hill.
Sasal frowned, ordering another volley. After adjustments, this wave was more accurate, felling several militiamen in the front ranks.
But after enduring two volleys, the militiamen grew steadier, overcoming their fear. The effectiveness of ranged weapons diminished significantly.
Sasal signaled again, pointing at the female knight. The third volley targeted Freya directly. However, her Half-Body Armor of the Wind Sovereign shimmered with countless spots of light, deflecting every arrow aimed at her.
This near-miraculous sight stunned everyone. The militiamen erupted in cheers, shouting Freya’s name. “Elven Royal Guard?” Sasal nearly laughed in disbelief. What kind of bizarre army was this?
On the other side, Brandon finally nodded. Though Freya might seem clumsy at times, this moment proved she was the Valkyrie he had always envisioned—born for the battlefield.
He pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time.
Perfect timing. Brandon drew Lustrous Stinger, the elven blade glowing brilliantly in his hand, its radiance illuminating the battlefield. The sudden flash startled both sides, drawing gazes toward him.
“An elven blade!” Sasal recognized it instantly, instinctively drawing his own sword with a shriek.
Brandon raised his sword high, calling out, “Chael.”
The young wizard apprentice understood immediately, raising his ruby ring and chanting, “Sharpen, divide, blade construct.”
A white line extended along Lustrous Stinger’s edge, flashing once before vanishing, leaving behind a magically reinforced blade sharper than ever.
“A new day has arrived, my lord. Don’t forget my maintenance fee,” Chael quipped with a grin.
Brandon smiled faintly.
Then he pointed his sword downward, its tip aimed squarely at Black Knight Sasal’s position, signaling the imminent clash.
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