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Chapter 8: Knights, Charge Forward
Retto and Mano ultimately decided to trust Brandon’s words. A man who could speak with such conviction—even if he were lying—must at least possess some measure of confidence and skill. The deciding factor, however, was the reward Brandon had promised them. Mercenaries and payment were inseparable terms; payment was like a safety net—it made even the most unreasonable plans seem reasonable.
It didn’t take long for more than a dozen seasoned mercenaries to gather. They communicated with hand signals, horses galloping out one by one before converging into a single group. In moments, they were all assembled.
These mercenaries are no ordinary folk, Brandon thought to himself.
Still, he ordered the peacekeeping cavalry to assemble as well. He needed his forces divided into two groups. Though these soldiers were less reliable, with enough training, they might prove useful.
Brandon spurred his horse and circled the gathered troops, then halted on one side, pulling out a pocket watch to estimate the time.
In the distance, the long line of refugees trudging forward couldn’t help but glance at this cavalry unit of over twenty riders, speculating about their intentions. Many of the refugees had joined later and didn’t know Brandon, but they vividly remembered the female knight riding along the line, maintaining order.
They kept asking who that girl was. As a result, Freya’s identity evolved in the minds of the citizens—from militia captain to leader of the peacekeeping cavalry, then to a member of the White Mane Swordsmen or even the BuchiGuard Unit Commander. In short, she was their leader. All they had to do was follow her silhouette; she would lead them to safety.
The slender second hand ticked its final movement, and Brandon froze time at this moment—he raised the elven sword and pointed it forward. At his command, the cavalry began to move slowly ahead, charging toward the high ground along an unremarkable route.
“What is he doing?”
“If we charge straight up there and those skeleton cavalry aren’t where he expects, won’t we look like fools?” Mano muttered under his breath.
“That kid doesn’t know how to fight,” another voice chimed in. “If those monsters appear from another direction and countercharge, the refugees will scatter before we can save them. And you lot actually believed him.”
“Didn’t you believe him too?”
“I’m only here for the coin!” the man retorted defensively after a pause.
Brandon had already signaled for the cavalry to accelerate. The thunderous sound of hooves echoed across the riverbank. With two seconds left to go, Brandon estimated they’d reach the high ground first. As the riders crested the gentle slope, they froze in astonishment.
On the other side, a group of about forty skeleton cavalry was retreating rapidly. This confirmed that Brandon had chosen the right direction, catching the enemy off guard and securing the high ground.
Everyone stared at the young man in awe. How had he known?
As soon as the cavalry appeared on the high ground, the skeleton cavalry below began to turn around. But Brandon only glanced at them briefly before swinging his sword twice and pointing out a tangent path—he wanted them to charge.
But this wasn’t the time for a charge. It was reckless. What if the undead reacted differently than anticipated? No one knew how quickly they could mobilize. Charging now risked throwing away their hard-earned advantage.
They should observe further, test the waters. As long as they held the high ground, the initiative would remain theirs.
Not just the mercenaries but even the peacekeeping cavalry looked toward Brandon. His ability to seize the initiative so miraculously had instilled a flicker of confidence in them, and now none of them wanted to relinquish that edge.
Yet Brandon acted as though he didn’t notice. He kept his sword pointed steadfastly forward, leaving no room for doubt—Knights, charge forward.
Then, with a tug of the reins, he wheeled his horse around, circling half the cavalry before taking the lead and charging ahead.
“Those with courage, follow me!”
“If you can’t catch them, at least drive them below the high ground!”
Brandon’s bold actions injected something powerful into the hearts of his men—confidence. In Eruin’s golden age, knights and nobles were like banners on the battlefield. Wherever they stood, there lay the kingdom’s indomitable will—invincible and unyielding.
But for many years, that spirit had faded from the nation. It seemed the country could only reminisce about its glory days, memories crumbling bit by bit until they vanished entirely.
Yet now, atop the highlands outside little Ridenburg, a lone figure cut through the darkness like a bolt of lightning, heralding the dawn of a new era.
Chael gazed at his lord’s back, eyes gleaming, and let out a sharp whistle between his teeth. Spurring his warhorse, he raced down the slope after Brandon.
Two riders, side by side, galloped together.
Mano, brimming with energy, unsheathed his scimitar and shot a glance at the figure ahead who had surged forward without hesitation. Horse and rider moved as one, flawless in every motion. “You said he didn’t know how to ride?”
“He really didn’t at first.”
“Then you must’ve been fooled, haha.”
“Shut your filthy mouth,” came an irritated reply.
The riders raised their weapons high, shouting in unison as they surged forward like a flood. Even the most timid among the peacekeeping cavalry felt their blood boil—individual strength merging into a vast collective, creating the illusion of invincibility.
Once their steeds moved, they believed victory was inevitable.
.......
The young girl picked up her white porcelain teacup again, though the tea had long gone cold. She cradled it in both hands, listening intently. When Orville recounted the knights’ charge, her silver-gray eyes sparkled with an ethereal light.
After a long silence, she murmured, “He charged?”
Then, lost in thought, she whispered to herself, “How wonderful… It feels like we’ve returned to our brightest days. The knights of Eruin, holding horns and fluttering swallowtail banners, their squires bearing square flags. When the horn sounds, the knights advance fearlessly, a sea of banners stretching across the battlefield—emblazoned with the golden crests of Colcova, Goran-Elsun, Anlek. Wherever the kingdom marched, nothing could stand in its way…”
Orville coughed softly. He knew this princess harbored ambitions far beyond those of typical royalty. Sighing inwardly, he thought, If only she were born a boy. Compared to Obergu VII’s stubborn eldest son and weak-willed youngest, this princess resembled a true ruler.
Alas, fate played cruel tricks.
The young girl realized her lapse but brushed it aside naturally. “And then? Did they win?”
Orville replied, “Of course. Allow me to recount the tale step by step.”
The princess nodded.
.......
In the mercenaries’ eyes, the young man’s sword always pointed forward—to a path leading to miracles. They charged, accelerating, rolling downhill like an unstoppable force. The skeleton cavalry scrambled to turn and engage, but their movements unfolded exactly as Brandon predicted.
Thirty-odd cavalry smashed into the fragile ranks of skeletons like a hammer striking glass. With a swing of his sword, Brandon unleashed a crescent-shaped gust of compressed air, sending four mounted skeletons flying. Their brittle ribs caved in, spines snapped, and torsos soared skyward before crashing down.
A cacophony of cracking bones erupted as a massive gap opened in the flank of the skeleton cavalry.
Brandon roared, pressing forward. Any skeleton soldier daring to block his path was obliterated, man and horse alike smashing into others. On either side, the seasoned mercenaries surged forward, tearing through the breach and cutting straight through the heart of the undead scouts. The skeletal wizard commanding them barely managed to utter the second syllable of a spell before Brandon decapitated it with a single stroke. Its skull tumbled from the saddle, bursting into white flames upon hitting the ground.
Brandon led the charge through the enemy lines. Only one peacekeeper suffered a minor wound—a gash on his arm. As he turned his horse around, Brandon felt as though he had merged with his past self, the raid leader from the game. He raised his sword, and golden motes of light burst forth from every skeleton struck down, rising into the air and streaming toward him.
531 experience points. Skeleton soldiers were Madara’s lowest-tier units, but skeleton cavalry yielded more XP than even low-level skeletal wizards. Not only were they stronger, but their agility allowed them to outpace ordinary warhorses.
Without their commander, the mindless skeletons relied on instinct—their sole directive being to destroy life. They regrouped, preparing to charge.
But Brandon effortlessly maneuvered his mercenaries around them, reclaiming the high ground. When the two sides clashed again, another peacekeeper took a glancing blow to the thigh. Brandon gained 131 more XP, and the skeleton cavalry squad was annihilated.
Brandon ordered his cavalry to halt and rest while he and Chael surveyed the battlefield. Seeing scattered bones and riderless skeletal horses strewn across the field, everyone struggled to believe their eyes.
They had won—with only two injuries.
What they didn’t realize was that Brandon’s understanding of Madara’s skeleton cavalry tactics surpassed even that of the skeletal wizard who commanded them. Sitting astride his horse, Brandon stared eastward into the mist, lips pressed tightly together. Madara was like an old nemesis—a foe he had never defeated in the game, but things were different now.
Skeleton cavalry carried little of value. After a cursory inspection, Brandon instructed Uriel to collect their swords. Madara’s Black Void Blades were among the better standard-issue weapons—not every race’s craftsmen had access to soulfire to forge steel.
Turning to Retto and Mano, he pointed into the distance. “Listen.”
By now, their gazes toward Brandon had changed completely. During the battle, he had proven not only his tactical brilliance but also his unparalleled swordsmanship and terrifying power. Every skeleton foolish enough to cross blades with him ended up with shattered bones flying apart, even Madara’s Soulsteel bending and breaking beneath the elven blade.
Above all, there was the confidence emanating from the young man. Anyone who charged alongside him would surely become addicted to the rush of adrenaline.
Mano and Retto exchanged glances, then focused intently. Soon, they heard the unmistakable rustling sound.
“A skeleton army… no, a skeleton sea.”
To Brandon’s surprise, it was Retto who spoke first—and accurately. He turned to study the supposed tavern keeper more closely. Clearly, this man’s identity wasn’t as simple as it appeared. He had suspected these mercenaries weren’t ordinary sellswords; their prowess suggested otherwise.
Mano’s face paled. Thousands upon thousands of skeletons loomed within the fog. He glanced back at Brandon. How did this young man know? If he hadn’t known, how had he timed the assault on the undead scouts so perfectly?
It was uncanny.
Had they not eliminated the scout cavalry, they would have been in dire straits. Abandoning the refugees and fleeing was unthinkable—neither Brandon nor Freya would agree to that.
“Should we go and hold them back?” Retto asked, his expression grim.
“No need. Without cavalry, they won’t be able to catch us,” Brandon replied, waving dismissively. “You don’t need to say anything about this. I understand Madara’s strategy, and since you’re following me, I’ll get us through alive.”
“But remember one thing: combat is unavoidable. Any one of us could die here. The fighting will be fierce—not like this skirmish. Be prepared mentally.”
“Mentally prepared?” Mano chuckled. “We’re mercenaries, kid. Don’t underestimate us. Let me tell you something—this Retto fought in the Battle of Binok Valley during the November War.”
A veteran of the November War? Brandon glanced at Retto, smiled faintly, sheathed his sword, and said nothing.
Instead, he looked up at the eastern moon. Its glow was fading; dawn approached. At least until sunrise, they wouldn’t encounter any wraiths tonight.
He exhaled deeply.
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