[The Hidden One] Episodes 7-9 Author: Blood Coral

【The Hidden Ones】
Author: Blood Coral
Publisher: Hetu Culture

Chapter 1 ◆ Battle Battle Battle

Steel wire wrapped around flesh and blood, the two torrents crashed together with a deafening roar. Shouts of battle, cries of agony, the sounds of hacking and slashing, screams of agony, the clanging of metal, the cracking of bones—all rose and fell.

Knights fought knights, soldiers clashed with soldiers.

The soldiers in the front ranks used their large shields to hold off the enemy, while those behind them thrust their spears into the gaps between the shields. When the spears were pulled out, the tips were either covered in blood or broken.

On the other side of the battlefield, on the right flank where the Rosicrucians were located, the situation was slightly better.

This was not the focus of the battle.

The two priests behind them were calmly casting divine spells on everyone. At this time, every bit of strength was beneficial.

Nice pulled a divine spell scroll from his chest pouch. It was a very special scroll, with a golden eye drawn on the outside.

The scroll was enveloped in a layer of light; it had already been activated.

Nice abruptly unfurled the scroll, letting it unfurl in the wind. The scroll instantly emitted a blinding golden light, shattering into countless fragments in an instant. Just as the scroll crumbled, a light shone in his eyes, the light vaguely forming a mysterious magic circle.

The sky was no longer blue, the earth no longer golden, all turning into varying shades of gray. Only the people retained their colors, and even among those without souls, their colors differed. The soldiers were all a somber blue, while low-ranking knights like Luke emitted a green light. As for the top-ranking figures motionless in the rear, they were all conspicuously yellow and orange, their souls radiating light of their respective colors—some soft, some blinding. The

previously chaotic battlefield suddenly became clear.

Low-ranking knights, their bodies tinged with dark green and emerald green, clashed fiercely, searching for an opportunity to break through the dark blue ranks of soldiers.

Meanwhile, the grass-green mid-ranking knights formed the main force of the battlefield, widely dispersed. Once the enemy's low-ranking knights charged, they would immediately intercept them and kill them without mercy. At the same time, they would also keep an eye out for enemies of similar color, and if their own low-ranking knights were intercepted, they would immediately rush to their rescue.

This was war; every ounce of strength had to be carefully calculated.

Previously, Niss had treated war as a game, but now he dared not have that mentality anymore. Even if it was a game, it was a game where lives were at stake.

Suddenly, he felt Ister pull him.

"Enemies are coming at us."

Sure enough, a group of people broke away from the enemy's right flank.

Without hesitation, Niss glanced at Luke and his two companions, then pulled out several corresponding divine spell scrolls from his chest pouch.

As each scroll was torn open, several flowing rays of light appeared around everyone.

After doing this, Niss took out a red scroll, bearing a forbidden seal.

This time, he didn't cast the scroll on Luke and his companions, but instead turned and aimed it at the soldiers behind him. With a flash of red light, a red ring appeared in the eyes of each soldier.

This was "Consciousness Link," a forbidden spell.

This spell wasn't forbidden because it was too heinous; the reason it was forbidden was simply because it belonged to the realm of mental magic. To the Church, any magic related to the mind, except for that bestowed by God, was considered evil.

At this moment, the consciousness of all the soldiers was connected to Nesse, and the red ring was the point of their focus. Nesse already had his bow in hand. He held a handful of arrows between his fingers, looking quite cool.

Seeing the troop approaching within a hundred meters, Nesse raised his bow, his other hand plucking the bowstring with incredible speed, like a soul plucking a harp string.

Arrows shot out rapidly, forming a straight line in the air.

The soldiers raised their bows like spirits; they didn't need to search for targets or aim, they only needed to aim the arrows at the red ring.

The bows they used had been pre-calibrated, ensuring that the arrows' trajectories were identical to those fired by Niss. This meant they could instantly create twenty-four skilled archers without much training.

Unfortunately, this tactic only worked when the enemy was small and closely packed. With a larger force and more spread out, the firing angles would inevitably be affected.

Niss's rapid-fire arrows rained down on the charging knights like a fine, dense rain. Interspersed within this barrage was a dense volley of arrows; the combined fire of twenty-four soldiers was considerable.

Even more critically, Niss disregarded knightly tactics; he would never deliberately avoid his horse for the sake of honor—it was his favorite target.

As for the soldiers, maintaining the correct direction was already a feat; they had no interest in shooting men or horses.

A series of neighing horses erupted on the battlefield.

The riders were indeed exceptionally skilled; despite falling from their horses at such high speed, they rolled and immediately rose again.

Some were shot off their horses, while others were shot down by arrows. These guys who couldn't be dealt with by arrows were definitely formidable opponents. Luke, Palm, and Metro quickly rushed forward.

This was teamwork on the battlefield.

Palm charged at the forefront, the three of them like souls clashing in a horn, with him at the tip. His body exploded like a soul-destroying cannon, bursting with flames. In an instant, his entire being and the spear in his hand seemed to merge into one, transforming into a golden meteor that hurtled towards the strongest opponent.
The tip of the opponent's spear faintly showed a soul-destroying flame, indicating that he had already reached the battle aura stage. In terms of pure strength, Palm was definitely no match. However, equipment was also a part of strength, and in terms of equipment, Palm was far superior.

With a deafening crash, the two men collided, spear tips grazing against each other, sparks flying, and both spears were instantly deflected. Both warhorses neighed in pain; the opponent's horse fell straight down, while Palm's horse stumbled to the side before its legs gave way and it too collapsed. The knights on both sides, disregarding everything else, rushed to help their riders. Nice was the fastest; using a bow and arrow, he had the advantage over the others, and unleashed a volley of arrows at the knight leaping from his horse. This time, he was aiming at the man; of course, he wouldn't aim at the armor—the thin arrows couldn't penetrate the metal—but rather at the gaps in the armor, where only a layer of chainmail remained. If he hadn't been knocked off his horse, the knight, with his skill, would never have been hit by the stray arrow. If he weren't on a warhorse, and didn't have to worry about opponents far stronger than Nis, such a stray arrow wouldn't have hit him. If he hadn't been in mid-air, even if he had been hit, he could have reacted instantly and avoided a fatal blow. Unfortunately, there are no "ifs" in life. He was knocked off his horse, surrounded by powerful enemies, and in mid-air, he had no way to gain leverage. The sharp arrowhead pierced through the chainmail rings and entered his flesh without obstruction. He was hit by three arrows in total: two in his armpit and one in his throat—all fatal spots. The knight fell, like other unfortunate knights on their warhorses, to the ground. Nis felt an angry gaze coming from ahead. To his surprise, the one glaring at him wasn't an enemy, but Palm. Palm knew Nis was trying to help him, but he disliked this kind of underhanded tactic. He wanted to fight fair and square, and that man was indeed a worthy opponent. Nice didn't feel uncomfortable or aggrieved, nor was he annoyed by Palm's ungratefulness. This was due to his unwavering principles; he wouldn't force Palm to accept his views, nor would he try to cater to the guy's ideas.

"It's not dangerous now, you don't need to worry about me," Nice said to the two people beside him, drawing another arrow. The tall, beautiful woman obeyed, putting away her shield, drawing a javelin, weighing it in her hand, and then suddenly throwing it. Without any aura of battle, this seemingly ordinary javelin was only impressive for its speed, definitely no slower than the arrow Nice had shot. The person targeted by Elena seemed to sense something was wrong. Although that person wasn't particularly strong, his equipment was definitely top-of-the-line, and he was always protected by two people, clearly indicating a different status. However, the two squires' attention wasn't on this side at the moment. The targeted knight knew he couldn't rely on others, so he raised his shield. The shield gleamed like a silver mirror, adorned with mysterious patterns, clearly a magical artifact. When the javelin struck, the shield shimmered, and countless sparks erupted from the point of impact, shooting five or six meters away with an exceptionally piercing sound. However, after the ear-piercing sound came a crisp shattering sound. The tall, beautiful woman's javelin throw appeared ordinary, but it actually carried a hidden force. Barbarians didn't understand battle aura, but they possessed another set of techniques. This technique wasn't as sustained as battle aura, only capable of a momentary burst, but its power was far greater and more mysterious.

The javelin not only pierced the shield but also pierced the arm behind it. The knight clutched his arm, screaming in agony. His two squires immediately stepped in front of him, but this hasty action had a fatal consequence: all three had forgotten Palm's presence. Although he fell from his horse, Palm was unharmed, and more importantly, he held a replica of the Spear of Longinus in his hand. This weapon was simply too powerful. He flashed to the three warhorses, his lance thrusting out like lightning, its trajectory incredibly cunning, piercing through the gap between two horses. Another series of sparks exploded. The knight whose arm had been pierced, though his armor was also magical, was now pierced by the Longinus Spear, a weapon far superior in level. Blood spurted out; the spear had pierced his right rib. Palm didn't kill him outright. Anyone possessing such equipment must be someone of considerable importance, and he didn't want to unwittingly incur a mortal enemy from some family. Luke and Heitlow were prepared. Knowing they couldn't help Palm, they waited for their chance, and at that moment, they stepped forward to block the two squires. At that moment, Nice's arrows arrived, one killing the warhorse, the other striking the man's thigh, leaving him no chance to escape.

Just then, a warhorse suddenly galloped in from the side, the rider radiating a grass-green light. It was a high-ranking knight in charge of the rear guard. "Quick, help!" Nice cried urgently. The tall, beautiful woman also sensed something was amiss and drew another javelin. The charging knight swung his lance, knocking the menacing javelin to the ground. Elena drew three javelins, but this time she didn't expect them to be effective. As soon as the javelins left her hand, she grabbed her lance and charged forward. Nice also felt the pressure. He raised his bow and arrows, firing in rapid succession. The soldiers behind him also aimed their bows and arrows, a volley of arrows flying towards the high-ranking knight. A thunderous roar rang in everyone's ears, and the knight burst forth with a blue light. Palm, who was closest, felt a wave of energy surge towards him, pushing him back more than ten steps, his shield shattering under the weight. The sheer aura emanating from the knight was enough to force Palm back; the terror of this high-ranking knight stunned all the young men in this corner, who were experiencing battle for the first time.

However, the aura also drew the attention of others to this area. Two men beside the prince were immediately ordered to reinforce, rushing towards the scene, while Elena had already charged forward even earlier. Just when everyone thought the two would be locked in a stalemate for a while, the knight suddenly turned his horse around, seemingly trying to avoid something. At that moment, the hairs on the back of Nice's neck stood on end; he sensed that they were being targeted—a sign of magic being activated. The other two priests also sensed it; priests' senses were exceptionally sharp. The three of them glanced above their heads; the protective barrier above them had shattered at some point, with only the central section remaining intact. The two priests frantically prepared protective divine spells, while Nice pulled out a divine spell scroll. That was [Dispel], the priest's signature move against mages, and the reason the church's power had grown so strong, ultimately forcing mages to seek refuge in the secular world.

Nys drew an arrow, wrapped a dispel scroll around it, and chanted the incantation to activate the scroll while drawing his bow.

The feeling of being locked on grew clearer; the opponent's magic was ready.

Suddenly, a spark flew towards them, initially the size of a mung bean, then rapidly growing to the size of a fist, and still expanding.

Two barriers appeared out of thin air; for their own safety, the two priests were going all out for the first time.

The fireball was now inches away, as large as a pumpkin. Nys loosened his grip, and the arrow shot out, instantly disappearing into the fireball.

The arrow was instantly engulfed by the fireball, but in the next instant, the fireball exploded in mid-air, the violent shockwave throwing all the surrounding knights off their horses.

However, this wasn't a normal explosion; it was pre-detonated. This magic was originally designed to turn an area of twenty or thirty meters into a sea of fire, instantly killing anyone directly hit and causing varying degrees of burns to those caught in the blast. However, now, apart from a scorching heatwave, nothing happened.

This is the effect of the "Dispelling Spell." Magic condenses elements and then unleashes them, but this divine spell does the opposite: it disperses the elements and prevents their eruption.

Seeing the enemy's ruthless attack, Luke and his companions were enraged.

Two blinding beams of light shot out simultaneously. One, shaped like a twisted serpent, instantly pierced through the enemy ranks and then flashed back; the other, like a peacock spreading its tail, dispersed in all directions.

These were attack techniques carried on the Spear of Longinus, which Palm had used against the rats.

The fireball, detonated prematurely, had thrown all the knights rushing to rescue them off their horses, and the soldiers following behind them collapsed to the ground, utterly powerless against Luke and Metro, these two killing gods.

Countless soldiers would never rise again, and no ransom could be obtained from them, so Luke and Metro were ruthless, killing with every shot.

As for the knights, each one was equivalent to a ransom. Luke and Merlot only wounded them, not killed them, but they were ruthless enough to stab wounds that were difficult to heal.

Seeing this, the high-ranking knight who had been blocked by Elena knew that nothing he did would be of any use. In addition, the two knights beside the prince had arrived. He sighed and turned his horse back to his own lines.

The right flank became calm again.

Merlot ran to Palm's side and jumped off his horse.

"You use my horse."

Merlot threw the reins to Palm.

Palm did not stand on ceremony. He stepped into the stirrups and mounted Merlot's warhorse.

Merlot walked to Palm's warhorse, knelt on one knee, and began to examine the horse's injuries. The horse's left foreleg was broken, and it had also broken ribs when it fell.

Melott sighed, drew a short sword from his boot, and pierced the horse's heart. This wasn't cruelty; on the brutal battlefield, it was the only correct choice.

Polbu immediately ran over from behind, removing everything from the saddle and its saddle.

This half-breed follower was different from the other three. He didn't earn favor through intellect like Sindo, nor did he possess Wood's courage. His strength lay in knowing his place. He chose the unassuming Melott as his master from the start, and over time, a tacit understanding had developed between them. He knew what to do without needing orders.

"Take a breath, rest a bit. This is just the beginning,"

one of the knights sent by the prince kindly advised.

The ground was covered in blood, littered with the corpses of men and horses. Although the scene wasn't as bloody as the warrior's memory, it was still quite shocking.

This was the battlefield.

At the front of this side, the prince's troops had already dispersed.

With His Highness the Prince's men blocking their way, Luke and his companions felt much more relaxed. Nice and the soldiers reverted to their archer roles, providing long-range support with arrows.

Although small in scale, their minds were linked, and these soldiers, new to the battlefield, possessed the skill of sharpshooters, making the unit quite formidable.

However, a problem arose. Ister, constantly monitoring the arrow count, suddenly sighed and said, "Slow down! We're almost out of arrows."

Nice turned to look, and sure enough, of the six bundles of arrows they brought to the battlefield, only half remained.

The enormous arrow consumption was partly due to his "effort"—he fired five arrows at a time, shooting several times faster than the others. Meanwhile,

the tall, beautiful woman on the other side was bored out of her mind. Barbarians had no talent for archery; they preferred javelins and throwing axes. The tall woman also used these two weapons; she had brought six javelins and twelve throwing axes, which she had already discarded.

Nice touched the scroll in his pocket; nearly half of it was already used.

"Are we just going to sit here and watch?"

He was somewhat at a loss. Now he finally understood why bows and arrows were so unpopular—the consumption of arrows was simply unbearable.

For melee soldiers, a battle might result in a few broken spears or nicks on their swords, which could be easily repaired by a craftsman.

"There are six bundles of crossbow bolts over there; let's use those."

Having passed the initial tension, Ister regained his composure, still in the mood for jokes even during the most intense moments of battle.

However, his jokes, when they reached Nice's ears, were no longer just jokes.

Looking at the crossbow bolts, Nice was indeed tempted, his mind racing.

Suddenly, he dismounted, picked up a broken spear from the ground; the shaft was about two fingers thick, and slightly longer than the arrows they were using.

This was exactly what he needed.

Niss drew a small knife, and with one stroke, split the wooden strip in half. He then chopped off the broken section with two more cuts, before handing the knife and the strip to East.

"Dig a trench for me,"

East said, taking the items despite not knowing Niss's intentions. His carpentry skills were excellent; he had made many models. Grooving a strip of wood was a simple matter for him.

With a few quick strokes, a trench about the width of an index finger was created.

"Get me a bundle of crossbow bolts,"

Niss ordered, turning to Wood behind him.

Wood quickly brought the bolts, and Niss tied a leather strap to the end of the wooden pole, looping it around his wrist.

Having done this, he drew a bolt, nocked it on the bowstring, and the bolt fit perfectly into the groove.

This thing looked somewhat like a crossbow, but it wasn't a crossbow and didn't violate the pre-war principles.

He drew back the bow, casually aimed at a soldier, and released his finger; the crossbow bolt flew out.

Shorter than arrows, crossbow bolts were lighter, faster, and their trajectory more straight.

The bolt pierced the gaps in the chainmail without obstruction, almost completely embedding itself in the soldier's flesh.

"Another one of your inventions?"

Ister asked, quite pleased.

Nice was somewhat embarrassed: "It's called a single-shot arrow; nomadic peoples have been using it for a long time."

Ister was immediately ashamed; saying the wrong thing proved his ignorance. He had always prided himself on being the most well-read among the four.

Nice didn't care about Ister's reaction. He grabbed a handful of crossbow bolts and fired another. This time, his fingers swiftly gripped the bowstring, and he immediately drew back the bow, nocking the second arrow.

After firing five arrows in quick succession, Nice lowered the bow.

He'd felt something was off earlier; the extra slider was cumbersome and seemed to need improvement. He already had a rough idea of how.

The solution was simple: fix the slider to the bow arm, making it a vertical crossbow.

"Learning this shouldn't be too difficult, right?"

Ister glanced at the soldiers.

Nice knew what he was thinking. If the soldiers learned this technique, they wouldn't need to prepare two types of arrows anymore. Not only would they be easier to carry, but pre-battle preparations would be much simpler.

Crossbow bolts were easier to obtain, simpler to manufacture, took less time, and were cheaper—the difference was more than double.

Even the worst arrow fletching was still made from the wingtip feathers of a rooster, and a rooster only had sixteen usable fletchings. Crossbow bolts were different; the fletchings could be made from short, stiff feathers, and a rooster had at least a hundred usable stiff feathers—at least ten times more.

It wasn't that East was concerned about the money; the key issue was that even with money, you couldn't necessarily buy the materials.

Back then, in order to make those six bundles of arrows, Metro recruited people while simultaneously buying feathers everywhere, almost wearing his legs out. The hard feathers, on the other hand, were bought incidentally and didn't require much effort at all.

"We can try, but there's no time this time."

Nice agreed with Esther's idea. This war had taught him a great deal, and he had initially thought he was well-prepared, but now it seemed he was far from it.

The fighting continued, but the two dared to chat on the battlefield because the battle was nearing its end, and both sides had slowed their attacks.

The mages had little magic left, and to protect themselves, they would certainly hold back; the priests also stopped casting divine spells. Divine spells lasted much longer than magic, but they also had their limits.

After an unknown amount of time, the bugle sounded again, and both sides stopped fighting.

"Not fighting anymore?"

Nice asked. "The two sides are evenly matched; continuing is pointless."

Esther lowered his shield, which he had held for hours, his hand numb.

"What happens next?"

Nice continued to ask. Although he had asked Old Man Simon about war and read some things in books, he still knew very little about the process of warfare.

"Next, we'll retreat to camp. Both sides will definitely need to readjust, and we'll need to send another batch of reinforcements."

This was Ister's first time on the battlefield, but as a knight, he was used to being around knights, and from childhood, he had always heard people around him talk about war.

While the two were still talking, Luke and his men had already retreated.

A knight from the prince's entourage came over with Palm. He was about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, and he put his hands on Palm's shoulders, saying, "Well done! You don't look like you're new to the battlefield at all. You did a great job."

Although this man looked young, he had experienced many wars, and for him to utter such praise was no easy feat; it represented a kind of recognition.

Prince Philip also rode over. At this moment, his impression of Luke and his men had changed.

Originally, although he valued the people of Nice, it was only because of their intelligence and money-making skills. But now, he also had a glimmer of expectation for their fighting ability.

These men weren't particularly strong yet. Even Palm's martial skills seemed somewhat immature to him, let alone Luke and Metro, those two naive fellows. What

he cared about was their seamless teamwork.

Palm acted as the vanguard, Luke provided support, Metro harassed from the sidelines, and Nice held the line from a distance, sometimes even using sneak attacks to assist Palm in intercepting enemies.

With more experience in wars and ten years to fully develop their skills, this combination would be capable of standing alone.

With a series of slow drumbeats, the armies on both sides withdrew from the battlefield, retreating to the edge of the valley.

The order to set up camp was given, and Duke Frederick's army deployed along a slope. His Highness remained on the right flank, with the Rosicrucians positioned in a corner on the right.

Wooden stakes were driven into the ground, and rows of A-frame railings were placed in front of them, the tops of which were sharply sharpened. This defensive arrangement was to prevent cavalry attacks.

Luke and his men didn't need to do these things. The fortifications were being built by Duke Frederick's direct subordinates to prevent spies from among the recruited troops.

Two groups of soldiers were still wandering the battlefield where the fierce battle had just taken place, cleaning up the mess. There was chaos everywhere—broken spears, wrecked weapons, and corpses strewn about.

Each group was led by a priest, who held a beautiful scepter, seemingly crafted from silver, with a fist-sized, irregularly shaped crystal at the top. The

corpses were neatly arranged to one side, and the two priests touched each one with their scepters. With each touch, a beam of light shot from the crystal at the top of the scepter, and a phantom identical to the dead slowly rose within the light.

This was evolution; otherwise, the souls of the dead would not find peace and would become vengeful spirits, turning this battlefield into a death trap.

Behind the two priests, someone was taking notes with paper and pen.

When the soul evolves, it can see the moment before the victim is killed and know who killed them.

Normally, this is used to solve crimes; if a murder occurs within a week, no murderer can escape. On the battlefield, it's used to determine battle achievements.

Comparatively, prisoners are treated better than most wounded soldiers because those qualified to be prisoners must be valuable individuals who can be exchanged for large ransoms.

At the entrance of the field hospital, Metro emerged carrying a huge pile of clothes.

Nice looked at the guy and couldn't help but scratch his head. All the clothes were stripped from prisoners, even underwear and underpants were taken.

"Wasn't this necessary? Even if it's looting, at least leave some clothes for others to wear,"

Nice complained.

"This is to prevent prisoners from escaping or playing some tricks,"

Metro argued.

But there was some truth to that. When Nice was ambushed in Caoni, if that widow had stripped him naked as well, he would have been doomed without any chance of escape.

"How badly is it damaged?"

Palm didn't care; he'd been eyeing that magical set for ages.

It was a complete set—shield, armor, and chainmail—all with identical attributes.

"Not bad, just a few holes,"

Metro said.

The shield was slightly more damaged, but the two armors were indeed fine, especially the chainmail. It was very easy to repair, and once repaired, it was practically brand new. The armor, however, required replacing one plate.

"That thing's useless, just ordinary stuff,"

the tall, beautiful woman scoffed. Most of the holes were her doing; his javelin had pierced the shield and then her arm, already three holes, and she didn't even think she'd used much force!

But no one paid him any attention.

Luke and the others knew that this woman's burst of power was equivalent to that of a high-ranking knight, and the fact that the javelin could get stuck in her arm indicated that the chainmail's defensive capabilities were already quite formidable.

Nice secretly rejoiced that his armor was different from other magical armor; it deflected attacks rather than blocked them. If he had taken that hit, he would either have been completely unharmed or have a hole punched through him—at least it was much better than being stuck in the middle.

"I'll ask Prince Philip for a favor and have the camp's artisans prepare it," Luke said, hoping to have the equipment ready as soon as possible so that Palm could equip it, further enhancing the team's fighting strength.

Metro quickly picked up the two pieces of armor and the broken shield, handing them over. Luke took the three items and immediately left.

Armies always have a team of artisans specifically responsible for preparing valuable weapons, making them usable on the spot.

Every battle resulted in significant equipment damage, some personal and some spoils of war. Therefore, during lulls in the fighting, the craftsmen's teams were always extremely busy, requiring queuing to collect items, with those of higher status enjoying special privileges.

The prince's tent was nearby; in fact, Luke and his men were stationed in a corner of the prince's territory, so a trip there should have been quick.

What Nice and the others hadn't expected was that Luke didn't return until the soldiers lit a campfire and began cooking.

He didn't return alone; Prince Philip was with him, both wearing expressions of helplessness.

"What's wrong? Is there more bad news?"

Ister asked. He moved aside, making room for Luke and the prince to sit.

Around the campfire, amidst a circle of tree stumps, their bark still intact, the prince and Luke sat down.

A soldier nearby quickly handed over two roasted forks, each topped with a pair of quails. These weren't the rations Duke Frederick provided to the army, but rather Luke and his men's own.

Luke listlessly flipped through the forks, sighing, "The battle records are out. When His Highness and I went to the camp earlier, I asked around to find out who won our competition against those guys."

"Were we the losers?"

Ister asked.

"They told me most of the battle records have been calculated, but a small portion hasn't been completed, and ours is in that unfinished portion."

Luke's information wasn't that bad.

"Who would believe such nonsense?"

Palm cursed.

Ister and Nice exchanged a smile. With a little thought, they could guess that they had won again, which was why Duke Frederick's men were resorting to such tricks.

The outcome had actually been determined at the beginning of the battle.

The team competing against them was split up as soon as they entered the field, and the strongest member was knighted and thrown into the vanguard.

This arrangement was likely due to Duke Frederick's own selfish motives, as members of the vanguard received extra credit when calculating battle achievements.

However, this only proved Duke Frederick was an incompetent fool; he hadn't considered the rest of the troops at all.

Any team's tactics are designed around its strongest member, just as a wheel must revolve around its axle. Now that the axle is gone, how can the wheel turn?

Once they understood this, the two knew that even if they asked, they wouldn't get any answers, because this was

most likely at the Duke's behest. It was common knowledge that Duke Frederick cared deeply about his reputation.

"The Duke won't apologize; I can only offer my apologies,"

the prince said, not out of deliberate goodwill.

Frankly, having a relative like Duke Frederick was indeed shameful.

What was most shameful was that the Duke himself never seemed to realize his embarrassment. It was like a hunchback trying to cover his disability by plastering gold leaf on his back, only drawing attention to the deformed shape.

"This has nothing to do with you,"

Luke quickly said.

The prince didn't want to dwell on the matter any longer. He casually said, "I have to thank you for this. Your new armor-making technology is truly excellent; my soldiers suffered almost no losses."

Their gratitude was genuinely sincere.

Those soldiers were nominally his subordinates, but in reality, they were the Duke of Styria's men. The Duke of Styria couldn't appear directly, nor did he want to offend the current ruler of the Has family, so he adopted this subtle approach.

This way, everyone maintained appearances, but it put the prince in a difficult position, and he commanded with extreme caution on the battlefield.

This was the tragedy of a small country struggling to survive.

"Helping you is also helping ourselves. Your two guards saved us at least three times,"

Luke said, his words somewhat polite. Their battle rhythm was excellent; even without those two men, they wouldn't have been in much danger.

However, it was precisely because of their support that they were able to fight freely and achieve such merit, so Luke's gratitude was entirely genuine.

"I'm really looking forward to the new armor now, and I hope this war ends soon. I already have some ideas in mind,"

Nice interjected. He didn't want to hear Luke and Prince Philip continue thanking each other; such polite words were too pointless. Not only did they not help to bring them closer, but in the long run, they would only create distance. In his view, the simplest way to bring them closer was through cooperation, and the premise of cooperation was shared interests.

Sure enough, his mention of the new armor immediately piqued the prince's interest: "You already have some ideas? Tell me about them."

"It's not anything new. I just think that to improve protection, it would be best to return to the old-fashioned solid plate armor, using a steel plate to protect the body."

Nice had this idea because during the New Year period, he had been studying the history of war.

He discovered that war was always a battle in which defense, offense, and mobility alternated in terms of who had the upper hand.

Initially, heavily armored infantry were invincible. Later, spear formations swept across the land. Then, a new type of infantry, using short swords for close combat and javelins for ranged attacks, dominated for a millennium. Afterwards, armor became increasingly heavy, once again emphasizing defense… The most recent change was the barbarian invasion, which gave everyone a new understanding of mobility. Chainmail, allowing for movement, became the most popular armor, while heavily armored suits with gaps became standard equipment.

The best way to achieve mobility in combat is through formidable defense, so strong that the enemy can't even scratch it. And the best armor for defense is solid plate armor.

Another reason he decided to use plate armor was that while it wouldn't save on materials, the process was much simpler. At least the magic circle only needed to be drawn on the front and back plates, unlike iron armor which required engraving magic circles on every single plate.

Nice was no novice; he had forged his own armor.

"What help do you need this time?"

the prince asked.

"Not now. For the initial stages, I and I are enough."

Nice wasn't being polite. Ister was skilled in manufacturing and had a high artistic taste; the external structure could be handled by him. Nice would focus on the technical aspects. Once the plate armor was created, he could further refine it into magical equipment.

The experimental phase wouldn't involve much work, so there was no need for help. Moreover, doing it themselves would be easier to control and have a much higher degree of self-acceptance.

The prince's help would truly be needed during mass production, which was still far from certain!

Just as the prince was about to ask when a sample could be made, a series of hurried footsteps approached.

Everyone turned to see Wood running towards them, his face flushed, with a handprint on each cheek.

"What happened?"

Palm, an impatient man, jumped up first.

"Lord Luke told me to wait outside the workshop to watch the craftsmen pack your three spoils of war, and to bring them back immediately after they were packed. Everything was going smoothly until one of the Duke's men came and forcibly took the three spoils..."

Wood recounted the whole story, feeling very aggrieved.

"This is outrageous!"

Prince Philip also stood up. The previous minor squabbles were within the bounds of propriety, but this had clearly crossed the line.

Stealing spoils of war was common in war; many conflicts within the army stemmed from this, usually occurring on the battlefield.

Sometimes, when someone sets their sights on a target, and everyone has contributed, a dispute is inevitable. Besides this, some people, lacking skill, try to steal others' spoils by being quick. While such behavior is repulsive, being able to steal spoils is considered a skill in itself.

However, Luke and his men were not facing this situation; their spoils, whose ownership had already been confirmed, had been forcibly taken away.

"This could absolutely not have been done by the Duke,"

the prince stated without hesitation.

He wasn't defending his relative, but because Duke Frederick would never do such a thing.

It was an ironclad rule that spoils already owned were never to be stolen, and as the commander-in-chief, he certainly wouldn't dare do something so foolish.

This moral principle was not merely a moral imperative; it was an absolute taboo, a taboo that had persisted for two thousand years. The origin of this taboo stemmed from a war two thousand years ago, a war that had become a myth.

In that war, the commander of the attacking side forcibly seized the spoils of his most powerful general, resulting in a disaster that was only averted after a huge price was paid.

Since then, this taboo has persisted to this day .

Chapter Two ◆ Parting

Ways In the center of the camp stood a tent, a very large tent, over thirty meters long and more than ten meters wide, standing there like a palace.

A ring of torches stood around the tent, spaced a few meters apart, illuminating the area brightly.

Inside, the tent was also brightly lit and bustling with activity. The Duke, his key advisors, and a group of high-ranking officials were discussing how to fight the upcoming battle.

A voice announced from the doorway: "His Highness Prince Philip requests an audience."

"Let him in,"

the Duke nodded. He temporarily set aside his work; he knew that a request at this time must have something important to discuss.

The tent door remained open, without curtains or any other obstruction. The prince walked straight in, alone.

There were things only he could say; bringing Luke along would only cause trouble.

"My dear Philip, what is it?"

The Duke didn't dare to be too dismissive of the young prince.

"I've come to tell you some good news. This war may go down in history, because you might have the chance to be called the second Agamemnon."

Duke Frederick's face stiffened instantly. Even if he was crude and uneducated, he couldn't possibly be unaware of a war that had become a legend.

Agamemnon, as a commander, was undoubtedly a celebrity among celebrities, though his reputation wasn't exactly stellar.

In that war, there were practically no villains; both sides were heroes, victors and vanquished, their actions worthy of praise. If one had to name a few villains, this commander could be considered half.

Therefore, the prince's not-so-unpleasant remark was more unacceptable to the Duke than any other harsh statement.

Just as he was about to erupt, he noticed the servants in the tent were all pale, and one was even secretly trying to steal the documents that had just been presented.

"What's going on?"

Duke Frederick's face immediately hardened, and he snatched the stack of documents.

One sheet had already been pulled out. It was a confirmation document regarding the exchange of prisoners.

After a battle, both sides would inevitably have a large number of prisoners. If all were redeemed with money, the cost would be too high, so the warring parties would exchange prisoners to redeem a group of their own.

However, there were definitely rules to these prisoner exchanges. Units like Luke's weren't part of the Duke's direct forces, and no one had been captured; their prisoners couldn't be touched. But now, the names of those prisoners were clearly on the paper.

Duke Frederick's face flushed crimson; he felt as if he'd been slapped.

This was exactly like the events of that war. No wonder Prince Philip had specifically come to compare him to Agamemnon.

"Who wrote this list?"

he roared, waving the paper in his hand.

Duke Frederick was so enraged he wanted to kill. This not only put him in an unjust position, but more importantly, it was tantamount to cursing him to lose the war.

From that war two thousand years ago, for a commander to seize prisoners of his subordinates was to lose the war—it was taboo, an absolute taboo, a taboo that every commander was absolutely wary of.

A hush fell over the tent. Even the prince was startled. His words, which had seemed somewhat exaggerated, had turned out to be true.

He was standing very close to Duke Frederick and could see what the duke was holding.

The prisoner exchange list was very unusual.

The prisoners were of varying ranks, and any exchange had to be done one-to-one, with only prisoners of similar status eligible for exchange. Therefore, it was a list of red and black characters, with red for the names of their own prisoners and black for the other side, connected by straight lines for easy identification. Seeing

this list, the prince could easily guess what was going on.

Not only him, but everyone around him did too. They all exchanged bewildered glances; this was not a good sign.

"I… I didn't know about this beforehand. Luckily, I haven't signed it yet,"

Duke Frederick said, seemingly realizing his lapse in composure. His first act upon regaining his senses was to defend himself.

Although he hadn't signed it, it was already quite troublesome. Because once such lists are drafted by subordinates, they are always made in duplicate, with one copy sent to the other party.

This means his cousin, Duke Louis, already has an identical list. Trying to change it now would not only cause a lot of trouble, but it would also be tantamount to telling the other party that something went wrong.

Duke Frederick was currently thinking about how to buy the prisoners. Since the prisoners would eventually be exchanged for ransom anyway, he could be generous and ask for several times the price.

The prince coughed and said awkwardly, "Not only these, but three pieces of spoils that were just packed have also been taken."

Looking at the Duke's expression, he was somewhat reluctant to mention this.

The tent fell silent, and the faces of the servants grew even paler.

Duke Frederick was speechless. The list in his hand still offered some room for negotiation, since the prisoners hadn't been exchanged, but the three spoils of war were a fait accompli, and no amount of explanation would change that.

"What exactly are those three spoils of war?"

the Duke asked.

"A chainmail, a suit of iron armor, and a shield—nothing particularly remarkable. They themselves didn't value them much; their own armor was no worse.

They just couldn't swallow their pride," Prince Philip replied, knowing the Duke's temperament well.

Sure enough, Duke Frederick was so frustrated he felt like vomiting blood.

He didn't believe Philip was lying. The five young men even had replicas of the Spear of Longinus and the Crown of Thorns, and their longswords and bows were magical equipment, proving they were wealthy. It wasn't surprising they had magical armor; it would have been more unusual if they didn't. This completely dashed any hopes he had of settling things with money.

"Bring me the battle records,"

Duke Frederick ordered, turning his head. He was giving the order to his attendants, which also meant he had lost trust in them. He suspected there might be another mishap if they were allowed to retrieve the records.

One of his attendants immediately ran out.

The battle records had already been prepared, but for the sake of the betting match, the records for these two groups had been deliberately deleted. Now that the Duke wanted to see them, they had to be filled in again.

The attendant quickly brought in a thick book, one page open.

Duke Frederick's face darkened at just one glance. He had originally planned to be generous; since the other party didn't care about money, he would give them battle merits, or even simply grant them a knighthood.

However, looking through the records, he saw that Luke and his group hadn't chosen to exchange their battle merits for achievements.

Achievements were difficult to obtain, and they were most valuable. One path to becoming a knight was to accumulate battle merits and then exchange them for status; high achievements could even be exchanged for corresponding titles.

This system has been in place for centuries to prevent honest people from being taken advantage of. Anyone, no matter how unskilled they are at self-promotion, will reap rewards as long as they work diligently. The best way to gain merit is through military achievements; the saying "A knight's everything comes from the battlefield" originates from this.

However, military achievements don't necessarily have to be exchanged for other things. For example, Prince Philip was there to help and had no direct relationship with the Duke; achievements from other countries were meaningless to His Highness. Considering the existence of such individuals, military achievements could also be exchanged for other things.

Luke and his group chose exemption from military service, meaning they could refuse conscription should another war break out.

Choosing exemption from military service instead of merit indicates their lack of confidence in Kaoni and their unwillingness to turn it into territory; administrative control is sufficient for them.

This also suggests they don't intend to become knights through merit, implying a lack of confidence in him and the Has family, and a reluctance to join their side.

"Are you really going to withdraw from the battle?"

Prince Philip asked Luke regretfully outside the tent. "The words have already been spoken, how can you take them back?"

Luke understood the prince's intention to persuade him to stay, but he wouldn't accept it, nor did he want to explain. This was part of their pre-planned strategy.

Withdrawing from the battle meant no longer having to obey the Duke's orders, but they would still remain on the battlefield. From this moment on, they would fight alone, without support, and would have to provide for their own food and water.

All of this would be in exchange for self-imposed

expulsion. They could decide their own targets, their own attacks and retreats. The only restriction was that they still had to abide by the rules established by both sides: no crossbows, no forbidden methods.

Their status had changed; they were now more like mercenaries, but while mercenaries fought for money, they still earned merit, which they would then use to exchange for exemption from military service.

Kaoni was a trusteeship territory. Previously, they felt that trustees were inferior to territories, but now they finally understood the benefits of a trusteeship.

The military service in the trusteeship was one-tenth of the territory's total. Their already earned merits, plus the extra merits gained from exchanging those prisoners, were enough to offset all military service for the next five years.

Their current goal was to accumulate as many merits as possible to offset as much military service as possible.

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. After the war ended, Duke Frederick would surely upgrade Kaoni, elevating the village to a town. In that case, the military service would increase accordingly, and it would take ten times more effort to be exempted from it.

After bidding farewell to His Highness the Prince, Luke had all the soldiers mount their plows, while he himself mounted his horse.

The number of riders remained the same, but two had been replaced. The two priests sent by the Nangdao Academy had never considered themselves members of the team and naturally didn't intend to join this time.

One of the replacements was a mage, one of Prince Philip's subordinates.

Luke's team originally had three priests, possessing ample magical skills, but lacked a mage, which was too unbalanced. Therefore, His Highness the Prince had kindly lent them a mage.

Another was a priest sent from the parish. He didn't belong to any faction; he was there to help, record the team's achievements, and act as a supervisor, ensuring Luke and his men didn't break the rules.

Five or six kilometers from the camp, Nice pulled his horse back, and the others stopped as well.

Although Luke was the leader, Nice held a very special position; he was both the strategist and the scout.

This shouldn't normally be the priest's job; the priest should stay in the safer rear. A team usually has scouts specifically for reconnaissance.

The problem was that this team was newly formed, with only five members: Luke, Nice, the priest, and Hun Shi, the archer. Archers often act as the team's eyes when there are no scouts.

"Riding in the dark isn't safe. Everyone should get on the sleds; it's safer and more comfortable that way,"

he said to the two newcomers.

They readily agreed, and since it was dark now, no one would see them on the sleds, so they didn't have to worry about being laughed at.

Luke and his men carried more than enough sleds. Since they were traveling at night, the side railings of the sleds

were flipped up, turning the seats into chairs with backrests. The sleds bounced up and down, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

Luke and East had considered nighttime marching when designing the sleds, and this design proved very successful. Although

Upper Baria was mountainous, the terrain was gentle, so even without roads, it didn't feel dangerous. The sleds, pulled by warhorses, moved quickly and steadily.

The column initially headed backward, making a large detour to avoid the fortresses built during the day, before turning north.

Winding through the mountains, they traversed entirely uninhabited areas, so even without the cover of night, they didn't need to worry about being discovered.

Because the area they passed through was almost entirely grassland, all they could hear was a rustling sound.

"What are your plans next?"

On the second plowshare, Luke, Nice, and Easter sat together, with Wood driving the plow. It was Luke who had asked the question.

"Didn't that prince say that the two sides are temporarily evenly matched and will definitely take a break, each bringing more troops? What we need to do is find a place to hide and wait for their reinforcements to pass. If they are numerous, we'll stay hidden; if they are few, we'll pull off a heist,"

Nice explained.

This showed their tacit understanding; Nice hadn't mentioned his plan before, but the others hadn't hesitated and left the camp.

"Why does this seem like something bandits would do?"

Easter stroked his chin.

Knowing this guy was about to start complaining again, Nice countered, "Do you have a better way?"

"I need to tell you something," Luke said, "even in an ambush, we can't break the established rules. We have to line up properly and engage the enemy."

Luke, worried Nice wouldn't understand, specifically reminded him.

"He already asked,"

Ister said. Nice had already consulted Ister before setting off.

Knowing this didn't stop Nice from abandoning his original plan. He wasn't a knight, nor did he have a knightly sense of honor. For him, it was all about what was advantageous. Besides, rules are rigid, but people are flexible.

Line up properly simply meant standing up before fighting, while a typical ambush involved firing a volley of arrows first—the difference wasn't significant.

Even following the rules, the ambush side still had a huge advantage. They were prepared beforehand, could occupy advantageous terrain, and most importantly, their chosen opponent was definitely weaker than them.

"How many heists are you planning?"

Luke immediately got into the swing of things, his words dripping with thuggishness.

"Not too much. If we go too far, they'll definitely send someone to deal with us. If they send a powerful person, we'll be in trouble."

Nice was very practical. Old Man Simon had warned him that nothing should be done repeatedly.

"Don't you plan to earn more military merits? You won't have such good opportunities in the future."

Ister was somewhat dismissive; his gambling instincts were starting to swell again.

"We've already been exempted from five years of military service. It would be best to extend it to ten years, but any more is unnecessary,"

Nice said.

He was considering his own situation.

If he had the strength of a bishop in ten years, then he wouldn't need to worry too much. A bishop in his twenties would definitely not have a bad position in the church. At that time, even if he met Duke Frederick, he would only need to nod in greeting. Even if Luke and his group had no strengths, out of respect for him, the duke wouldn't make things difficult for them for a small trusteeship.

If he hadn't reached that level in ten years, he would spend the rest of his life on the run. What Kaoni became would be meaningless to him.

Luke and Ister, of course, were unaware of Nice's thoughts.

However, they also felt there was some truth to it. Ten years was enough time for them to develop. If they were still in the same situation after ten years, then giving them another ten years wouldn't amount to much.

On the contrary, at their current rate of development, after ten years they would certainly be of a value that the Duke would have to consider.

After all, Kaoni was only so big, and it was really unnecessary to make a big fuss over such a small place. They understood this, and Duke Frederick certainly understood it too.

Dawn in the mountains was always shrouded in dew. It was February now, and although the coldest time of year had passed, traveling in the chilly dew was still very uncomfortable.

Nice wrapped his blanket tighter around himself, but even a fine fleece blanket couldn't keep out the cold dew.

What was even more unpleasant was the dampness; the dew not only clung to his exposed skin but also kept seeping into the blanket and his clothes.

"Let's stop for a moment, everyone?"

Ister was the first to feel the pinch.

Luke glanced up; it was already completely light.

"Good, we should find a place to hide, otherwise we might run into trouble once the dew dissipates."

Hearing this, everyone felt incredibly excited. Sitting on the plows, traversing the cold fog, each person could only wrap themselves tightly in their seats with blankets, there was no room to move, and their bodies were already stiff.

"Now we need to determine our location, Mr. Harlan, we'll need your help with that,"

Luke said to the magician on the plow behind him.

The magician didn't refuse; he lifted the hem of his robe, took a leather bag from his belt, and pulled out a round plate.

Nice stared at the leather bag with great envy. The bag didn't look very big, but it could hold a lot. Because anything that entered it would be shrunk to a fraction of its original size; a two-handed greatsword thrown in would become the size of a fruit knife.

He also longed to own such a leather pouch, but to use it, one needed the strength of a mid-level mage. His magic power was sufficient, but he was far from it in other aspects.

The mage held up a disc, which was covered with small, glowing dots, all aligned with the positions of the stars in the sky.

After studying it for a while, he opened a map and pointed to a location: "We're near this town, with an error margin of about ten kilometers."

"That seems a bit too close to populated areas. Isn't it unsafe?"

Luke was a cautious man.

"As long as we stay a distance from the main road, we should be fine, but we need to be careful of people living in the mountains."

Metro jumped off the plow in front of him and walked towards them.

"Being closer to a town has its advantages; it's easier to gather information."

East also expressed his opinion.

An ambush isn't just about lying in wait by the roadside; even bandits need to scout ahead, let alone them.

"I'll scout around first. You all take this opportunity to find somewhere to hide!"

Nice volunteered to be the scout.

No one else was willing to take the job; there was truly no one else suitable for it.

"Take these with you."

The mage Harlan handed over a few feathers.

These feathers, apart from being snow-white, were no different from ordinary feathers. Nice carefully took them and placed them close to his body pocket.

He knew what these feathers were, of course.

He casually cast a few divine spells on himself, then leaped out, disappearing instantly into the mist.

This was the first time he had used the secret techniques of the Pasens Cult.

Previously, he preferred "Lightness Spell," but now he used "Lightness of Body Spell." Lightness Spell was magic that could make everything within a foot of his body become very light. Lightness of Body Spell, however, was a secret technique of the Pasens Cult; it only made the body light and had no effect on anything outside of it. Therefore, the Pasens Cult used light armor and light weapons.

For this reason, Nice dared not carry anything too heavy, only making his body light, and he didn't wear the throwing knife cloak. Besides the light armor, he only had a soft sword and thirty throwing knives.

All the secret techniques of the Pasens Cult were very practical and easy to master. The drawback was that the effect was related to the mastery process; his Lightness of Body Spell was still relatively new, and he could only reduce his body weight by half. Another drawback was that Lightness of Body Spell only worked on himself and could not be applied to others.

Magic is not a problem; as long as it can be cast, the effect will definitely not be too bad. With the Lightness spell, he can reduce his weight to one-tenth.

However, each has its advantages and disadvantages. The Lightness spell can only last for seven or eight minutes, while the Body Light spell can last for most of the day. Now that it is wartime, he needs to minimize the consumption of magic power.

The surroundings are shrouded in mist, and visibility is reduced to less than a meter.

He is not immune to the darkness. There are many ways to deal with the darkness, but dealing with the mist is not so easy. He can only look at the small patch of ground beneath his feet.

Rushing down the hillside, his speed is getting faster and faster. Suddenly, he pulls on the rope on his shoulder, and with a "whoosh," a pair of wings springs out from his back. These wings are very small, only one meter long and only one foot wide at their widest point. They are shaped like bat wings and are made of two layers of skin and many wooden skeletons.

As soon as these things open, his body immediately becomes lighter, and he almost floats away.

This technique is a secret art of the Pasens sect. According to the scriptures, once mastered, it allows one to fly close to the ground, covering a thousand miles in a day and night.

Even better, this secret art, unlike the purely travel-oriented "Wind Wings" technique, can also be used in combat.

Following the low-lying areas between the mountains, winding and twisting around the peaks, after an unknown amount of time, Nice finally found a path.

It was a path paved with fine sand and pebbles.

Now that he had found a path, things became much easier. He crept forward along the path, no longer needing to wander aimlessly as before. This time, he didn't go far before seeing a faint light.

That must be the town the magician Harlan had mentioned.

He dared not approach recklessly; where there are people, there is danger.

He took a feather from his inner pocket, whispered a few words to his lips, and tossed the feather into the air. The feather spun a few times in the air before shooting off like an arrow into the distance.

This was "Wind Spirit Feather," a spell used for short-range communication.

The words spoken are stored within the gaps in the feathers. The information it carries is limited, and its range depends on the user's strength, reaching a maximum of over twenty kilometers.

This thing can also be used for navigation. When he put the Wind Spirit Feather back, and the magician Harlan retrieved the Wind Spirit Feather's soul, he would know the direction of the town. By referring to a map, he could determine their location.

Having done all this, Nice stealthily approached the town.

It was a town similar to his hometown, its soul spreading along the main road. The town was long and narrow, with rows of houses on both sides. The closer the houses were to the main road, the neater and more beautiful they were; the further away, the more dilapidated and shabby they were.

When he was about a hundred meters from the town's outskirts, a sudden barking of dogs rang out.

Nice dared not approach any further.

This was also similar to his hometown; every household kept a dog. Perhaps because most "towns" didn't have walls and were far less safe than "cities," keeping a guard dog was a common choice.

Nice disliked dogs; they were incredibly intelligent, possessing not only superb hearing but also an exceptionally keen sense of smell.

He had been searching for ways to deal with dogs for a long time, and now he was confident he could escape their pursuit. However, he wasn't so sure about sneaking into a specific location without their notice.

He circled the town, searching for every possible corner to infiltrate. In doing so, he could roughly discern how many houses lived in the town from the sound of dogs barking.

Where dogs barked, people lived; where there were people, there were dogs.

The fog gradually dissipated, and through the last wisp of mist, Nice saw all the town's exits and memorized them.

When he heard human voices in the town, he finally left.

Following the direction the Wind Spirit Feather had flown back in, he began to run back. When he returned to his original spot, the fog had lifted. There was no trace of anyone there; even the tracks left by the plow had vanished.

"Over here, we're over here,"

Luke's voice came from afar.

From a grove of trees at the foot of the mountain, a furtive head peeked out. Nice immediately ran over and followed.

It was indeed a good hiding place. From the outside, it looked like a flat area, but once inside, it turned out to be a ravine, only hidden by the dense canopy of trees.

It was winter, and the leaves hadn't grown yet, so Luke and his men had hung a large net in the trees, covering it with all the dry branches and leaves they had collected. Unless you got close, you couldn't tell they were hiding there at all…

All the warhorses were gathered in the very center of the grove, and the rakes were leaned against the trees, serving as excellent cover. The one facing outwards was covered with many dry branches and leaves. From the outside, it was absolutely impossible to spot them.

At each of the four corners of this makeshift shelter, a lookout stood guard, peeking out cautiously. The people beneath them were all wrapped in blankets, resting against the trees. Many of them were already snoring.

"Thank you for your hard work,"

Luke said, approaching

with a cold tart filled with dried meat. Now behind enemy lines, no one dared to light a fire. So they could only eat cold food.

Nice was indeed hungry. He took a bite of the flatbread, and perhaps because he was so hungry, he found it quite delicious despite being cold.

He plopped down on the ground and finished the flatbread in a few bites before saying, "I found that town, but unfortunately, I can't get close. That town is full of dogs!" "Good, there are dogs."

Metro was shrewd; he immediately exclaimed, "If every house has a dog, it means that the town probably only has one small church, and there definitely isn't anyone hiding there."

This was based on experience.

Like Admont, it was also a town, but because it had two monasteries, a church, and a hermitage, hardly anyone in the town kept dogs.

"After dawn, try to sneak in,"

Luke told Metro.

The members of this team each had their own strengths: Palm was strong in combat, Ister was skilled in construction and art, and Metro's advantage was that he had been to many places, had a lot of experience, and was good at dealing with people.

Metro has another skill: he can mimic various dialects and speaks many languages, making him the best person to gather information.

“I can’t go alone,”

Metro replied immediately. Even stealing requires a lookout. Gathering information, a highly difficult task, requires cooperation.

“Then I’ll go!”

Nice didn’t want to put Luke in a difficult position. Of these people, Palm was definitely untrustworthy, and Easter was too prone to gambling. Plus, he had a unique air about him; he could easily impersonate a scholar or artist, but not quite convincing as anything else. And scholars and artists were unlikely to go to such a poor place. Luke was a good choice, but as the team leader, he wasn’t suited for such a dangerous mission.

After resting for more than an hour, when the sunlight slanted into the woods, Nice got up from the ground.

Metro was already prepared; he brought two tattered clothes and two smelly, folded wigs.

In just a few minutes, the two men were completely transformed into two farmers. To avoid being recognized, they smeared brown grease on their faces, hands, and necks, making them look filthy.

Luke brought over a horse, a specially prepared old, thin horse with a tangled coat and some graying due to its age.

The plow was ready; any parts that might expose the horse's hooves had been removed and covered in mud, making it look like it had been used for a long time.

Metro harnessed the horse, and the two of them drove the plow towards the town.

Along the way, Nice kept unconsciously touching the patches on his trousers and shoulders; they looked like patches, but actually concealed throwing knives. In addition, they had daggers strapped to their calves, and two pitchforks on the plow—these were their only weapons.

Nice rarely felt fear anymore, but at this moment, they were filled with trepidation.

To their relief, no one noticed them. Partly because farmers were still not highly regarded, but more importantly because they were riding on a plow.

In people's minds, carts represented long-distance travel, especially horse-drawn carriages, while plows were farm implements, used only for going to the market.

The town was relatively close to the front lines, though its location was somewhat remote, and it remained relatively peaceful. Early in the morning, people were still coming and going, each going about their own business.

It was February, still winter, and the fields hadn't been plowed yet; no one was working in the fields. Everyone had gathered near the town, making it quite lively.

A squad of soldiers guarded the town's entrance, ignoring the townspeople coming and going, only stopping the convoy when it passed.

Nice and Metro exchanged a glance. They had initially thought it was just an ordinary town, but the presence of guards made them uneasy; it meant something was amiss.

Metro pulled on the reins, causing the horses pulling the cart to turn onto the ridges of the field. The plow continued moving along the ridges, and at a considerable speed.

After traveling several hundred meters, the plow stopped beside a pile of firewood. The two men, carrying pitchforks made from tree branches, dismounted from the plow. The pitchforks, originally prepared as weapons, had unexpectedly come in handy.

Metro pitched a bundle of firewood onto the rake, and Nice followed suit. He'd never used one before and was a little clumsy, but thankfully no one noticed them.

As they worked, they secretly observed the soldiers at the town entrance.

Three wagons approached the town, seemingly a caravan. Metro and Nice exchanged a glance; both clearly recognized this as a good opportunity.

They tossed the pitchforks back onto the rake and drove towards the town entrance, controlling their speed to let the three wagons arrive before them.

Sure enough, the wagons were stopped, an officer questioned them, and soldiers began searching the wagons.

Metro and Nice became unusually calm, driving the rake straight through the checkpoints. The moment they entered the town, Nice's heart was in his throat; he had rarely been this nervous.

The soldiers, as expected, didn't notice the rake, and the two breathed a sigh of relief.

Just as the two were pondering their next move, the officers suddenly shouted, "Halt!"

Ness instinctively reached into the patch of his quiver and caught a throwing knife between his fingers; Metro quickly got off the plow, bowing respectfully to the officer.

"The firewood is scattered everywhere, clean it up immediately,"

the officer cursed, covering his nose, without even glancing at Metro.

The firewood, piled in the open, had become moldy and rotten after months of wind and rain, emitting a sour, foul odor.

The two men finally felt relieved. Metro quickly picked up the scattered firewood. The townspeople paid no attention; who would notice two smelly farmers?

Soldiers were also guarding the other half of the town, and what bothered them even more was the presence of soldiers at the entrance to a side alley.

The two exchanged glances and drove the plow into the side road.

This small town should have been interconnected, with every alleyway leading out of town. However, the ends of these alleys were now blocked by wooden fences.

They hadn't randomly turned into a side street; on their way in, Nice had already discerned from the barking of dogs that there were two uninhabited areas, one of which was guarded by soldiers.

As soon as they turned into the alley, Nice listened intently to the sounds around them. Suddenly, he pointed to a courtyard; there was no sound from inside.

The two of them were now at the back of that courtyard. Seeing that no one was around, Nice leaped onto the wall. The wall was only slightly higher than a person, making it easy to jump over.

He circled the house; indeed, no one was there. All the doors were open, and the yard was full of fallen leaves. This family had left some time ago, probably having heard that war was imminent, so they had temporarily moved elsewhere. This was a common occurrence.

Nice and Metro had dared to sneak into the town with this possibility in mind.

After crossing the courtyard, they opened the front door, peered left and right to make sure no one was there, and then returned to the back wall, whistling towards the outside.

Metro, who had been waiting there, immediately drove the harrow around to the front.

Metro drove the harrow into the yard, and Nice casually closed the front door and bolted it.

"I'm going to take a quick look around and see what's going on," Metro said.

"Don't go yet. I need you to keep watch for me," Nice grabbed Metro.

After fiddling with the door with a knife, the furniture inside was all there. Nice opened the orange closet, and sure enough, the clothes and everything else were gone. Now he was completely relieved; he didn't need to worry about the homeowner suddenly barging in.

He went straight upstairs.

The house had two floors, and he wanted to see if there was an attic. He had found many things in his own attic before, so he had a special fondness for attics.

Unfortunately, this time he was disappointed; this house didn't have an attic. "

Could you open a small door for me?" Nice pointed to the ceiling.

Metro, duty-bound, climbed up the corner of the wall, drew his dagger, and stabbed the ceiling dozens of times, each stab creating a hole through it, forming a circle. He then slapped the ceiling, creating a large hole from which dust sprayed out.

Caught off guard, Metro sneezed several times and retreated to the side.

In contrast, Nice was much smarter. Having been inside the attic before, he knew how filthy it was and had already covered his head with a cloth. Once the dust had settled, he leaped up, braced his legs on the corner of the wall, and darted inside.

Between the roof and the ceiling was a very low, dark compartment, thick with dust and cobwebs.

Nice pulled out his knife and stabbed the roof several times—a technique he'd learned from Metro—creating a hole. He then carefully tested the tiles.

"Can you come up?" Nice asked, looking down.

"I'm not good at this," Metro shook his head repeatedly. "I'll stay here and keep watch for you!"

Nice didn't mind; he didn't intend to force anyone to do anything.

He pulled a piece of cloth from his bag and draped it over himself. He slipped out through a hole in the roof. The cloth was covered in scales that rapidly changed color, becoming indistinguishable from the roof tiles.

Nice crept quietly to the side. It was daytime, so he didn't need to worry about dogs. Dogs wouldn't bark during the day, and even if they did, no one would care, because there would definitely be many travelers and merchants passing by during the day. He

climbed from one rooftop to another, moving forward about thirty meters before stopping.

He could see the depths of the alley where soldiers were stationed. It was a large courtyard, now seemingly being used as a temporary warehouse, with soldiers guarding all four corners.

Reconnaissance required patience, and Nice was always patient. He didn't remain motionless on the roof; instead, he patiently listened to the sounds coming from the courtyard.

He dared not stare intently in that direction, as it would easily be noticed. Listening was much safer; he had a small megaphone pressed against his ear, covered in mysterious runes.

This device amplified sound in two ways: it could amplify his own voice so that people far away could hear it, or it could amplify external sounds so that he could hear them more clearly. Moreover, it was directional, capable of blocking out sounds coming from the side.

People were constantly going in and out of the warehouse, carrying things out. As he listened, a shadow fell over Nice's heart. Judging from the sounds of things being carried, most of them were weapons, shields, armor, helmets, and arrows, not food or similar items.

Weapons and arrows were fine, as they were consumables. Armor and helmets were a bit more complicated; even if they were broken, they could be repaired and used again.

Suddenly, Nice's eyes lit up; he understood.

Duke Louis hadn't used his full strength yet; they had concealed a portion of their forces from the beginning.

Previously, most people, even old man Simon and Margaret, believed that Duke Louis was weaker than Duke Frederick. Now it seems they were all wrong. With the support of the various principalities of the Holy Empire, Duke Louis is likely stronger.

Once he understood this, Nice immediately guessed Duke Louis's entire plan.

The duke had concealed a portion of his forces, feigning weakness, but this difference wasn't enough to create a one-sided situation, so the first battle ended in a stalemate.

Now, both sides are conscripting troops again. Duke Frederick can only gather a very limited number of reinforcements, while Duke Louis, by simply unleashing his previously concealed forces plus the newly recruited troops, will have a significantly larger force.

Initially, with weaker forces, they can fight to a draw. But after the reinforcements, their strength will increase dramatically, and this new force will be a huge boost for Duke Louis, but a severe blow for Duke Frederick.

At that point, the balance of power will undoubtedly tip in his favor.

Although he understood all this, Nice had no power to change anything, and in fact, he didn't want to. The war's consequences were none of his concern; all he needed to do was fulfill his duty.

Time passed slowly, the sun rose and set, and around three in the afternoon, he suddenly heard some strange noises.

An officer entered the warehouse, and the soldiers in charge of the inspection were summoned. "

Quickly prepare ten full sets of heavy armor, including stirrups. Lord Macmillan of Morenberg and his men will be arriving soon. Also, prepare five large wagons and load them with the supplies to be sent to the front lines. I ask the Lord to help carry these things to the front."

The officer's instructions were very brief.

Nice, who was eavesdropping on the roof, felt a sudden jolt, but at the same time, he hesitated. He didn't know who Lord Macmillan was.

The title of "Lord" was very special; it was an honorary title without actual land and could not be inherited.

So this lord might just be a minor figure barely qualifying as a nobleman, but he could also be a force to be reckoned with. The sons of dukes, marquesses, and earls, before receiving their fiefs, were often called lords.

Some knights, with their formidable strength, were also not to be underestimated and were frequently granted the title of lord.

Chapter 3 ◆ Ambush

"Lord Macmian of Morenberg?" In the dense forest where they were hiding, Esther and Luke exchanged glances, while the magician beside them frowned. "You know this person?" Nice asked. "He's the eldest son of the Hayfir family, one of the four great families of Morenberg." Esther's simple explanation was like a bucket of ice water poured over Nice's head. Families managing a castle typically held the title of earl, and an earl's territory ranged from a county to one or two counties, ensuring a wealth of talent under their command. "This isn't bone, it's an iron nail. Biting into it will not only break your teeth but also leave your mouth full of blood. Swallowing it would be even more terrifying; it would pierce your stomach and intestines!" Ister muttered to himself.

Everyone present felt uneasy. This was clearly not a suitable target. "Please contact Metro and tell him to stay where he is!" Luke said to the magician Harlan. The magician nodded, took out a wind spirit feather, and threw it into the air. The feather immediately shot straight into the distance. At this moment, Metro was still lurking in that town. His job was to stay there and gather information. Feeling that his hopes had been dashed, Nice listlessly found a place to lie down.

Everyone else rested all day, but he remained hidden on the rooftop, eavesdropping on distant sounds. He had barely lain down when Luke and Ister came over and sat beside him. Luke looked somewhat dejected: "It seems the situation is worse than we thought!" He was referring to Nice's assessment of the war situation, which was definitely terrible news. "Have you contacted His Highness the Prince?" Nice asked, immediately regretting the question. It was incredibly stupid; such important information absolutely needed to be shared with the higher-ups. However, given their status, it was impossible for them to attract the attention of Duke Frederick. Having learned their lesson, they now told Prince Philip everything first, then had him relay the message. After all, the prince didn't care about military achievements; they were of no use to him, so there was no need to worry about him taking credit for their work. "I don't think Duke Frederick and his men will care," Luke said calmly, having grown accustomed to being ignored. He didn't feel distressed; he didn't care about the defeat in this war. The report had already reached His Highness the Prince, and their intelligence proved correct. They would undoubtedly receive credit for their victory, and because it was relayed through His Highness the Prince, Duke Frederick couldn't deny it. Luke even harbored a hint of malice, hoping for their defeat. If they were defeated, the enemy could conceal a force beforehand and reveal it later. This would be seen as the key to victory, and their report addressed this crucial point, its importance self-evident. This was far more significant than capturing a few low-ranking prisoners. In fact, they could easily return home now, or simply hide away and drift through life, as their objective had been achieved. With this intelligence, their merit was enough to offset ten years of military service. However, Luke and Ister hadn't come here for this matter. "We need to make other plans. Duke Frederick isn't someone we should serve," Luke sighed. He was now grateful to be a knight of the Church; at least he had a choice. "The question is, whom should we serve?" Ister asked. East and Luke had discussed this beforehand, hoping to gain some inspiration from Nice. After East finished speaking, Luke continued, "His Highness the Prince is a good choice, but can he ascend the throne? If he only gets a territory, it's useless. Golanant is already small enough; any smaller and it's meaningless." "And the second question?" Nice asked. "We have no foundation there," Luke said, expressing his concern. Nice remained silent. Having experienced the betrayal in Kaoni Village, he now knew how difficult it was for an outsider to develop in a new place. In Kaoni, he had so many advantages—representing the church, holding a high position—yet he still encountered a series of setbacks. In Golanant, they would face a large group of people of higher status than them; the more favored they were by the prince, the greater the pressure they would bear. East also looked at Nice; this wasn't the most troublesome issue he and Luke had discussed. He understood the importance of connections. No matter how much his family neglected him, they would still lend a hand when he had a chance to rise in the ranks. His father had played a significant role in securing Kaoni's administration. Connections also meant networks. The best example was when Nice tried everything to get close to Mondstadt but failed, while Metro used indirect connections to gain entry into the Mondstadt family. "Styria is an option," Ister said. This was actually his and Luke's idea. They had initially planned to use the prince to climb the social ladder through the Styrian family. The Duchy of Styria had separated over a decade ago. The two sides had close ties, and their connections here could be useful. At least for the next half-century, they wouldn't have to worry about being seen as outsiders, and after that, they would be integrated into the local population. The Duke of Styria was a very ordinary man, lacking any admirable qualities; aligning themselves with him seemed like a good choice. Although it was clear from the prince's previous warnings that Viscount Bellandos had some connections there, with the prince's help, the problem wouldn't be too serious. "That's one option, but this family lacks ambition, which means we won't have many opportunities," Luke sighed. Knights rise to power through war, so they prefer restless figures like Duke Frederick. This was also why he and Ister were so critical.

Besides, another crisis lurked within the Styrian crew: the duke had no children, and he was already old, so it was highly likely he wouldn't have an heir.

In other words, the Styrian family might become extinct. If that happened, the territory would return to the Has family.

Nice looked at Ister and Luke, intrigued by their worried expressions. After a long while, he said, "Then how about we bet on everyone?"

"The most valuable quality in a knight is loyalty,"

Luke explained the most basic common sense to the little guy with a wry smile.

Of course, this isn't absolute. If they had enough power, enough to control everything, they wouldn't need to pledge allegiance to anyone.

"This is a decadent age; loyalty isn't essential,"

Nice disagreed with Luke's words. "Haven't you noticed? His Highness Prince Philip doesn't care about our loyalty; he needs us to help him. And what use is your loyalty to Duke Frederick?"

Luke and Ister looked dejected.

"What are your thoughts?"

Luke asked, somewhat inclined to accept Nice's suggestion, but he wanted to know why Nice would want to bet on multiple fronts.

"The Knights Templar rose to power through loans, the coastal city-states prospered through trade, and Flanders flourished through industry—they are all excellent examples,"

Nice said. "Haven't you noticed? Compared to the past, land isn't as important anymore. The key is having people, money, and your own territory. That's enough to support an army. If you feel insecure without land, then apply for a 'Golden Bull,' and wage war against the infidels. Land seized from the infidels will always belong to you."

He pointed out the crucial point.

The "Golden Bull" existed to ensure that God's sphere of influence would continue to expand, unlike the ancient empires that experienced a period of glorious expansion before gradually shrinking and eventually declining.

The Church would recognize the ownership of any land seized from the infidels, and anyone who tried to take that land would be considered a challenge to God.

Luke and Ister both understood Nice's meaning, but both were filled with hesitation—this was the biggest difference between knights and priests.

Knights always have their eyes on what's readily available, because that's what brings them profit. Priests, however, are different. Nothing is more meaningful than establishing new parishes and converting heretics into believers in God.

For truly devout priests, this is their duty; for someone like Nice, it can give him the power to have his own parish.

There are only a few ways for a cleric to become a priest and have his own parish. This is one of them.

Nothing happened all night, and the next day was the same.

Completely opposite to the previous tense and busy atmosphere, now it was unbearably quiet. Unfortunately, they were currently within enemy territory, unable to make a sound or reveal their whereabouts. Besides standing guard, they could only hide and sleep.

On the third day, everyone expected to spend the rest of the day leisurely, but unexpectedly, just as dawn broke, the magician Harlan reacted. He had glanced into the distance and then gestured.

Moments later, a wind spirit feather flew over and hovered overhead.

This thing has two uses: one is to activate it yourself, and the other is like now, where a magician is assigned to handle the activation and deactivation. The former is more flexible, while the latter is more convenient, but the latter method has many limitations. The people over there must stay in place and cannot move around.

Picking up the feather casually, the magician Harlan listened to the message it carried. After a moment, he raised his head and reported to Luke, "The lord has arrived, but the people in the warehouse aren't ready. The lord and a few of his followers didn't want to wait, so they chose to leave first, while the rest will catch up after the supplies are loaded. They asked if we should make a move. If we decide to, he'll retreat; if not, he'll remain lurking in the town."

"What do you guys think?"

Luke turned to ask Nice and Easter.

"Damn, the group in front is definitely tough, but the group behind shouldn't be that strong,"

Easter said, his gambling instincts kicking in again.

Nice hesitated. In the past, he might have objected, but the past two days of waiting had been incredibly tedious. If they gave up this opportunity, he didn't know when the next one would come.

Besides, the group wasn't large to begin with, and splitting into two groups further dispersed their strength. Moreover, the group behind was mostly followers.

Their target was the followers.

The attendants of high-ranking nobles are no ordinary people; many are children of specific families. If Luke and his companions had been sent to a noble family back then, they might have had to compete fiercely for such positions.

For Luke and his group, prisoners of this rank were ideal, as these individuals wouldn't be too strong, and mistakes in battle were inevitable. Even if they killed someone, Luke and his group could bear the hatred. Otherwise, if a count's beloved son were to die at their hands, it would be a disaster. Nobles

of count rank and above no longer needed to consider the Church's reputation; they could send assassins to kill them, and the Church would absolutely not intervene.

"However, there's a prerequisite: the two groups must be far enough apart."

While Nice agreed to take action, his plan leaned towards a more cautious approach.

Two of the three agreed, and Luke hadn't originally intended to object, so the final decision was made.

They immediately began preparations.

Nice and the mage Harlan were responsible for lookout duty. Because the group ahead would be very strong, they absolutely couldn't use their eyes to probe, otherwise they would be discovered; therefore, they could only rely on their ears. The sound of horses' hooves could be heard as the first group passed, while the sound of wheels rolling over the second group was also present. The two men needed to make sure the two groups were far enough apart.

"Send Metro back, and have him figure out a way to increase the distance between the two groups as much as possible,"

Luke remotely commanded. The

mage Harlan immediately released a Wind Spirit Feather, which quickly returned.

"He's received the order,"

Harlan reported.

A few minutes later, a plow wobbled out of the town, a pile of manure on it. The stench that filled the air kept the soldiers at the town entrance at a distance.

Several wagons loaded with weapons were preparing to leave the town, but they were too late; Metro's plow had left before them.

Smelling the strong stench, the horsemen immediately ordered the drivers to stop; they didn't want to travel the entire way smelling the stench.

"What bad luck! It's winter, why would anyone be hauling fertilizer out?"

The leader was a boy of about eleven or twelve, with blond hair, a fair face, and bright, lively eyes; he looked quite adorable.

His identity was definitely not simple, because everyone else was only wearing chainmail. Few people were fully armed during marches; items like iron armor, shields, and spears were all carried by horses. Only this boy was fully armed, even his horse was clad in horse armor.

A full set of horse armor weighs at least forty kilograms, and combined with the boy's weight and the full armor, the total weight was absolutely terrifying.

It would be fine for battle, but for such a long march, an ordinary horse would be unable to withstand it, but the warhorse beneath that boy seemed completely unaffected.

If Luke and the others were here, they would immediately recognize it as a purebred Antiel horse.

"They're probably collecting manure. Manure is only readily available in populated areas, so many people living in remote villages will rush to town to collect some fertilizer when they're not farming,"

said a tall, thin attendant.

These men were all of noble birth.

Nobility didn't mean being high and mighty, indulging in frivolous pursuits. On the contrary, they had to learn how to fight, how to manage their lands, and agriculture was the most important aspect of land management.

A qualified nobleman could be unfamiliar with farming or horse breeding, but they needed to know these things.

In fact, children sent to high-ranking noble families initially had to live with servants, but it wasn't the humiliation Luke and East described.

Living with servants was mostly to teach them basic tasks, how to manage a household, and how to manage a territory. Therefore, knights of this background were indeed much better at land management than those from the church.

The plow moved slowly ahead, and the group had no choice but to follow behind, moving at a frantic pace.

Metro was indeed quite shrewd. His pace wasn't fast, but it wasn't so fast that it would annoy those behind him; he was just within their tolerance limit.

The distance from the town to the ambush point was only a dozen kilometers.

Rounding a bend in the hillside, where his pursuers could no longer see him, Metro immediately quickened his pace. He urged his horses up the slope, sweeping away the manure from the plow—the stuff that had been smelling him for a long time, and he was starting to feel the effects.

"Thank you for your hard work,"

Luke waved to Metro from the hillside. Behind him, Polbu had already prepared armor and weapons for his master.

The sound of wheels rolling on the road grew closer; the convoy finally entered the bend.

"Whoa!"

The men and horses all pulled on their reins, bringing their horses to a stop.

People were standing on both sides of the hillside, and four horses were stopped on the main road ahead. Then, several more men emerged from behind the hill, cutting off their retreat.

"Are you bandits or knights?"

the boy shouted, clearly dissatisfied.

"We're knights, of course. Otherwise, we wouldn't be standing here so openly,"

Luke declared confidently. "Don't worry, we'll defeat you fair and square. You can put on your armor and take your weapons now, but don't try to stall for time."

His words were impassioned, but his heart was breaking. This ambush seemed utterly foolish to him; the enemy had reinforcements on both sides. Whether it was the group that had just passed by turning back, or the garrison stationed in the town attacking, they would be in serious trouble.

But to avoid breaking the rules, he had to do it this way.

To his relief, the group opposite him were all hot-blooded and eager for a fair fight, showing no intention of wasting time.

Their average age was seventeen or eighteen. They quickly donned their stirrups, armor, and helmets.

In terms of the number of top-tier combatants, Luke's side was slightly smaller: four apprentice knights, one barbarian squire, two priests, and one mage, while the other side had twelve apprentice knights. However

, Luke's side had the advantage in terms of soldier numbers, with a total of twenty-two soldiers plus three followers, while the other side only had twenty.

Raising their spears high, both sides began to line up. Luke's group had already secured advantageous positions, forcing the opposing group to split into two teams, backed by the carriages, to defend both sides.

Throughout, Luke's side made no small movements. Even when the other group donned their armor, his side hadn't prepared any magic or divine spells. Only when they reached the enemy formation did he raise his right hand.

This was their salute to the enemy, and also a signal for battle.

Almost instantly, the mage Harlan and the priest began their respective chants. —They had no mages or priests, and besides that, they had a fatal weakness: they had no commander.

At this moment, their only option was to rush forward quickly, kill the two men before their magic and divine spells were fully prepared, or at the very least, interrupt their magic. Unfortunately, the twelve apprentice knights looked at each other, none of them stepping forward to give orders.

Opportunities on the battlefield are fleeting. As the hazy, feathery phantoms rose, as golden light flowed around Luke and their warhorses, it was already too late for the other side.

Luke, Palm, and Nice charged forward on horseback. Nice's horse was the slowest, but his attack was the fastest. His right hand rapidly plucked the bowstring, firing arrow after arrow.

His only half-bundle of arrows was now all gone.

On the hillside, the soldiers were also shooting arrows, their aim terrible due to a lack of awareness (or perhaps not seeing clearly). Fortunately, their targets were close, and they had the advantage of the higher ground.

Whether it was Nice or the other soldiers, they were all shooting at the enemy soldiers.

The soldiers who jumped down from the carriages were not particularly strong, and their weapons were spears—standard spearmen.

Spearmen are strong offensively but weak defensively, effective against cavalry but vulnerable to archers—this is common knowledge.

Screams followed one after another as Niss's arrows were cunning and swift, targeting the most vulnerable spots like the calves and shoulders. The arrows raining down from the hillside also had a significant effect; their presence forced the opposing soldiers to be distracted, and against Niss's relentless barrage, distraction was fatal.

A volley of arrows felled a third of the twenty soldiers.

A spear formation is only effective when it's densely packed; once a gap appears, it's useless, especially with a third gone.

The other two targeted the apprentice knights. Luke and Palm practically charged in, unleashing the divine magic of the Spear of Longinus—two beams of light, like a peacock spreading its tail, thrusting towards the enemy.

The twelve apprentice knights split into two groups, facing forward and backward respectively. Only six were directly in front, and under the terrifying attacks of Luke and Palm, they were utterly powerless to resist.

Four were instantly knocked away, and the remaining one, slightly stronger, was struggling to protect the child, resulting in a foot-long gash on his stomach from a glancing blow from Palm's lance.

"Go! Protect the young master and escape!" the one who had narrowly escaped shouted.

The "young master" he referred to was, of course, the child he was protecting, but at this moment, there was no hierarchy among them, and they didn't know who was responsible for covering the retreat or who would lead the young master away. Therefore, no one reacted after he spoke.

However, his words did remind the child, who spurred his horse, and it bolted forward.

He was fast, but the other knights were not slow; with a series of bowstring twangs, a volley of arrows shot towards the horse.

Although the horse armor was airtight, covering even the horse's four legs, gaps always appeared when it galloped.

Unfortunately, Nice's archery failed this time. A series of light clanging sounds followed as all the arrows pierced the armor, which seemed to be made of magnets, causing the arrows to deviate from their trajectory and strike the armor plates directly.

There are simply too many ways to counter ranged weapons, and this was one of them. It's no wonder knights rarely use bows and arrows; besides the need to carry a large number of arrows, there are too many things that counter them, which is also a significant reason. However,

Nice had more than one method. They wouldn't just watch the child escape. If the child rushed ahead to call for help and attracted the group ahead, it would be a huge problem.

A silver light flew out from Nice's trouser leg, instantly catching up with the horse.

The horse was very intelligent; it suddenly darted to the side, trying to avoid the attack. However, the silver light beam shot by Niss also veered off course. The light grazed the horse's back but didn't trigger the protective magic array sealed within its armor. Instead, it spun around and slipped under the child's armpit.

Any armor has a weak point under the armpit, and the child screamed, falling from the horse.

The horse, well-trained, immediately tucked its forelegs in, rearing up to brace itself against the force of the fall.

Falling from a horse doesn't kill a person, but being dragged along will be fatal. Therefore, well-trained warhorses will do this when their rider falls.

Surprisingly, after the child pulled his foot out of the stirrup, he immediately slapped the horse's leg and shouted, "Quick, go and report!"

The horse seemed to understand him and immediately galloped off.

Before the others could react, magic and divine spells needed to be prepared, and time was of the essence. Luke and his knights, thanks to Nice, a dedicated archer, hadn't even brought javelins. Elena did manage to throw one, but like the arrows before, it all stuck to the horse armor.

Suddenly, a tripwire, close to the ground, wrapped around the horse's leg.

This was a rope with weights at both ends, spinning and flying out repeatedly, ensnaring anything thin or long.

Nice aimed for the horse's leg.

The horse, incredibly intelligent, sensed the threat, leaping into the air as the tripwire flew past its hooves.

It was too late to intercept the horse; it sped away like a gust of wind.

Everyone seemed to be jolted awake. Ister, who had been blocking their retreat, rushed down, and the tall, beautiful woman threw all six javelins in quick succession.

With so many people involved, Nice lost interest in the spectacle. He rode his horse over to the child, looked at him, and then extended a hand: "Get up, little one. The battlefield isn't a place for someone your age."

The child glanced at Nice sideways, snorted, and said, "Do you have the right to talk to me like that? You're not much older than me."

However, he was quite cooperative and got up from the ground.

The cleanup of the battlefield was swift. The mage Harlan cast a paralysis spell on the wounded and then threw everyone onto the rake.

The wagon was full of armor and weapons, probably worth a lot of money, but Luke and his companions dared not entertain any thoughts at this moment. After the mage cast a corruption spell, everyone quickly evacuated.

In their haste, Luke and his companions didn't even have time to remove their armor and stirrups, so they simply mounted the sleds. These sleds were all custom-made, designed to accommodate the weight of the stirrups.

They hadn't been gone long when five knights returned with the escaped horse. They circled the large wagon, which was billowing white smoke; the copper and iron were gradually melting away under the corrosive effects, becoming unrecognizable.

"The enemy has a mage,"

said the leader, a young man of about twenty-two or twenty-three, his face grim, his eyes flashing with ferocity.

"Only three people made the first move,"

a middle-aged knight beside him said, looking at the chaotic hoofprints.

Experienced trackers can glean much from hoofprints, even reconstructing everything that happened in their minds.

"One of them is using a bow and arrow, probably from nomadic tribes in the East. They only have their kind of rapid-fire arrows."

The middle-aged knight rode up the hillside, bent down, and picked up the tripwire that had fallen there. "And this thing." "

The other two are probably knights, quite strong, they've already grasped battle aura, but they're not yet proficient in using it."

The middle-aged knight came to this conclusion because he hadn't expected two novices to possess such a powerful weapon as the Spear of Longinus.

"Since they dared to infiltrate, this group must have a priest among them."

The middle-aged knight continued his analysis: "There are some hoofprints on the hillside, some of which should have been left by that priest. There are also some hoofprints and footprints outside the valley; this is another group of people. They're responsible for blocking the way, also three knights. These people didn't leave on horseback, but on something like a sled!"

"Should we pursue them, or go back to town to gather reinforcements? If the enemy is on a sled, they definitely can't run fast or get far."

Someone next to him asked softly.

The young knight in the lead hesitated for a moment.

The enemy outnumbered them, and included mages, priests, two mid-to-peak or high-level paper-rank knights, plus a nomadic archer—a formidable foe. Chasing them might not end well.

He feared that going back to fetch reinforcements would waste time, and if they lost anyone, he couldn't bear the responsibility of dereliction of duty. One of the captured men absolutely could not be harmed; even if that person's identity was exposed, it would cause significant trouble. Thinking of

this, he finally made his decision.

"Chase!"

The middle-aged knight took the lead, spurring his horse forward while searching the ground for tracks.

It was winter; the snow had melted, but the grass hadn't grown yet, and the frozen earth was exceptionally hard. The plows, unlike carts, didn't leave deep ruts, making tracking extremely difficult.

The others followed behind, their hearts filled with trepidation.

They were all only wearing chainmail, and their horses weren't wearing horse armor. Otherwise, the horses wouldn't be able to run at all. And the people they were chasing were all formidable; if a fight broke out, they would be at a great disadvantage.

As the chase progressed, doubt began to creep into their hearts. In their minds, sleds could only run fast on snow, much slower in mountainous terrain.

Logically, they should have caught up long ago, but they hadn't seen a single person.

Besides the young lord, the most anxious seemed to be the middle-aged knight leading the way. He too couldn't understand what kind of sled could run so fast. Judging from the tracks left on the ground, they hadn't closed the gap at all after chasing for so long.

After chasing for another five or six kilometers, the middle-aged knight seemed to understand something. He looked in the distance, then at the position of the sun overhead.

An idea suddenly popped into his head.

"These people aren't planning to return to the battlefield; they're fleeing to the border!"

he suddenly shouted.

This judgment immediately panicked the other four. If they were fleeing to the front lines, they could still pursue them slowly. If they were fleeing to the border, they would arrive in a few hours.

The young lord no longer hesitated. He spurred his horse forward. Now that they knew the enemy had fled to the border, they no longer needed to follow the trail.

The others followed closely behind, galloping at full speed.

Once they picked up speed, riding a horse was indeed faster than riding a sled. After crossing hill after hill, the group saw a row of speeding sleds and fully armed men sitting on them in the distance.

At the same time, Luke and his men also saw the pursuers behind them.

"One high-level peak knight, two mid-level knights."

The newly arrived priest immediately discerned the pursuers' strength.

The enemy had one high-level knight, which was indeed going to be tough.

Low-level knights were not a concern, and mid-level knights were the main force on the battlefield, which meant that most knights would eventually reach that level. However, reaching the mid-level and above was not so easy. The mid-level peak was a threshold, requiring the mastery of battle aura, and more than 70% of knights stopped there. Advancing to the high-level was another threshold, and each level after that was extremely difficult.

The high-level peak was considered the top existence among ordinary knights. Luke's squad was simply no match for them.

"We definitely can't outrun that high-ranking knight if we run together. We have to lure him away,"

Nice said. It was a sad fact.

He wasn't suggesting anyone else go. When it came to escaping, he had more experience than the others.

"That's too risky,"

Luke said reluctantly, but he really couldn't think of any other way.

"Don't worry, the border is very close,"

Nice said, forcing a reason.

"How do you lure him away?"

Ister asked. He didn't really want Nice to take the risk either.

"I'll take the child. He seems to be someone important. Taking him back would be troublesome, so it's better to take this opportunity to give him to them on the way."

Nice had already sensed something was wrong when he hadn't stopped the horse. To have such a fine horse, the child's identity was definitely not simple. When they stripped the child of his armor, they found that the entire set was top-quality. They immediately understood what kind of trouble they were in.

These things were all custom-made, meaning that the child's family could afford top-notch weapon makers and top-notch alchemists.

What's even more chilling is that this family doesn't value money. Children grow very quickly. This suit of armor will only be too big for them in a year at most. Such extravagance is definitely not something an ordinary earl's family could afford.

In the urgency of the situation, they didn't have time to discuss it and took the child with them. On the way out, they began to regret it. That's why Nice's suggestion was quite appealing to Luke and Easter.

Seeing that the two no longer objected, Nice leaped up, put one foot on the horse behind him, and then rode backward.

He jumped from one plowshare to another, and all the prisoners were on the back plowshares, including the child, capturing a total of five prisoners.

Nice tucked the child under his arm and whistled. His horse immediately galloped over. While not as purebred as the previous one, it was certainly no less well-trained. Nice leaped onto the horse; its armor had been removed, though a bow and arrows remained on the saddle.

The mage Harlan rose from his plow; knowing Nice was going to distract the pursuers, he couldn't offer much help but cast a few spells on Nice. The priest beside him was also quite helpful, casting two divine spells on Nice.

Ahead lay a fork in the road; one wound south, the other up the mountain. Nice spurred his mount and unhesitatingly chose the uphill path.

The pursuers, hot on their heels, panicked.

"What do we do?"

one asked.

"Forget those people, we'll chase this way. We absolutely cannot let… any losses occur."

The young lord dared not reveal the man's identity. At least for now, he could keep it a secret; few knew his true identity.

No one suggested splitting up; their numbers were already small, and splitting up would likely result in them being picked off one by one.

One horse galloped desperately up the mountain, with five more in hot pursuit.

The mountain path was relatively smooth at first, but it became increasingly rugged and difficult as they climbed.

Niss wasn't particularly strong, and his horsemanship was only so-so. However, he had divine magic and spells to aid him. A single agility spell could reduce his, the child's, and the horse's weight to one-tenth of their original weight. Even the most skilled riders couldn't overcome this.

The pursuing group consisted of riders of varying strengths and with horses of varying quality. Unbeknownst to them, the distance between them grew ever wider. Leading the pack was the middle-aged knight, who had infused his battle aura into his warhorse's bridle, causing it to unleash astonishing speed, almost as fast as Niss, who was using magic and divine spells to aid him. Just

as the pursuers were closing in, suddenly, a volley of arrows came hurtling towards them. All the arrows were aimed at his horse.

A series of soft clanging sounds rang out as all the arrows were deflected. The middle-aged knight didn't even move his lance, merely flicking his whip a few times.

Nice hadn't expected to be able to defeat this man anyway. His aim was to harass him, preventing him from giving his full attention and forcing him to focus on parrying the arrows.

He wasn't just targeting this man; earlier, he had slightly raised his bow, and another arrow he fired arced high into the air, soaring over the middle-aged knight's head and heading towards the others behind him.

This was why he had chosen the mountain path. From the higher ground, he could shoot farther, while his opponents couldn't reach him.

Closely following the middle-aged knight was the young lord, whose strength was somewhat lacking, but whose horse was undoubtedly excellent—a purebred steed.

The arrow drew a curved arc, its trajectory amplified by gravity as it fell.

The middle-aged knight, who had been relentlessly pursuing, sighed softly and turned his horse around; he was the lord's squire. If the lord were to get into trouble, he would be in real trouble. On the other hand, if the prince were kidnapped, it wouldn't be his problem much; the lord would be responsible.

This wasn't selfishness, but rather their respective duties.

"Leave me alone,"

the young lord glared angrily.

His words had barely left his lips when a warhorse neighed behind them, a horse overturned, and its rider was thrown from its back. Fortunately, the rider was agile enough to land on his shoulder, somersaulting to avert the fall and avoid serious injury. The one

struck by the stray arrow was the lord's squire, merely a novice knight, the weakest of the five.

The remaining two were mid-ranking knights, the rain of arrows overhead posing no threat to them.

"Don't chase anymore, I can manage on my own," the

middle-aged knight said, watching the receding figures with a sense of helplessness.

With that, he turned his horse around and rode off again, finally picking up speed without the burden of the others.

Nice continued to fire a couple of arrows every now and then, but the arrows were dwindling, and anxiety grew within him. Another reason for his anxiety was the close pursuit from behind, so he dared not slow down. This meant he couldn't throw the hostage to the person behind him; if he failed to catch him, the child would likely die at that speed, or at worst be severely injured, perhaps even crippled for life.

As he hesitated, he suddenly felt a lightness in his body; he and his warhorse were already in mid-air, with a cliff behind him.

At that moment, a child's scream rang out from in front of the saddle. The series of jolting had already awakened the child, but he had been feigning unconsciousness, waiting for a chance to escape. But now, the child could no longer hold back; the fear of death made him scream.

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