Translator: CinderTL
Inside Abal's Golden Tent, the scout who had been summoned trembled as he spoke, "Chieftain, we've discovered the traces of a large army to the north! The banner is the Crimson Dragon Banner of the Grayman family!"
The hot iron slipped from Abal's hand. "Absurd!" He hurried to the entrance of the tent and shouted towards Stonebridge Town, "Isn't the main force of Grayman stationed there?"
The scout immediately knelt, his forehead pressed to the ground. "It's true, we saw thousands of soldiers..."
Abal's single eye narrowed sharply. He strode out of the Golden Tent, gazing far to the north.
At that moment, he could see nothing, but if what the scout said was true...
"Chieftain, could it be the royal army of Aldor coming to support Grayman?" his trusted aide Calem speculated.
"That doesn't make sense..." Abal's rough fingers clenched tightly. "The royal army should be coming from the south! Why would they take the long way around to the north?"
Acosta, who had been terrified by the hot iron moments ago, suddenly brightened, regaining some clarity.
With tears streaming down his face, he shouted, "That army must be the main force of Grayman! They must have rushed from Laos! This is proof, Chieftain Abal, I didn't lie to you!"
Abal was already in a foul mood, and Acosta's interruption only fueled his anger.
"Shut up!" he bellowed, kicking Acosta aside with such force that he fainted on the spot.
In truth, Abal had already guessed about seventy to eighty percent of the situation; Acosta was likely wronged.
His own army was attacking the weak point of the Northwest Legion, and it was clear that the human main force far away in Laos had received word and rushed to support.
But a tremendous sense of absurdity rose within Abal: he personally led his army and was being held back by a detachment of Grayman in a small town, unable to advance even a step!
This was an immense humiliation!
Thus, when Acosta shouted the truth, Abal was filled with such rage and shame.
"Send the order!" he suddenly roared, "Cease the siege, withdraw the entire army from Stonebridge Town to regroup, and prepare to face the enemy coming from the north!"
The Orc Chieftain drove his battle axe deep into the ground. "I want to see where Grayman conjured up this army from!"
But the Orc army, mired in urban warfare, needed time to regroup.
Two knights from the Bradley family—Langfero and Boyle—were summoned to Abal's main tent.
Half of the human servants brought by the Orcs were commanded by the two of them, that is, the army of the Bradley family.
As they entered, the bloodstains on their armor had yet to dry, and Boyle's left arm was still bandaged.
"How many men do you have left?" Abal got straight to the point.
Langfero swallowed hard. "Chieftain, we still have over three thousand men, but our arrows are..."
"That's enough!" Abal waved his hand. "I will provide you with enough weapons; now you have a new mission!"
The Orc Chieftain explained that an unfamiliar army was approaching from the north.
"Take your men to the northern road, find a strategic location, and hold off that unknown army!"
A dangerous glint flickered in Abal's eyes. "At least hold them for four hours!"
Boyle couldn't help but step forward. "Chieftain, our soldiers have just withdrawn; they haven't even had a hot meal. You see—"
"Urgent military matters!" Abal furrowed his brow tightly, revealing his sharp white fangs. He stepped closer, the edge of his axe lightly resting on the crack of Boyle's shoulder armor.
"The enemy won't slow down because of your fatigue. Rest assured, once I'm ready here, I'll come to support you immediately!"
"I will obey your orders, Chieftain Abal." Langfero grabbed Boyle, who still wanted to argue. "We'll set off as soon as we receive enough arrows."
As they exited the Golden Tent, the sun stretched their shadows long, and both Langfero and Boyle were quite displeased.
During the previous siege phase, Abal had used them as cannon fodder, and now he was sending them to confront an unknown army.
But they dared not disobey the Orc Chieftain's orders.
...
Count Hal Duke led the way, the iron-gray cloak of the Watchers Legion billowing behind him. His black warhorse foamed at the mouth, kicking up clouds of dust as its iron hooves pounded across the wilderness.
The Watchers Legion, which had nearly been annihilated during the last Orc invasion, was rebuilt at Northwest Bay. Many skilled knights were in the legion, and the new Watchers Legion was formed into a cavalry unit, equipped with short-barreled firearms developed specifically for cavalry.
When Paul ordered the southward advance to support Stonebridge Town, Duke volunteered to serve as the vanguard, and Paul agreed to his request.
"Maintain the advance formation!" The count's voice cut through the thunder of hooves.
He didn't need to look back to know that the two thousand cavalry behind him were following like a torrent of steel—many of them were veterans who had survived the Orcs' assault, each armor's inner side etched with the names of fallen comrades.
His former squire, the young knight Arthur, galloped up. "My lord, scouts report enemy sightings ahead!"
Duke raised his hand high, and the entire army immediately slowed.
Moments later, just as Arthur had said, a hasty formation of soldiers appeared on the distant horizon.
Duke lifted his binoculars, and a rush of blood surged through him!
The banner opposite was unmistakable, even reduced to ashes he would recognize it: the Bradley family, who had betrayed the kingdom, colluded with the Orcs, and nearly led to the downfall of the Watchers!
"Notify the entire army, prepare to attack!" Duke coldly ordered the bugler beside him.
When the charge sounded, the flames of the day the Watchers Fortress fell flashed before Duke's eyes. He lowered his stance, aiming his lance at that shameful traitorous banner.
"For the Watchers Legion!"
"For Duke Morton!"
The veterans who had survived from the old legion couldn't help but let out furious roars, their shouts mingling with the thunderous sound of hooves.
The iron-gray tide swept across the wilderness, the earth trembling beneath the iron hooves.
On the opposite side, Langfero suddenly pulled hard on his warhorse, nearly dropping his lance.
"That... that is the gray banner of the Watchers!" His voice twisted in shock.
Boyle looked in the direction and dropped the flag in his hand with a thud into the dust.
On the distant horizon, the iron-gray cavalry tide pressed forward like the Grim Reaper, sunlight dancing on the familiar pointed helmets—these were the standard equipment of the Watchers Legion, the very ones they had stabbed in the back years ago.
"It can't be..." Langfero's lips trembled. "The Watchers Legion has long been destroyed!"
(End of the Chapter)
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