“Adjutant Nolan… why are we assembling cavalry in the forest?” Little Donnie’s voice lacked confidence as he pointed at the dense tree trunks around them, lowering his tone. “Forests are the graveyard of cavalry. That’s… basic military knowledge.”
Preparing a charge in a place that nullified a warhorse’s speed and impact seemed no different from suicide to him.
Nolan nodded. “Correct. Looks like you didn’t fall asleep during tactical training. Gathering cavalry in a forest is foolish, yes—and that’s exactly what the enemy thinks as well.” He pointed ahead, where nothing could be seen. “Their commander has already ruled out this possibility, so he hasn’t even placed extra mage’s eyes for observation. But I’ve already calculated the direction and timing of our breakthrough. It’s time to give those bone racks a surprise.”
Hank looked at the young man before him, his thoughts growing numb. From pre-battle preparations, to the precise timing of raising shields, to this almost inconceivable tactical setup… just how many battlefield-shattering ideas did this young man have in his head?
Hank stopped trying to figure it out. He trusted only a veteran’s instinct. And for some reason, he felt this plan would work.
“Brothers, we don’t have much time.” Nolan lowered his voice. “The men in the formation are buying us time with their lives, drawing the full force of the undead. Our mission is simple.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping across every tense yet excited face.
“Decapitation.”
The word made everyone’s breath catch.
“The lich ‘Gangrene’ uses a tactic of unleashing large-scale spells fifteen minutes after the battle begins. He waits until our men are fully entangled with the skeleton tide, until the lines are locked and there’s no room to evade. Then he strikes. That way, he uses the least mana for the greatest effect.” Nolan lowered his head briefly, calculating. “We have… about three minutes.”
Without another word, he yanked his reins and rode off in the direction he had already determined.
“Follow me!”
All thirty riders moved at once. Hooves struck the soft, decaying forest floor, the sound muffled beneath the canopy, dull and subdued.
Little Donnie urged his horse forward and caught up to Nolan. “Adjutant Nolan…” He lowered his voice. The curiosity of youth finally got the better of him. “We scouted that area three times before. There was nothing there… how do you know where the corpse-lich unit is?”
Nolan kept his eyes fixed ahead, answering with certainty, “They’re there. You couldn’t see them because of a magical barrier.”
There was a trace of disdain in his tone.
“A first-circle shadow spell—Dark Veil. Five low-level corpse-lich mages can maintain it together. It distorts light and creates a zone of darkness. A crude trick, but very effective against armies without mage units. In daylight, it’s little more than a smoke screen. At night, it’s the perfect cloak. Mage corps are precious. The side that reveals them first suffers catastrophic losses. The undead don’t need light, so night battles are always their preference. This is their usual tactic. But their reliance on it… is also their greatest weakness. They assume human armies can’t pinpoint the mage corps, so their deployment is always fixed. And to maximize battlefield efficiency, they position themselves too far forward.”
Hank, riding alongside, felt his eyes flare with realization.
On the battlefield, nothing was more troublesome than a mage corps. Their endless array of strange spells could kill even the bravest warriors without warning.
And yet Nolan… not only could he pinpoint their location, he even understood what spells they used and their habitual tactics. It was as if he had already fought this battle hundreds of times in his mind.
Hank felt his understanding of warfare being shattered and rebuilt again and again.
Three minutes later, they reached the edge of the forest.
Nolan pulled sharply on the reins, bringing everyone to a halt. He pointed toward the open ground ahead. “We’re about four hundred yards from the corpse-lich unit. This is the optimal distance for a warhorse to accelerate from a standstill to a full charge.” He turned to look at their tense faces. “Remember—for light cavalry, speed is life. We must use maximum momentum to tear through their line. Once the charge begins, you do not stop. Even if you die, you die charging toward the enemy.”
Through the sparse trees, they could clearly see the chaotic battle raging outside the forest. The sea of skeletons continued to crash wildly against the already wavering shield wall. Behind them, a final fully formed skeleton light infantry regiment stood in reserve, waiting in place. Whether out of extreme confidence or innate caution, the great corpse-lich had left this last line of defense at his rear flank.
“Heh, what a scheming old bastard.”
Nolan let out a cold laugh. Unfortunately for you, you ran into me.
He reached out and took the red banner bearing the golden lion of the Elfin Kingdom from a nearby soldier. With a sharp tear, he snapped the pole in half, keeping only the upper section, then secured the banner tightly across his back. This banner was not only a signal to rally morale on the main battlefield, but also the prearranged trigger for the counterattack.
“Form up!”
Hank’s voice was low and powerful. He urged his horse forward to the front of the formation, with Nolan and Little Donnie half a length behind him on either side. The usually silent commander understood his role at this moment: the sharpest spearhead. The remaining twenty-seven riders quickly formed up behind them into a standard wedge formation.
Hank slowly drew his weathered enchanted longsword, its blade pointing straight into the open darkness ahead. He took a deep breath, and the blood in his chest began to boil.
With a sudden swing of his sword, he roared from the depths of his lungs, “For Elfin! Cavalry, charge!!”
Before the echo of his voice had even faded, he drove his heels into his mount. The warhorse let out a piercing neigh and surged forward, the first to burst from the forest’s shadow.
“For Elfin!!”
Nolan and Little Donnie followed close behind, the roar of thirty riders merging into a tide that shook the night sky. The vivid red banner with its golden lion snapped open behind Nolan in the wind.
There was no other light. That streak of red was the only light across this field of despair.
***
At the same time, on the main battlefield, the fighting had entered its most brutal stalemate.
Without Hank and Nolan anchoring the line, the defense was on the verge of collapse. The undead knew no fatigue, but the human soldiers were rapidly exhausting themselves. Their arms, worn down from constant blocking and hacking, were so sore they were nearing numbness.
Casualties became unavoidable.
A young soldier, slowed by exhaustion, was half a beat too late. A bone blade pierced through his abdomen, and before he could even cry out, he was swallowed by the swarm of skeletons.
Klose’s eyes were bloodshot, his spare sword already dulled from relentless use. Watching his comrades fall, the sense of helplessness and fury nearly consumed his reason.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a flash of striking red at the edge of the western forest.
The banner!
Nolan!
They had begun their charge!
At last, the moment had come. With all his strength, he let out a hoarse shout, “Adjutant Nolan and the others have moved!”
Every soldier turned their head. What they saw next was something they would never forget for the rest of their lives.
A cavalry unit burst forth from an impossible direction like divine soldiers descending from the heavens, launching a death charge toward the rear flank of the undead army. At the forefront, that figure, with the golden lion banner streaming behind him, was like a blood-red bolt of lightning tearing through the night.
He raised his sword high and roared toward the reserve unit at the center of the formation behind him, “Switch to longbows! Nock arrows! Fire in volleys! Second line! Light the torches! Signal the walls!”
His gaze swept over every comrade still fighting in blood and fury, his voice carrying a desperate, all-or-nothing resolve.
“Brothers!! The time for the counterattack has come!”
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