The Amber Sword volume 3 - Chapter 217 Battle at the riverbank 1

“In the name of our Lord’s clemency, I will grant you one chance to lay down your weapons and surrender!” A knight stood on an elevated ground, raised a flag, and yelled to the people below.
“Return whence you came from, and carry my greetings to your lord!” Hank pulled out his longsword and roared back to him.
The knight shook his head as though he had already guessed this outcome. He mounted on his horse and disappeared from the highlands.
“Why did you not consider surrendering?” Hadsh could not help but ask.
“Did you only learn how to surrender under Graudin’s command?” The veteran scout peered back with dull brownish eyes. (TL: Hadsh was introduced in chapter 209.)
Hadsh was at a loss for words. He did not know who the old man’s identity was, but he guessed the latter was a direct subordinate of that young lord.
[I heard rumors that he belongs the Red Bronze Dragon mercenaries, but I don’t buy it. This old man moves like he’s an elite military scout. He was the one who managed to discover the movements of Count Randner’s army and led us out of a predicament. But that old knight from the Palas region lives up to his name. He used the native Highlanders as guides and ushered our army into favorable spots for their armies— It’s as if they are herding us up like deer and hunting us one by one.]
It was difficult to discover the enemy’s intentions unless one was a very experienced ‘hunter’.
Hadsh did not exaggerate his thoughts.
The other guards stationed at the watchtowers did not detect any of the enemies movements, other than the old man in front of him. The latter had to be one of the best scouts in the army, if his primary job was indeed scouting.
The old man did not mind Hadsh’s stare and knocked on the latter’s chest: “Stand straight, boy. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Abandoning someone like Graudin is the best decision you ever made. You’re now a true warrior, so bring out the courage a warrior is supposed to have—”
The other scouts immediately laughed for a while. It was remarkable they were still able to laugh.
The enemy Highlanders came late but moved quicker than them. Firburh’s defenders were delayed in this forest and got surrounded by Count Randner’s army that was commanded by a few of his knights.
Hadsh’s face was slightly red. He knew that he had misspoken. Even though he was forced to submit to that young lord, Count Randner would still perceive him as a traitor; the others could surrender to the latter but it was not a choice for him. He was initially someone with considerable pluck, but his willpower was gradually worn down by working for Graudin.
He took a deep breath and determined himself to be as hard as his blade.
Hank was admonishing the other scouts: “What are you fools laughing at, get ready for battle—”
The twenty-odd riders started moving off to various directions. The new soldiers in the watchtowers were frightened and they had pale faces long ago under this desperate situation, not knowing what to do when they were surrounded. But the experienced scouts held themselves with inscrutable expressions, their breathing even, with bodies on edge as though they were like beasts seeking for a chance to escape danger.
“Study where the enemy is going to attack and find a chance to break out of this blockade.” Hank’s sharp eyes surveyed his surroundings like a hawk and issued an order to his temporary subordinates.
A sudden whistle pierced through the cold air, and Hadsh sensed one of the riders fall from his horse. His hand quickly reacted as he turned around to look, stabilizing that falling rider on his mount. The arrow seemed like it was a signal, as many more fell through the area like rain accompanied with buzzing noises.
Hadsh was distracted by his own action and an arrow was already blitzing towards his head, but one of the riders pulled out his longsword and intercepted its target. The scouts pulled out their weapons to deflect the raining projectiles, creating a cacophony of metallic noises for a period of time.
If these riders were common soldiers that the nobles hired, they would have frozen in fear or scattered like frightened rats.
It was not long before Hadsh and the others noticed that the concentration of fire on their flanks was not as intense. Hank whistled and pointed to the right with his sword. The riders understood his command and turned their mounts without excessive collisions or chaos, rushing to where their commander pointed to.
Wilson, the knight who conversed earlier with Hadsh, felt a chill in his heart when he oversaw the battle on the high ground. The report stated it was a bunch of rebels who killed Graudin and occupied Firburh, yet when he looked at the quality of these scouts, where and how did they resemble rebels? Some of the highly regarded armies in Aouine did not even have their discipline.
He immediately issued an order to his subordinates to get the other knights to move out, hoping to reach the enemies before they got to the archers who would not be able to fend them off.
But despite his quick orders, he felt uneasy in his heart.
Foot soldiers hired privately by the nobles raised their spears and poured out from the forest. Even though these people were not a proper unit, they were still a threat to the Firburh’s riders.
Hadsh leaned back to avoid a spear that was aiming for him, and his longsword slid past that foot soldier’s neck.
It had been a long time.
The feeling of a sharp sword breaking the fragile skin of the throat, cutting through arteries and causing a shower of blood to spill forth. All the muscles in Hadsh’s body tensed, and he turned his head away to avoid any blood splatter that might reach his eyes, only to see a rider get stabbed in his back by two spears. The latter was someone who had treated him to wine just two days ago, and even though it was not anything good, Hadsh clearly got to know him as a mercenary.
Right now, that mercenary was letting loose a dying gasp and coughing weakly, but his hands still gripped onto the reins and he urged his steed forward, maintaining a charge to break through the foot soldiers. There was a loud crash with shocked cries as men were knocked into the air. The mercenary was hurled off his mount and struck onto the ground, hard, and when Hadsh galloped past him, he was already dead.
Hadsh inhaled deeply when he saw that situation and raised his longsword in fury, cutting down three foot soldiers in front of him. The enemies were low Iron-rankers and there were some who did not even reach that standard. With his current strength, these enemies were not really a threat to him.
However, there was a loud bellow blasting from a nearby horn and trampling noises from horses that came from the right. Ten-odd knights broke through the thin veil of mist and appeared before the scouts.
“Turn around and engage the enemies!” The old scout’s voice rang out behind Hadsh.
The situation was getting dire.
The scouts were already surrounded by the foot soldiers. The latter’s morale was boosted by the sudden reinforcements, and they were trying hard to delay the scouts to allow the knights to join in the fray.
There were less than twenty riders remaining.
A black figure suddenly emerged from the scouts as they were forced to huddle by the foot soldiers. Hank rode forward and snatched away a spear, cut down its owner down with his sword, then whirled his horse and charged towards the knights.
A man and a horse, seemingly with an air of a reigning champion in the dueling ground, charged forward as though there was nothing that could stop him.
It was not just Hadsh, even the knights under Count Randner were shocked. Both sides were lightly geared, who would dare to charge forward so recklessly to do mounted combat?
But that momentary pause had allowed the old scout to ram into them. The nearest knight to Hank screamed as he was impaled by the spear and lifted off his mount, and his outburst was suddenly cut short as his life was snatched away.
The spear was clearly not suited for horse combat. The forceful impact had snapped the spear into two, and Hank continued to unleash an assault in the knights’ formation. His longsword was swinging to and fro, and another knight was cut down from his horse.
Hadsh nearly bit his tongue. In his eyes, the old man’s strength was not high, probably about the same level as he was, but that smooth action of his was not something that anyone could achieve.
[Which army did this old man belong to in the past?]
He immediately wondered. Even Aouine’s current elite army could not raise such an excellent warrior.
This was someone who fought hundreds of battles, and it was definitely not something that could be imitated.
He suddenly recovered from his surprise and yelled to the people behind him: “Arrows, arrows! Cover him!”
Several riders were already preparing and did not need his reminder. They took down the longbows that were behind their backs and shot arrows to disrupt the knights’ attempt to surround Hank.
The old scout easily charged out of the poor attempt to surround him, and he raised his longsword and pointed to a certain direction.
“Seize this chance and break through the siege!” Hadsh was acting like he was possessed by a divine spirit, understanding Hank’s intention immediately. He felt his body burning up, and the adrenaline forced his eyes to become bloodshot. He directed his sword forward and the riders roared in response. The foot soldiers could no longer hold the riders down.
Count Randner’s knights had trouble controlling their horses that were moving chaotically, while their opponents who had roughly the same skill were charging towards them……
Wilson nearly blacked out from watching this scene unfold. He thought he had grabbed onto a piece of juicy meat, but it was instead a steel plate that smashed onto his hand instead. A hundred-odd men with ten-plus knights were unable to surround less than twenty scouts, and these enemies were even able to escape from them.
“Fuck! A veteran who survived the November War, how are we supposed to fight this battle!?”
Wilson was the best knight under Lord Palas. He had great experience in fighting due to the frequent battles against the highland natives. The rebels should have been nothing to him, and even if it were a formal army of Aouine, he might not even think they were worthy of a match, but this time Wilson believed that it was the most bizarre battle he had ever fought in his life.
He had seen more things than Hadsh did and was absolutely certain that Hank was a soldier who survived the November War.
[At least half of the soldiers who survived the November War were awarded the Candlefire Emblem. They were even given a small plot of land even if they were not knights. Why would someone like that appear amongst the rebels?]
Wilson started shaking, believing that he and his lord had fallen into an insidious scheme.
While the knight was agonizing over the pain from his losses, the reports of the frontline battles were relayed to Lord Palas by scouts. Even though this old knight was working with two other army commanders, he had such a vast experience in battles that these two other commanders were only fit to be his adjutants.
The only person who could fight head-to-head with him was actually the famous commander Tarkas from Madara. The undead officer was considered old by human standards, but he was perceived as young amongst Madara.
There were many talented ‘youths’ in Madara who were appearing in this particular War of the Black Rose. Lord Palas was sighing in his mind even though he was working with Tarkas. Aouine was like a frail old man with an air of death compared to Madara.
For some strange reason, the old knight suddenly recalled that it was a young man who led the rebels. He was starting to have a little interest in his foes, though it was definitely impossible to shake his beliefs.
According to the reports, their vanguard had fought against the watchtower guards. The truth was that it was not an ideal exchange. Most of the reports were victories that had significant casualties, and there were even battles that they lost.
And yet it was his army who had the advantage in numbers.
The combat prowess of the enemies was out of his expectation, but it was not at a level where he found it difficult. Regardless of the losses, at least these watchtower guards were forced to retreat to the north back into River Gris, and the goal in his strategy had been achieved.
The next battle would be taking Port Gris and crossing the river to do battle.