2：You Miss, We Die
Commander Leona braved the howling blizzard, striding to the very front of the formation by the fortress gates.
Though Leona’s battle intent was soaring and she never showed fear before her subordinates, the palm gripping her sword was slick with sweat.
She was gambling.
She knew the orcs' numbers were overwhelming, once bogged down in a battle of attrition, the Crimson Moon Knights would be chopped into bloody meat paste in the snow.
But holding the fort was just a slow death. This was her only choice.
Suddenly, a man stepped out from the shadows of the ranks. Standing against the light, he blocked her path directly.
The surrounding soldiers held their breath.
Who the hell has a death wish? Blocking Commander Leona’s way right now?
Leona frowned, her gaze cutting into Soren like a knife.
Recruit armor. No family crest.
"This is a military formation. You planning to desert? I'll cut you down right here, right now."
Soren didn't waste time on nonsense.
He pointed into the distance, over two kilometers away, toward the faint shadows looming behind the blizzard and the massive frames of the Blackstone orcs.
"Leona, charging straight in like this is guaranteed death. You don't have the heavy weapons to tear open their defensive line."
Soren called her by her first name.
Everyone broke out in a cold sweat for this absolute madman.
Soren continued, his tone perfectly steady.
"Right now, the enemy is fighting for merit. It's chaotic, yes, but it's also incredibly congested. When we charge, the density of enemies we face will be immense. We will inevitably be swamped by sheer numbers."
"But that corner. . ."
Soren shifted his finger toward the rear flank of the orc formation.
"There are sixty wagons of high-intensity alchemical fire oil used for fuel, standing by to enter the battlefield."
"Detonate them."
"All it takes is one massive chain explosion. The sea of fire will drive their mounts and goblin slaves completely insane."
"Once their formation collapses, the cavalry can cut in from the flank. We can flip this entire battle."
The area fell dead silent for a second.
Then, Leona scoffed, a violent, disdainful edge to her gaze.
"What kind of bullshit are you spouting?"
"The position you're pointing at is deep in the rear of Combat Zone Two. That's at least two to three thousand meters from here."
"Even if what you're saying is true, there are Blackstone watchtowers the size of small hills in the way. Not even a top-tier Harpy could see what's behind them."
She poked Soren’s boiled leather breastplate hard twice, making a loud thump-thump sound.
"This is a battlefield. I don't have time to listen to a brat spin fairy tales. Get back in line."
Vice Commander Sylvia stood behind Leona, scanning the battlefield coldly.
"Hallucinations brought on by a young soldier’s fear. That area is a visual blind spot, and our scouts have never reported a convoy at those coordinates."
She raised her massive shield."Fall in!"
"The convoy wasn't there last month, so old intel is useless. But there's a blizzard tonight. They have to keep the orcs' main camp warm, so the fuel wagons arrived."
Soren didn't back down from the two commanding officers' doubts, instead, his tone grew even more certain.
"Commander Sylvia, use your spyglass right now. Look at your six o'clock, right next to the seventh siege tower."
"It's covered by camouflage netting, but haven't you noticed the ground nearby?"
Soren narrowed his eyes. The [Eagle-Eye Perception] was running at full capacity, capturing details three thousand meters away that even Sylvia had missed.
"It's been snowing non-stop all week, but the orcs' heavy boots only leave shallow prints."
"Yet right there, there are several wagon ruts sunk a full thirty centimeters into the mud. Those tracks weren't there a few days ago."
"Whatever is in those wagons is incredibly heavy!"
Leona paused slightly. This kid's terminology was way too professional, he didn't sound like a peasant conscript at all.
She shot Sylvia a look.
Sylvia stepped up to a higher vantage point and dismissively raised her spyglass, focusing on the coordinates Soren had called out.
It just looked like an ordinary snowbank and a cluttered campsite covered with gray tarps.
There were no visible wagons, but the pitch-black ruts in the snow were indeed extremely deep.
Hearing the report, Leona irritably tried to shove Soren aside."That doesn't prove anything. Maybe it's a cart full of horse shit."
"Look at the troop distribution, " Soren interrupted her, a faint gleam in his eyes."Inside the third wooden palisade from the left, there are thirty-six high-tier combat units hunkered down."
"The Blackstone Warband has a strict hierarchy."
"Why would a squad of elite aces be huddled around a pile of random supplies? There has to be a critical strategic resource hidden there."
Soren delivered his conclusion:
"Unless the Blackstone Warchief is taking a dump over there, that can only be military-grade explosives."
Just as he spoke, the freezing wind outside the wall howled fiercely, almost as if responding to his words.
Whoosh!
A violent gale swept through the orcs' rear lines, kicking up a massive cloud of snow and dust.
The corner of that gray tarp could no longer withstand the heavy pressure and the tearing wind. The tie-downs snapped, and half of the heavy fabric was ripped into the air.
Revealing neat, tightly packed stacks of massive, dark red iron barrels underneath.
It was the hazard warning color that every knight in the Kingdom was intimately familiar with.
Unstable Alchemical Wildfire Oil.
Sylvia's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. She gasped, "They're all red barrels! An entire row of them!"
The impatience, disdain, and anger on Leona's face froze for a split second before rapidly warping into unprecedented shock—and then pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
As a veteran of countless bloodbaths, she knew exactly what an explosion at those coordinates would mean!
"You son of a bitch! Are your eyes made of vulture eyeballs?!"
Leona completely dropped her decorum, grabbing Soren by the collar. Her eyes were shining so bright she looked ready to kiss him.
"I believe you! If we can blow that spot to hell, forget just a flanking charge—we could carve through them back and forth seven times tonight!"
She let out a roaring laugh, slapping Soren hard on the shoulder.
"If you can pull this off, I'm personally buying you the best Black Rose Liquor in the North after this fight! As much as you can drink!"
Soren calmly shifted his shoulder away.
"But you need to help me. There's one problem."
Soren lifted the [Windwhisper Bow].
He assumed a textbook-perfect sideways shooting stance. His left hand rose with absolute stability, locking onto the coordinates. In his field of vision, wind speed and arrow drop values were rapidly calculated.
A moment later, he lowered the bow.
"Linear distance: 3, 145 meters."
"Elevation difference: 45 meters. Interference from a force 7 north-westerly wind."
"Even with the runic enchantments, this longbow has a maximum lethal range of 2,000 meters."
"So?" Leona asked, suppressing her excitement.
Soren said, "Push the frontline forward."
"Have the heavy cavalry push through the tunnel and advance 1, 100 meters out of the fortress. You have to punch right through the trenches to get me within firing radius."
Leona agreed solemnly.
"No problem. I'll clear the path for you. I'll personally lead a squad of my guards to act as your escort."
"Second thing." Soren turned his head, looking at the quartermaster standing nearby, and held out his open palm.
"I need an Elite Armor-Piercing Explosive Fire-Enchanted Arrow."
"An oversized one. With the best alchemical core you have."
The heavily bearded quartermaster turned pale as a sheet. His legs trembled, and his lips quivered, too terrified to answer.
Leona's brows shot up, and she roared:
"Give it to him! Do you know what time it is?! Bring out the best damn thing we have! If you're crying over the coin, I'll reimburse you myself when we get back!"
The quartermaster looked like he was about to cry. He stammered:
"C-Commander. . ."
"We're out! All the Tier 3 military-grade magic arrows were used up yesterday when the trolls shattered our anti-air barrier!"
The moment those words fell.
The temperature around the gatehouse seemed to plummet even further.
The blood drained from Leona and Sylvia's faces.
Without a fire arrow, there was no way to detonate the oil.
"There. . . there is. . . one left. . ."
The quartermaster rummaged tremblingly through the very bottom of his quiver for a long time before pulling out a single shaft.
But this one was clearly different.
The arrowhead was a solid piece of semi-transparent ruby prism, but the arrow shaft was cracked, hastily held together by a thin coil of iron wire.
"It's a defective write-off. It's highly unstable and could veer off course at any moment. . ." the quartermaster offered it up in despair.
"Give it here!"
Leona didn't wait for him to finish, snatching the last explosive arrow.
She only spared one glance at the fragile shaft.
Smack.
Leona slapped the arrow right against Soren's breastplate.
"You're a confident little bastard, aren't you?"
"You get one shot."
Leona straightened up and shoved her blood-stained helmet back onto her head. She hoisted her greatsword, pointing it toward the sky.
"Then we push out one thousand, one hundred meters!"
"You hit that shot, the Crimson Moon Knights will cover your bar tab for the rest of your life."
"You miss, and we all die out there together!"
Soren lowered his eyes, the red arrow twirling effortlessly between his fingers.
Only one arrow.
One chance.
To reverse the tide of an entire war.
For him, these conditions were already a luxury.
Back on Earth, there had been plenty of times when he didn't even have a split second to look at his enemy.
"That's enough."