265：The Coward’s Flight
To save his own pathetic skin, Cullen didn't even spare a single glance at the soldiers bleeding and dying for him, let alone attempt to claim Cedric's head.
He violently grabbed Deputy Commander Gass. Taking advantage of the fact that the southern perimeter of the camp hadn't been fully sealed off yet, the two vaulted onto incredibly fast Northern warhorses. Completely abandoning their entire heavy battalion, they fled in a wretched, panic-stricken sprint toward the Orc defensive zones in the Broken Blade Mountains!
"Cullen ran!"
"The Commander abandoned us!"
An unknown soldier unleashed the first terrified scream.
As the backs of their fleeing commanders vanished into the howling blizzard, the already fragile morale of the Sunset Hills camp completely shattered in a matter of seconds.
The soldiers who had been driven by the bounty of gold to launch a desperate charge now stared blankly at the coins scattered in the mud. The weapons in their hands felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds, impossible to lift.
Their general had committed treason and fled, leaving them completely abandoned, entirely lost on what to do next.
BOOM!
The camp gates were violently obliterated by an irresistible, brute force!
Massive splinters of wood flew wildly through the air as ferocious, bristling Wargs leaped majestically into the encampment!
And seated firmly upon the broad backs of those massive beasts were seventy soldiers clad completely in black armor!
They were enveloped head-to-toe in matte-black [Black Steel Full-Plate]. The two-and-a-half-meter-long armor-piercing heavy halberds in their hands reflected a cold, abyssal, and utterly lethal gleam.
"Greywater Village's Black Steel Elites have arrived!"
"Commander Soren's orders: We only kill the ringleaders! Drop your weapons, place your hands behind your heads, and you will be spared!"
The deafening, earth-shaking shouts, amplified by a hundred wolf riders roaring in perfect unison, exploded like thunder above the camp.
In a terrifyingly brief amount of time, relying on the overwhelming martial prowess forged in the crucible of brutal real combat and the immense visual shock of their black steel heavy armor, the Greywater Village forces absolutely suppressed the entire battlefield!
Faced with the sudden appearance of the overwhelmingly powerful Greywater elites, the vast majority of the Ironpeak Duchy soldiers felt an immense weight lift off their shoulders. Deep down, they had never wanted to bear the shameless, unforgivable stigma of defecting to the Orc Alliance.
When they heard that the army charging in belonged to Soren—the great hero who had saved the human defensive line—any remaining will to fight evaporated.
CLANG!
A squad leader was the first to toss his heavy repeating crossbow aside, slumping dejectedly to his knees in the mud.
As if triggering a chain reaction, the thousand-strong heavy infantry battalion put up only the most symbolic, weakest of resistance before collectively letting out a long sigh of relief. They threw their astronomically expensive weapons to the ground and raised their hands high in the air.
No fierce battle was required. The frontline Black Steel Elites of Greywater Village rapidly fanned out, securing every critical chokepoint in the camp and taking absolute control of the heavy battalion's main force.
Step, step, step.
Steady, powerful footsteps echoed from the newly cleared path.
Soren, his black windbreaker cloak snapping in the wind, vaulted gracefully down from the back of a towering Warg.
He didn't spare a single glance for the kneeling prisoners. Instead, he strode purposefully straight into the heavily damaged command tent.
Inside, Cedric was slumped in a pool of blood, leaning heavily against a shattered tower shield.
The veteran general was gasping for air, bleeding from over a dozen wounds of varying sizes across his body. Yet, as he watched Soren walk in, a rare, relieved, and tragic smile cracked through the dirt and blood on his exhausted face.
"Lord Soren... your movements... were far too fast..."
Soren bent down, his strong hand reaching out to firmly grip Cedric's blood-soaked armguard, hauling the unyielding, iron-willed veteran up from the ground.
"I brought my men to kill the traitors for you, General Cedric."
Soren swept his gaze across the surroundings—the thousands of disarmed prisoners, the mountains of [Mithril-alloyed Plate], the heavy repeating crossbows, and the iron-plated supply wagons.
The entire situation, and all its obscenely luxurious loot, had fallen perfectly into his absolute control.
At that moment, Cedric’s heart was consumed by an overwhelming, profound shock, his breathing growing heavy.
This wasn't a fluke. It wasn't a coincidence that he "just happened to pass by."
From flawlessly deducing Cullen's secret collusion with the Orcs to seizing the exact, razor-thin time window to descend upon the battlefield...
Soren had displayed an absolute, terrifying mastery over the macro-strategic board. With an iron fist, he had forcibly crushed a conspiracy capable of tearing the entire human defensive line apart before it even had the chance to fully erupt!
"Lord Soren..."
Cedric’s chest surged with immense gratitude and deep, agonizing shame.
"Your razor-sharp judgment of the war has once again saved the Ironpeak Duchy."
"I, Cedric, owe you my life. I owe you an unpayable debt of grace!"
Soren merely smiled faintly. "You flatter me, General. Purging internal traitors from the defensive line is a responsibility neither of us can shirk."
However, as Cedric looked around at the ashamed, terrified Duchy soldiers kneeling on the ground without their weapons, an uncontrollable inferno of fury and humiliation caused his blood to boil once more.
He violently snatched a masterless longsword from the floor, shoving away a personal guard who was trying to bandage his wounds.
"But this is a scandal of the Ironpeak forces! It is a disgrace born entirely of my blind judgment in character!" Cedric’s eyes were completely bloodshot, radiating pure, volcanic wrath. He glared dead south, staring at the snow-covered path leading away from the camp.
"Those two treacherous dogs, Cullen and Gass, will not die comfortably in Orc territory!"
"I will personally sever their heads and hang them from the walls of the Duchy!"
With that, completely ignoring the bone-deep wound on his left shoulder, Cedric stumbled with a swaying but incredibly firm gait toward an anxious, whinnying Northern warhorse.
He vaulted into the saddle, viciously spurred the horse's flanks, and galloped alone like a tempest into the blizzard. He tore toward the Orc defensive line where Cullen had fled, leaving behind only a trail of deep hoofprints vanishing into the snow.
Watching the receding figure of the veteran general, Soren made no move to stop him. He unhurriedly remounted his massive Alpha Warg and signaled to the silver-haired girl standing beside him.
"Let's go, Lyra. The general is heavily wounded; he won't be able to ride fast. If we're going to help someone catch a traitor, we might as well see it through to the very end."
...
...
The biting, freezing wind battered the rugged, narrow ridges south of the Sunset Hills.
Because the terrain here sloped upward toward the Broken Blade Mountains, the snow accumulation was incredibly deep, making every single step for a warhorse an agonizing struggle.
Cullen, Deputy Commander Gass, and a dozen of their diehard, heavily armored loyalists were fleeing frantically across the snowfield in a state of absolute terror.
"Faster! Go faster! As long as we cross that hill ahead, we enter the Orc patrol zone! We'll be safe!" Cullen whipped his horse's neck savagely, his panicked eyes constantly darting behind him.
The luxurious silk robe he wore had long been shredded to ribbons by the thorny underbrush. The highly touted [Mithril-alloyed Plate] he wore beneath it offered absolutely no sense of security right now; instead, its weight was crushing his exhausted warhorse, causing it to foam at the mouth and continuously lose speed.
"My Lord, that Soren is an absolute monster! How did he dare cross combat zones to strike us directly?!" Gass followed closely behind, his teeth chattering violently in fear.
"Who cares how he got here?!" Cullen gritted his teeth, his face twisting into a mask of pure, venomous malice. "As long as we survive to see the Governor of the Blood Province, the human defense maps we hold will guarantee us wealth and absolute status!"
He violently dug his spurs into the horse's flanks, forcing the beast to scream in pain and surge up the narrow ridge path.
However, as he crested the top of the hill, panting heavily, the sight that met his eyes caused Cullen's heart to skip a beat, completely freezing the blood in his veins!
Dead center in the snow-swept mountain pass.
A massive, terrifying grey demonic wolf lay quietly, perfectly blocking the only path forward.
Upon the Warg's back, Soren casually held the legendary [Windwhisper Bow] by his side. His black cloak snapped violently in the howling wind, exuding a suffocating, insurmountable aura of oppression.
Standing on a massive boulder beside him was his personal guard, Lyra. The silver-haired girl was nimbly twirling a gleaming throwing knife around her fingertips.
Soren had actually arrived here faster than they could flee!
"Whoa!"
Cullen yanked back on the reins in abject terror, his warhorse rearing high into the air.
"Dead end, Commander Cullen." Soren's highly piercing voice effortlessly cut through the howling gale, ringing clearly in the ears of every single traitor, striking absolute dread into their souls.
"Where exactly are you planning to take humanity's secrets to claim your reward?"
Cullen forced a pathetic facade of bravado, his voice cracking as he shouted hollowly:
"Soren! This is the internal business of the regular Ironpeak Duchy army! I am Cedric's adjutant! You are nothing but a Deputy Border Commander! You have no right to overstep your boundaries!"
"If you dare touch me, the Grand Duke of Ironpeak will never let you off!"
Hearing this laughable, pathetic excuse, a cold, mocking sneer escaped Soren's lips.
"Internal business? The Grand Duke of Ironpeak?"
Soren slowly raised his head. His eyes, radiating the piercing light of [Eagle Eye Perception], locked dead onto Cullen, instilling a paralyzing, primal terror in the traitor's heart.
"When you plotted to abandon the defense of the Sunset Hills, planning to let Orc plague-bearers march straight into the Misty Swamp..."
"When you haggled with the Orc Envoy in your tent, preparing to sell the lives of tens of millions of your own kind..."
"You ceased to be a soldier of the Ironpeak Duchy."
Want to read ahead? I have already uploaded 50 advanced chapters on my Patreon! Join my Patreon today to get instant access and read 50 chapters ahead of the public release. Thank you for your support!
/cw/Smiling123