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The silver blade, the white knight

—————– Medes POV —————–

Medes suddenly realized he had suddenly lost the ability to control the battefield. He had nearly ten thousand undead under his command, but he was unable to use them effectively. He first thought that the enemy had made their way around his army after receiving the initial reports of losing two companies, and thus sent out his army by spreading them out like two wings, with Ebdon and Wesker leading them.

But not even half an hour later, Gloeb and Ladios lost both their left flanks.

[This group of refugees…. No, this secret army… Given their speed and effective tactics, they are as good as our main force, or even better than that. Aouine’s imperial guards? Or The Knights of Freedom? It feels like someone of great importance is leading the refugees.]

Medes looked at the map which had circles and lines drawn on it. It was apparent as to what the enemy wanted to accomplish.

[They’re trying to break out of the siege by force! The enemy is moving in straight lines at our positions, cutting through our forces like a sharp knife into our heart.]

Medes had a series of cold shudders as he analyzed the map. He suddenly stood up and overturned the table with a furious roar. He went outside of the camp and looked at the dark forest. The undead troops were outside waiting for his orders, but he did not have the confidence in his judgment this time.

[What army is this? When did Aouine have such a commander?]

——————– Brendel POV ————————

TL: Some music needed here.

The cavalry galloped through the valley like an unstoppable wave, and the earth shook under the horses’ charge.

Brendel raised his sword and pointed to a new direction. The glow of the Elven sword kept flickering as if it was a flag that was moving along with the wind, and it was the symbol of victory that the youth carried.

Some of the mercenaries were from the November’s war, some had experienced the Battle of Moonflowers, some had experienced Karsuk’s wars. Aouine had disappointed them repeatedly, as if the country was forever silent, its will buried under the annals of history, and the past glory would never belong to them again.

That is why they fought for money and became mercenaries, and their goals were to pursue rewards and treasures, and had long ago abandoned the fame and faith as warriors.

But there was no one who did not crave victory, even if he was a veteran who had experienced countless battles. Today Brendel had shown them that the banners and flags that had been trampled upon hundreds and thousands of time could be picked up. Today he had shown them that victory could be obtained, regardless of what motives they had, be it for glory or for the sake of the unfortunate and lamentable refugees.

As long as they followed him, victory, was this easy.

Their hearts were set ablazed by his words and spurred on by his actions. If today, they had to believe in a lege

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