Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 209 The Final Act (Part 2)

"Retake the South Highlands fortress tonight. Victory means life, defeat means death."

This is the general's order.

The west wind roared and laughed as it swept through the tent, a chill running down everyone's spine.

"Has the Southern Highlands fortress been recaptured?"

No one answered; the Southern Highlands fortress remained in the hands of the White Lions.

“Take a short rest.” Sackler’s tone left no room for argument: “Your mission remains to retake the Southern Highlands fortress.”

After saying this, the general turned and left.

Colonel László, wounded in the right leg, sat on a three-legged chair, expressionlessly filling his pipe as if the incident had nothing to do with him.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert and Lieutenant Colonel Custer had grim faces, but they did not speak.

The tent was as silent as death.

A hoarse voice came from behind Sackler: "The cannons have all been destroyed. I destroyed them myself."

The general ignored him and did not stop walking; he simply continued walking away.

So many people risked their lives on the mountain, braving gunfire to climb the walls like ants, fighting fiercely in narrow passageways where they couldn't even turn around, and all of that was wasted with a single, casual remark from a big shot?

“I used the Iron Melting Technique.” Winters struggled to control his emotions, his body trembling. “The White Lion couldn’t even fit a cannonball in.”

A military family background, ten years of military academy education, and a year and a half of military life have made Winters Montagne a "systematic" person.

No one saw it better than Antonio Serbiati: military schools built to resemble monastery structures ultimately produced generation after generation of "ascetics" and "fanatics".

Winters knew almost nothing about the world outside the military. From the moment he was born, he was placed into this system.

Loyalty, responsibility, following orders, respect for superiors... obedience to authority was almost ingrained in his bones.

This is why he fought so "hard" for the Republic of Palatour—a fact he himself was unaware of.

An institutionalized person doesn't really care who gives the orders, as long as someone gives them.

Being part of the larger whole—this behavior subconsciously gives him an irreplaceable sense of security because it is his life from childhood to adulthood.

It wasn't actually Plato's army that needed Winters Montagne, but rather Winters Montagne who needed an army.

He was like a sapling, put into a mold and tied with ropes from the moment he sprouted, growing and extending in a predetermined direction.

But humans have limits, even the most institutionalized people.

One by one, the taut strings snapped, and the faces of the dead warriors appeared before Winters' eyes.

They didn't die for Plato, nor for Sackler. They trusted him, loved him, and were willing to risk their lives to fight the barbarians for him; they died for him.

Winters drew his saber and roared angrily at the general's retreating figure, "What do you want me to do! All for that damn hill! All my men will die there! All of them will die there!"

Lieutenant Colonel Robert immediately reached out and grabbed Winters. He couldn't speak because of a tongue injury, and he made muffled "ooh-ooh" sounds in a panic.

Lieutenant Colonel Custer grabbed Winters' other arm: "Outrageous! You...you're drunk!"

"Don't be impulsive!" Lieutenant Colonel Jessica, lying on the cot, suddenly stretched out his arm into the darkness, trying to stop Winters.

Colonel László lit his pipe by the light of an oil lamp, his eyelids lowered, and slowly puffed on it.

“Philpot! Mihaly! Salt…” Winters called out the names of the fallen one after another.

Sackler, who had already stepped out of the tent, stopped. He stood quietly for two or three seconds, then suddenly turned around and walked back to Winters.

He looked directly into the lieutenant's eyes and asked in a cold voice, "Do I need to tell you my deployment?"

"Fuck you!!!" Winters struggled desperately, his eyes burning with rage.

Castor and Robert were pulled astray, and Lieutenant Colonel Robert twisted his saber off.

“Winters! Don’t be impulsive! Don’t do this!” Lieutenant Colonel Jessica was almost pleading. No, he was begging.

Sackler slowly wiped the saliva from his face and made a startling statement: "The bridge has actually been completed!"

Everyone in the tent, including Winters, was taken aback.

"The bridge is less than thirty meters from the opposite bank. Lieutenant Colonel Elek (an engineer) came up with a plan: for the first fifteen meters, the pontoon bridge would be rigidly fixed to the foremost pier. For the next ten meters, people would be sent to the opposite bank to pull and secure the cables. For the last five meters, we would simply wade across." Selek looked at the others in the tent and said, word by word, "Besides me, Alpad, and Lieutenant Colonel Elek, you are the only ones who know about this."

Lieutenant Colonel Caster muttered to himself, "Now that the bridge is open, why not use it?"

"Can they escape?!" Sackler demanded. "The Heds are guarding outside the camp, can they escape?! The White Lion has sent at least 30,000 reinforcements, and the three major tribes, along with the smaller tribes below, are all 'firstborn sons'! Tell me, why hasn't he launched a general offensive yet?"

Without waiting for his subordinates to reply, Sackler sternly rebuked them: "Because he's just waiting for the bridge to open! We have a way to retreat in front and pursuers behind. Without the White Lion even lifting a finger, we'll be routed!"

The logic was so straightforward that Winters couldn't refute it.

The bridge represents hope and is the spiritual pillar of the Parat people's fight against the tide.

But if the bridge is actually completed, it won't be a desperate battle, but rather a situation of "surrounding three sides while leaving one open."

The Paratites will not escape alive, but will be attacked while crossing the river.

Before them lay tens of thousands of vicious barbarians, and behind them lay the only way to survive. If even one person threw down their weapon and fled, the morale of the army would collapse like dominoes.

Sackler's tone was icy: "I want you to retake the South Heights fortress, not just for the cannons, but also to cut off the enemy's view and clear the Heds from the trenches. Occupying the South Heights gives the enemy a complete view of the camp; they'll know everything we do. Tell me, do you think you can leave?"

No one can answer this question.

Sackler's speech quickened: "While you are on your attack, Alpard will lead another force to clear out the enemy troops attacking the main camp, and a battalion from the North Highlands Fortress will reinforce you. A company of hussars is already crossing the river downstream by boat, and I will send men to build a bridge as soon as your battle begins."

I want you to draw the Harts' attention and create a time gap for the White Lion. Make him think we're still fighting for the fortress, and that the bridge isn't finished yet. Three hours! Everyone must cross the river within three hours!

Victory means life! Defeat means death! You think I'm just spouting empty words? Our army has marched hundreds of miles, and less than half of them still have the strength to wield a sword. You bleed, but others don't?!

Silence. There was only silence in the tent.

"Remove him from his post! If he doesn't want to go, then he doesn't have to go! Laszlo, the Jessica Battalion is now under your command!"

After saying that, Sackler turned and left, this time without looking back.

……

After a brief rest and a small reinforcement, the raiding force, which had just returned to the main camp, launched another attack.

This time, instead of heading straight for the Southern Highlands, they first detoured to the northwest.

They will join forces with Bod's battalion there and launch another offensive against the South Highlands fortress.

Meanwhile, another force, led by Arpad, was assembling outside the north wall of the camp.

They will launch an attack on the flank of the enemy attacking the south wall of the main camp, repel these enemies, and prevent them from supporting the South Highlands fortress.

A silver-gray horse slowly walked out of the night.

Anglu led Strong to Winters' side, and the horse snorted happily upon seeing its master.

Upon getting closer, Qiangyun twitched his nose unhappily, clearly disliking the smell of blood on Winters.

Winters wanted to feed Strong a sugar cube, but after searching for a while, he suddenly remembered that he hadn't brought his sugar bag.

"Did you bring any candy?" Winters asked Anglu.

"Candy?" Anglu stared wide-eyed, rummaged around for a while, and said apologetically, "I didn't bring any today."

"Stop being so clingy." Winters patted Strong Luck's neck and began checking the horse's tack.

He adjusted the breast belt to make it just the right tightness; carefully inspected under the saddle to make sure there wasn't a single straw left; and patiently smoothed out the skin that came into contact with the saddle, leaving no wrinkles.

Lieutenant Colonel Caster rode over on his black warhorse. He dismounted beside Winters and exclaimed to Strong Luck, "What a fine horse! It's a shame it's in the hands of your infantry."

Winters ignored Castor.

Castor wasn't annoyed, and asked again, "Didn't Sackler say you didn't have to go?"

“I’m fucking willing!” Winters retorted angrily.

“That’s true, if you don’t go, even more of your men will die.” Caster chuckled and got down to business: “Sackler said he was going to relieve you of your duties, just ignore that. This time you’ll be in the reserves, and we’ll be the vanguard.”

"What the hell?" Winters asked with his eyes.

“What that guy László means is, if we can win, you go for it. If we're all wiped out, you can justify your retreat,” Caster said nonchalantly. “Palatu and the barbarians can’t always let you, a Veneta, steal the spotlight.”

Winters didn't say anything.

Castor was about to leave when he suddenly turned back and asked, "You always look at me sideways, are you still holding a grudge about that whipping in Wolf Town?"

At Mitchell Estate, Custer lashed Winters out of nowhere. While he wasn't exactly "resentful," he wasn't so magnanimous as to turn on someone after being slapped.

In short, Winters didn't give Caster a friendly look, only maintaining a perfunctory politeness.

Fortunately, the two did not have much interaction and met only a handful of times.

"If you don't answer, then you mean you do?" Castor asked.

“That’s right!” Winters was thoroughly annoyed. “Why did you whip me for no reason?”

Castor's tone was one of utter helplessness: "You Venetians are so petty! [Revenge is the greatest happiness in the world], isn't that what you Venetians say?"

Winters didn't want to argue; he turned around and continued adjusting the horse tack.

Lieutenant Colonel Custer, pushing his luck, sneered, "Or how about you punch me? Then we'll be done for..."

Winters turned around and threw a right hook at Custer's left cheek.

Caster was knocked off his feet and stumbled to the ground like a drunkard, spitting out a mouthful of bloody saliva: "You actually dared to hit me!"

Winters flicked his wrist, stepped into the stirrups, mounted his horse, and rode away.

Lieutenant Colonel Custer stood up, clutching his cheek, and shouted at Winters' retreating figure, "That evens things out! We're even now!"

……

Colonel Bode and his troops waited in the valley between the South and North Highlands.

The troops that departed from the main camp first headed northwest, crossed the trenches, and then turned southwest, eventually joining up with Bod's battalion.

Following Lieutenant Colonel Robert's orders, each soldier departing from the camp carried three torches.

After the two forces joined forces, Colonel Bode took over command.

The existing forces are insufficient to launch a feint attack or to launch a surprise siege.

The only feasible plan is to attack through the gap on the west side, which is the same position where Colonel László attacked last time.

The White Lion did not reinforce the garrison; the reinforcements he sent were probing the south wall of the camp.

The battle had already begun outside the south wall of the main camp.

Arpad led eighteen well-organized 100-man squads—including regular troops, auxiliary troops, and engineers—using his last light and heavy cavalry as the tip of his blade, and fiercely stabbed into the left flank of the barbarians.

If Alpard can defeat or hold off this part of the enemy, then the South Highlands fortress will be a battle of remnants against remnants.

With reinforcements from Bodø, Palatú still has a chance of winning.

Seeing the situation of the brother units, Colonel Bode took the initiative to take the lead, with his Sixth Army Chief Battalion serving as the first echelon.

Colonel László's Fifth Army Chief Battalion and Lieutenant Colonel Robert's Sixth Army Second Battalion formed the second echelon.

Winters' men were used as reserves.

To ensure the impact, Lieutenant Colonel Caster's cavalry also participated in the first wave of attack.

Even with the addition of Bode Battalion, the total strength of the second wave of attacks was only a little over a thousand men.

"The fighting has already broken out at the main camp! There's no need for us to hide anymore! This time, we must make a scene! We must instill fear in the barbarians!" Colonel Bode rode past everyone on horseback: "Raise the flags! Raise the torches!"

First, one or two torches were lit, and the flames spread rapidly, looking from a distance like a giant flaming python emerging from the ground.

The barbarian sentries on the southern highlands fortress were startled and momentarily forgot to sound the alarm.

Winters only heard the sound of horns coming from the hillside as the giant fire serpent slowly crawled away.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert's intimidation tactics worked, and the South Heights fortress was now in chaos.

"[Herd] Wake up!" A Herd man ran out shouting, "[Herd] The two-legged people are coming! At least tens of thousands!"

A Hedman shouted angrily, "[Hedman] Nonsense! How could it be tens of thousands? At most, three thousand! You're lying!"

"[Herd] My knife! My knife!"

"[Hede] Who led my horse?"

"..."

Some Hurds hurriedly donned their armor, while others secretly slipped away with their warhorses.

"Uukhai!" A chilling battle cry came from the west side of the fortress.

The makeshift wooden fence was toppled, and the black-armored cavalry charged into the fortified walls with the force of thunder, followed closely by the swordsmen and shieldmen of the Bodø brigade.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert and Colonel László were observing the battle from 100 meters away, and their troops were also stationed 100 meters outside the wall.

Learning from their previous experience, this time the Paratians did not rush in all at once, but instead entered the city in batches.

Colonel László took a deep drag on his pipe, as if trying to inhale everything in it into his lungs.

He then tapped the bowl on the heel of his boot and handed the pipe to his junior, Lieutenant Colonel Robert.

"Give it to you."

"Give it to me?" Lieutenant Colonel Robert took the pipe, asking in a muffled voice, "I don't smoke. Sergeant?"

A rare smile appeared on Colonel László's lips: "My son gave it to me. He originally wanted to study sculpture, but I forced him into the army..."

Robert was utterly astonished. He quickly waved his hands, "I can't... Ah!"

As he spoke, he accidentally aggravated his wound. His mouth tasted sweet, indicating he was bleeding again.

"Go!" Colonel László drew his sword, stabbed his horse in the ribs, and galloped ahead towards the fortress.

The soldiers behind him shouted and charged forward.

Caught off guard, Lieutenant Colonel Robert had no choice but to tuck his pipe into his clothes and whip his horse to catch up.

One hundred meters behind Robert's and László's units—out of musket range—Montagne's units were on standby.

Winters watched the battle unfold, biting his lip anxiously.

Qiangyun sensed Winters's emotions and paced uneasily.

Winters was utterly fed up with the war. He didn't want to fight for the Paratists anymore, but he sincerely hoped that Colonel Bode, Colonel László, and Lieutenant Colonel Robert would win.

Meanwhile, Winters was also closely observing the surrounding situation, and he had sent out his Dusaks as scouts.

Will the White Lion send a second reinforcement? He didn't know.

The fortress was previously defended by the Red River tribe; it's unclear whether the reinforcements are the same. Winters is unsure whether the White Lion can mobilize troops from other tribes besides its own forces.

The internal decision-making process of the Hed people was a complete mystery to the Parat people.

They didn't even know who was actually leading this barbarian army, but everyone knew "White Lion." So much so that "White Lion" had been abstracted from a single individual into "the leader of the barbarians."

Suddenly, he heard a series of hoofbeats coming from ahead.

"Who are you?" Heinrich demanded sharply.

The newcomer shouted, "It's me! Barrog!"

Lieutenant Barrog is Colonel Bode's centurion.

"The barbarians can't hold on much longer!" Lieutenant Barrog rushed to Winters' side and roared, "Colonel Bode orders your unit to attack immediately! Crush them completely!"

Winters turned to his warriors: "Do you still believe in me?"

"Long live!" Ish from Ganshui Town pounded his breastplate and roared first, "Blood Wolf!"

"Blood Wolf!" Even those who weren't his old subordinates shouted, "Long live Blood Wolf!"

Mason said softly, "They're willing to follow you, even to hell. Give the order."

Winters' eyes stung. He pulled down his visor and drew his saber: "Then follow me! Charge!"

“Uukhai!”

The battle inside the fortress reached a stalemate. The Paratul gradually occupied the square, but the barbarians still firmly controlled the walls and the internal buildings.

The Chihe tribe's fighting strength was far more ferocious than that of other tribes. The Paratu people were outnumbered, and the Chihe tribe gradually gained a foothold.

"[Herd] Musketeers, take up the wall! Shoot their leaders!" The fortress's true commander, Centurion Swift Eagle [Lazhen], stood on the east wall, holding a horsetail banner, and roared, "[Herd] Shoot the two-legged men with the most ornate armor! Shoot the two-legged men with the biggest plumes! Don't worry about hitting your own men!"

The pistol-wielding cavalrymen instantly became the most conspicuous targets, falling from their horses one after another after being shot.

Seeing his men being shot one after another, Lieutenant Colonel Custer was enraged. He raised his scimitar, spurred his horse up the steps, and roared as he charged straight at Swifthawk: "Bastards! Prepare to die!"

"[Herd] Hit him!" Swifthawk roared, pointing his horsetail banner at Lieutenant Colonel Caster, "[Herd] Kill this leader!"

As the black horse was about to charge onto the ramp, the musketeer on the opposite ramp aimed at Lieutenant Colonel Custer and pressed the firing lever.

Several gunshots rang out in succession. Lieutenant Colonel Custer's body seemed to tremble. He weakly threw his scimitar toward the horse's tail banner, then leaned back and slid off his horse.

Shot twice, the black warhorse lost its rider's control and, in pain, leaped over the wall and fell into the ditch outside.

"[Herd's words] Good! Good!" Centurion Swift Eagle laughed loudly: "[Herd's words] A reward! A generous reward!"

Suddenly, the chilling battle cry of "Uukhai!" echoed once more outside the castle.

Centurion Swift Eagle was alarmed and roared at the top of his lungs to warn them: "[Herd] More two-legged men are coming! Fight them!"

Silver-gray warhorses leaped up through the gap in the wall, and Montagne's troops joined the battle.

Passing through the smoke and dust, Winters spotted the horse tail banner and blue feathers on the east wall at a glance.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert, carrying the unconscious Colonel László, shouted towards Winters from afar, "Lieutenant Montagne! Get to the walls! Cut down the flag!"

With a hole in his face, Senior Varga lay quietly beside Lieutenant Colonel Robert; God had failed to protect him.

The next second, a hole appeared in Lieutenant Colonel Robert's breastplate. He touched the breastplate in disbelief and slowly fell backward.

"Climb the wall!" Winters' heart clenched as if gripped by an invisible hand, and he roared in grief and rage, "Climb the wall! Musketeers! Shoot Red Feathers!"

Montagne's swordsmen and musketeers bypassed the melee area and attacked the steps leading up the wall.

"[Herd] Shoot the one on the silver horse!" Swift Eagle spotted the centurion on the silver-grey warhorse at a glance and shouted to the musketeer beside him, "[Herd] Shoot his horse!"

Enraged, Winters unleashed a flying arrow at Qing Lingyu: "Shut up!"

The distance was too great, and the steel nails lost their aim. The blue feather was still intact, and more and more musketeers were turning their guns toward Winters.

"Little guy, stand still, don't move," Winters said gently to Strong Luck.

Qiang Yun stood motionless, while the section of the wall beside him was riddled with dust and wood chips from the lead bullets.

Winters threw off the stirrups, stepped onto the saddle, and, to Charles's astonishment, leaped over the wall through the gap.

Even the barbarians on the city wall were dumbfounded.

The other barbarians didn't wake up until Winters smashed a musketeer's head with his mace.

"[Herd] It's that guy!" The musketeers and archers fled for their lives: "[Herd] That guy is here again!"

"[Herd] It's him again! Want to come back?" Swift Eagle shouted angrily, "[Herd] Quivermen! Surround and kill that armored soldier!"

The tribal leaders selected elite warriors to guard their tents, and granted them permission to carry quivers beside the leaders; these warriors were called "quiver warriors."

Twenty quiver-wielding cavalrymen, clad in double-layered lamellar armor and armed with hammers and axes, received their orders and charged toward Winters, facing the fleeing archers and musketeers—the Swifthawks had prepared them for this very moment.

Seeing a pack of ferocious barbarians charging toward Winters, Charles shouted frantically, "Quickly, help the centurion! Human ladder! Get me up the wall!"

The battlefield was incredibly noisy, but Winters seemed to be able to hear his own heartbeat. His eyes were fixed on only one target: the horse-tail banner and the blue feathers.

He raised his hand and unleashed two consecutive arrow strikes.

A shot hit his chest, the quiver soldier paused for a moment, then continued charging forward.

Another shot hit the faceplate squarely, leaving a bloody hole in the quiver soldier's face, and he fell straight forward.

Winters's arrow technique was not powerful enough to penetrate two layers of heavy armor; it required close-range aiming at the weak points of the faceplate to inflict damage.

The barbarians came prepared—so what?
Winters pulled the glass bottle from his wristband, closed his eyes, and crushed it.

His palm burst forth with a dazzling light like lightning, even briefly illuminating the entire fortress.

The quiver soldiers were initially met with a white blur before their eyes, which then suddenly plunged into darkness. They covered their eyes and screamed in agony.

A flash spell blinded the quiver soldier, and Winters charged into the quiver soldier's ranks, wielding his mace.

The quiver soldier facing him was struck on the top of the head by the hammer, and before he could even make a sound, he fell backward to the ground.

The second quiver soldier was struck so hard that blood flowed from all seven orifices, but he did not die on the spot. With his last ounce of strength, he shouted, "[Herd] He's here!"

Even though their eyesight had not yet returned, the other quiver soldiers rushed over following the sound.

A quiver soldier touched Winters' armor and immediately wrapped his arms around Winters' waist, as if to strangle him in two.

“[Herd] I’ve got him! Kill him!” the quiver-wielder shouted.

He only uttered one sentence before his brains were splattered out by the Disintegration Technique.

But more quiver soldiers rushed over at the sound, and their vision gradually returned.

Winters was already surrounded. He knocked over the quiver soldier in front of him and smashed the enemy's side with a hammer.

As he swung his hammer, another iron hammer slammed into his back.

Winters was thrown forward, landing on top of the quiver soldier's corpse. The impact was dispersed throughout his back by the plate armor, but the pain still made it hard for him to breathe.

He swung his arm, smashing the knee of a quiver soldier. He twisted his body desperately, casting a disintegration spell on the ferocious barbarian before him.

Warm blood sprayed onto his visor and even flew through the bars of the observation window into his eyes.

The dead quiver soldier lost control of his body and crashed heavily onto Winters.

"This is bad." Winters had only one thought in his mind.

Before he could even push the corpse off him, the other quiver soldiers rushed toward it.

Winters' limbs and internal organs were being crushed bit by bit—this time it wasn't phantom pain, but real, tangible pain.

Beneath the quiver soldier's corpse, Winters roared and howled like a dying beast.

He no longer retained his magic, and began casting Disintegrate spells indiscriminately, one after another.

But it was no use. He killed the quiver soldiers one by one, but their corpses still pressed down on him like a mountain, slowly crushing him to death.

Many fragments of life flooded my mind.

He remembered going to sweep the graves with his mother when he was a child. His mother pointed to two unfamiliar tombstones and told him that these were his parents—from then on, his mother became his aunt.

He recalled the ecstatic joy he felt when he received his first wooden sword from Antonia. But from then on, he was woken up early every day to practice swordsmanship, and from that moment on, he hated that wooden sword.

He recalled fighting with Ben Vinutto when he first entered the military academy; the kids in the dock area always wanted to teach the kids in the military housing area a lesson. After a few fights, they actually became good friends.

He remembered Elizabeth as a newborn, ugly and wrinkled. Ella had grown into a beautiful young woman.

But when Ella was born, he was filled with fear that his "parents" would no longer love him unconditionally. Why did he think that way back then?

Finally, he remembered Anna's hair bathed in sunlight, her upturned lips, her sly eyes, and how Anna called him "Monsieur Montagne."

When did he start to care about Miss Navarre? He couldn't say for sure, maybe it started with that slap.

"Will you forget me?" Winters slowly closed his eyes; he was truly exhausted. Though unwilling, it was better to simply fade away like this.

He felt his body getting lighter and lighter, and suddenly a strange thought popped into his head: "Am I fucking going to heaven?"

Even he himself found the idea amusing.

No, it's a real, tangible lightening... the weight on my body is getting lighter.

Outside the "mountain of corpses," Charles plunged a knife into the back of the head of the still-living quiver soldier, while Heinrich and the other soldiers frantically ripped open the quiver soldier's body.

Beneath the pile of corpses, they found Centurion Montagne.

With trembling hands, Charles removed his helmet, and Winters beneath the iron helmet seemed to be smiling.

"Why did you do this?" Charles slammed his fist into Winters' breastplate, his voice trembling with tears. "You still have us! Why do you always have to go through all this alone! You still have us!"

Winters laughed even more heartily.

The others helped the centurion up.

“That’s right,” Winters said with a smile. “I still have you all.”

"Bang! Bang!" A series of gunshots rang out from not far away, and the living and the dead were all shot to pieces.

Swift Eagle shouted with ecstatic joy, "[Herd] Kill him!"

Winters felt a heat in his abdomen and instinctively reached out to touch it, only to find a steel plate—the wound was under the armor.

He sat on the quiver soldier's corpse, desperately trying to support his body.

"Charles!" Winters pointed at the blue-feathered figure: "Slay the enemy generals and seize their flags for me!"

“You take care of the centurion,” Charles yelled at Heinrich, who nodded emphatically.

Charles seized the military flag, raised his saber high, and roared, "Follow me!"

The warriors on the wall roared their battle cries and followed Charles toward the location of the horse-tail banner.

Witnessing the tragic deaths of all the quiver soldiers, the barbarians on the ramparts were terrified and fled in disarray.

Yes, Charles is right. Winters still has them; he can still rely on them.

Winters leaned against the breastwork, watching as Charles and the other warriors charged forward to the horse tail banner and cleaved the flagpole in two with a single blow.

The one with the blue feather plucked its own feather and had already fled to who-knows-where. The Paratu banner replaced the horse-tail banner, and the morale of the Paratu people in the fortress soared.

The barbarian, however, seemed to have had his spine removed, and all his ferocity vanished.

"Make way and let them out!" Colonel Bode roared the order.

The soldiers guarding the breach retreated to both sides, clearing a path for escape. At this point, the barbarians completely lost their will to resist.

At first, one barbarian dropped his weapon and ran away, and in the blink of an eye, all the barbarians were in defeat.

"Long live!" the soldiers of Palatine shouted in unison.

But soon no one shouted anymore; even the bravest Paratul soldiers now showed fear on their faces.

The thunderous sound of horses' hooves came from the northwest and southwest, and everyone knew what that meant.

"The barbarians are coming!" Anglu rode Rerik into the fortress, warning everyone, "The barbarians are coming!"

Several other Dussacs followed behind Anglu, but their numbers were far fewer than the Dussacs Winters had sent out.

"Block the door!" Colonel Bodle roared at the top of his lungs, "Seal the breach!"

The Paratul soldiers, regaining their senses, moved everything at hand toward the breach in the wall—even the corpses.

When Anglu found Winters and saw the centurion's appearance, tears welled up in his eyes.

"Why are you crying? I'm not dead yet." Winters weakly glared at the young stable boy and asked, "Where are the others?"

"We were scattered, and they must have returned to their camp. The barbarians who attacked the camp were defeated and have been driven out of the trenches by General Alpad."

Suddenly, the sound of warhorses neighing came from the gap, and a straw-yellow warhorse leaped into the not-yet-sealed opening. Immediately afterward, three more riders filed in.

"They're barbarians!" a Paratu soldier cried out in terror. Many more Paratu soldiers grabbed their weapons.

Four reckless barbarian riders quickly surrounded and killed them, their warhorses also being stabbed to death and carried to the gap to serve as roadblocks.

Heinrich helped Winters sit against the wall. He then gave Winters a sip of the strong liquor from the flask—a standard pain reliever.

The two then removed Winters' breastplate, and Charles removed the lead bullet. The bullet had not penetrated deeply and had not damaged his internal organs; it was easily removed with two daggers.

"How is he?" Colonel Bode came to Winters' side and asked Heinrich and Charles.

"I'm fine." Winters tried to force a smile.

After a quick cleaning, Charles began stitching up the wound. He had never done this before, and his stitches were crooked and uneven, tears streaming down his face as he worked.

"Hold on." Colonel Bode took the flask, took a sip, and said to Winters, "Now it's just you and me."

Winters' head was spinning, and for a moment he didn't understand what the other person was saying.

Colonel Bode took another sip and handed the flask back to Winters: "And Robert, but he's barely clinging to life."

The thunderous sound of horses' hooves stopped outside the fortress.

A soldier came to report to Colonel Bode: "Sir, there's a barbarian outside who speaks our language. He says he wants to talk to the 'commander'."

"He can just talk whenever he wants?" Colonel Bode snapped irritably.

“He said his name was Yassin,” the soldier added. “Just mention that name to you.”

……

The gate creaked and rose, and two riders, holding torches, walked out of the fortress side by side.

Almost all Paratians knew they faced an enemy called the "White Lion," but few knew of "Yasin."

But Colonel Bode knew, and Winters knew too.

Winters forced himself to be helped onto his horse; he was determined to see this enemy.

On the hillside, a rider in red armor on a black horse was also holding a torch, waiting for them.

In the Parat people's concept, the "White Lion" has gradually become an abstract symbol, representing the image of a vicious, incredibly strong, and savage barbarian—otherwise, how could the "White Lion" have brought so much suffering to the Parat people?

Compared to this image, the red-armored rider on the black horse seemed rather...ordinary.

Winters found the red armor somewhat familiar, because some of the armor plates were the wrong color, clearly indicating that it had been recently replaced.

"So you're 'White Lion'?" Colonel Bode asked.

The red-armored rider chuckled and replied in Common with a slight accent, "Yes."

“Could you lift your helmet and let me see?” Winters pleaded earnestly. “I want to see what the famous White Lion looks like.”

The red-armored rider chuckled again, seemingly unperturbed. He untied the straps, loosened the neck guard, removed the helmet, and said gently, "That's how it looks."

The last time Winters fought the White Lion, the two were less than 100 meters apart, and he was carrying two cannons.

Of course, the White Lion might not agree with the description of "fighting," and he obviously doesn't even know who Winters Montagne is.

This was the first time Winters had the opportunity to observe his enemy face to face.

Beneath the helmet were a pair of brown eyes and a somewhat ordinary face.

"A little disappointed, aren't you?" the owner of the brown eyes asked.

“A little.” Winters couldn’t hide his disappointment.

The white lion laughed loudly.

Winters suddenly realized that this distance was within the effective range of his Arrows spell... White Lion wasn't wearing a helmet.

But he made no move, because he was too tired. The battle had exhausted his "magic," and it would be too despicable to do so.

Colonel Bode cleared his throat and said, "Are you here to persuade us to surrender? If so, please leave."

“No.” The white lion shook his head gently: “I just wanted to see what the warriors of Palatul looked like.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, turned his horse, and rode away.

A hundred meters away, you can see the bonfires lit by the Hede people. They squat, jump, and stomp around the bonfires, vigorously pounding their chests and legs, as if it were a kind of intense dance.

“A barbarian is a barbarian.” Colonel Bode curled his lip in disdain. “A beast.”

Winters couldn't be mistaken, he said softly, "That is... the Dance to the Styx."

……

White Lion might have other plans, but Colonel Bode didn't mind; he just wanted to buy time.

After this brief meeting, the white lion did not immediately launch an attack. But his decision not to attack was his business; the Paratians were about to leave.

Upon returning to the fortress, Colonel Bode immediately began arranging the retreat: "Blow up the powder magazine! Leave all the torches! Light everything that can be lit! Take the flag... take the flag with you. Oh, and draw two fake flags for him to hang up!"

Winters stood on the south wall of the fortress, gazing silently at the River Styx.

He could hardly see if anyone was crossing the bridge—because the moonlight was too dim.

Although he could see ant-sized objects moving on the bridge, that didn't necessarily mean the bridge was open; they were likely engineers who built it.

Located on the high ground to the north and south, the Palatul camp is the only place that can be seen at a glance.

Although the camp had implemented a complete blackout, not a single light could be seen.

However, Winters could still vaguely discern signs of troop movement.

Sackler's evacuation plan was exceptionally decisive: the tents would not be dismantled, the camp would not be burned, the mules and horses would be taken away, the carts would be abandoned, and everyone would only take weapons, ammunition, blankets, and all their dry rations to cross the river.

After crossing the River Styx, it's only 100 kilometers from the border of Palatine. Traveling 20 kilometers a day with light equipment is easy, and even 30 kilometers is not difficult if you grit your teeth.

There was likely not enough food, and Winters guessed that Sackler was hoping for some supplies to be sent from the mainland.

The presence of signs of troop activity at the Palatour camp indicates that Sackler's plan has succeeded and that the troops are crossing the river in an orderly manner.

There was no longer any need to keep the secret. Colonel Bode stood on the south wall and summoned all the officers and soldiers before him.

"I have great news for everyone!" Colonel Bode's eyes gleamed as he scanned the crowd: "The bridge is complete! You can cross the river now!"

An uproar erupted in the small square inside the fortress; not only were the soldiers dumbfounded, but even the centurions were stunned.

Colonel Bode pressed his hands down, signaling for silence: "Without our desperate fighting, the bridge would never have been completed! Without our recapture of the fortress, the bridge would never have been completed! Tonight, everyone here is a hero! Everyone deserves a reward! I will petition headquarters for your honors! Money! Land! You'll get it all!"

The officers and soldiers' emotions changed from surprise to joy, and their morale soared to its peak.

Colonel Bode waved his hand: "Bring your weapons, raise the flag! We're returning in triumph!"

The officers and soldiers scattered and prepared to retreat.

Winters said to Colonel Bode with a wry smile, "I don't know whether to admire you or be afraid of you."

"The key to success in basket weaving lies in the finishing touches," Colonel Bode said dismissively. "The real danger is that morale might collapse at the last minute; we need to keep everyone motivated."

Winters coughed and nodded.

"How's your injury?" Colonel Bode asked with a smile. "Can you ride a horse? I'll arrange for someone to carry you back."

"Don't worry, you can ride." Winters had gradually gotten used to the pain of his wound—after all, it was still slightly less painful than the phantom pain.

Colonel Bode suddenly took Winters' arm and asked affectionately, "Winters, are you engaged? I have a daughter, kind and lovely, beautiful as a flower, just a little young—but don't worry! Your dowry will satisfy you..."

Winters wanted to shout: What the hell is this all about?

But Colonel Bode was so eloquent that he couldn't get a word in edgewise.

Being in such a hellish place, he would rather take another shot, pass out, and end it all.

Suddenly, Colonel Bode stopped speaking abruptly, looking alertly to the west, his pupils dilating sharply.

Winters seized the opportunity, about to say, "I'm engaged!" But he heard it too.

It was the sound of hooves, the sound of thousands upon thousands of warhorses.

At first it was almost inaudible, but it became clearer and clearer.

Horse racing at night is very dangerous, and it is even more dangerous when thousands of horses are running together, unless they have a very good reason to do so.

"Go!" Colonel Bode exclaimed in alarm, "Go now!"

Winters immediately used amplification to relay the order: "All centurions, listen up! Depart immediately!"

"Make sure everyone stays close to the military flag! No one is allowed to fall behind!"

A magically amplified voice echoed throughout the fortress: "Stay close to the banner! Don't fall behind!"

The gate on the east side of the fortress creaked and groaned as it rose.

Colonel Bode shoved the regimental flag into Winters's hand: "Go! You lead the way! I'll cover the rear! Lead the way!"

Winters didn't waste any words. He summoned Qiangyun, mounted his horse, raised the banner high, and roared, "Follow me! Let's fight our way back!"

There's no mistake, the barbarians' all-out attack has begun.

The white lion may simply want to meet with the enemies who are trying to retake the fortress.

Winters didn't know when he discovered the unusual activity at Palatul's camp. It's very likely that he had already noticed the situation at the bridge when he arrived at the Southern Highlands with the Red River tribe.

The reason he did not launch an attack on the southern highlands was that he was waiting for the main force of Hart's allied forces.

The troops had completely lost their organization, and everyone rushed out of the fortress. Winters rode his horse and raised the military flag high, while the others followed the flag and ran wildly.

Several sections of the outer moat have been filled in, and the earthen walls have been breached—the barbarians who attacked Palatul's camp came in from those areas.

This time, the barbarians still went to the same few places.

The barbarians were charging toward the main camp, and Winters was also leading his men toward the main camp; it was like a race.

However, when the barbarian cavalry spotted the "two-legged people" rushing from the mountain toward the camp, several Red Feathers led their cavalry to attack.

The Herd cavalrymen howled and charged towards the flanks of the "two-legged men," brandishing their scimitars and spears.

Winters, both anxious and furious, used the flagpole as a spear and thrust it at the barbarian riders charging from the right: "Those who block my way shall die!"

The barbarian was thrown off his horse and sent flying. Winters's hand was split open, and his arm was numb from the impact.

Winters continued his unusually aggressive thrusting at the horse's flanks, and continued galloping toward the main camp.

On a hillside less than a kilometer long, the soldiers of Palatine ran at varying speeds, eventually forming a line.

The barbarians attacked from the flank and almost instantly scattered the Platu soldiers.

The disorganized Platu soldiers were like a heap of loose sand, utterly incapable of resisting the charge.

The Parat people, fighting individually, were cut down and stabbed to death one after another, and screams and cries for help echoed everywhere.

Ish from Ganshui Town was separated from the others and was now all alone.

On a hillside a dozen meters away, a vicious barbarian cleaved off the left shoulder of a Paratite man with a single stroke of his blade.

Ish couldn't recognize who had been slashed. He ran desperately down the mountain, praying that the assailant wouldn't find him.

But the barbarian still spotted him, yelling as he charged at him, his gleaming scimitar raised high.

In despair, Ish wildly swung his sword, and in the instant he crossed paths with the barbarian, he closed his eyes.

Nothing happened. The barbarian chuckled as he passed Ish, circled around, and charged at him again.

They were just playing a trick on him!

Shame, anger, despair... Ish stared intently, her hands gripping her side sword tightly, pointing it directly at the barbarian.

"Come on!!" Ish cried and yelled, "I'll fight you to the death!"

The barbarian suppressed his laughter, raised his scimitar behind his back, and charged at full speed towards the lone Ish.

The heat from the warhorses, the feathers of the barbarians' helmets, the curved blades... these things were getting closer and closer in Ish's vision.

Without flinching, Ish gripped his sword with both hands, pointing it directly at the barbarian's warhorse, and cried out at the top of his lungs, "Lord! Forgive me! Protect my soul from falling..."

The moment the warhorse charged in front of Ish, the barbarian suddenly vanished.

The warhorse narrowly missed Ish and disappeared without a trace.

Ish looked again and saw that the barbarian was pinned to the ground by a military flag, the tip of the flag piercing through the barbarian's right rib and protruding from his left rib.

A silver-gray horse broke through the night, followed by several figures.

Upon seeing the warhorse, Ish was already moved to tears: "Centurion!"

Ish pulled the military flag from the barbarian's corpse and ran to hand it to the centurion.

"Follow me!" Winters took the military flag and continued riding up the hillside.

Ish wiped away her tears and followed Winters's retreating figure up the hillside.

Winters rushed to the edge of the camp like lightning. He turned around abruptly, only to find that all his men were gone.

The speed of the strong transport was too fast, leaving everyone far behind.

He immediately turned back and fought his way back.

He went wherever there were cries for help, and more and more people followed him.

He was not good at mounted combat, and the military flag was not a weapon he was familiar with. The tear in his hand caused him so much pain that he could barely hold his weapon.

In more than a dozen head-on clashes, he relied entirely on his height, long reach, sturdy armor, and incredible speed to overpower his opponents.

He heard Ish shouting behind him, "My lord! Wait for us!"

Winters reined in his horse, nestled against Strong Luck's neck, and gasped for breath.

He was nearing his limit, both physically and mentally.

"The stitches in my abdomen must have been torn open," he thought. "The blood has already seeped into my pants."

Sharl, Ish, and the other warriors caught up: "Where do we go now?"

Winters vaguely heard someone shouting to his right.

They were shouting, "Centurion Montagne! Save us!"

Winters pointed his military flag in the direction the shouts came from: "Go that way!"

A barbarian light cavalryman wielding a spear was circling around two Paratul soldiers who were back to back.

He was so tired that his reactions became sluggish. As he dismounted his opponent, the opponent also dismounted him.

Winters felt as if he had been gliding through the air for a short while before crashing to the ground.

His sturdy breastplate was dented by the enormous impact.

His soldiers shielded him. Charles pleaded, his voice trembling with tears, "Let's go! Let's cross the river! Let's go!"

Winters had burned to ashes, leaving only a few embers.

He looked at the faces around him. Tears streamed down his cheeks, falling onto the wasteland soaked in his blood.

He seemed to have put down all his burdens and said softly, "Okay, let's cross the river and go home."

The soldiers quickly helped him up.

"Bridge!" Anglu cried out in terror, trembling all over.

Anglu hugged Winters and wailed, "Centurion! They burned the bridge!"

This young Dusak, who had lived a life of hardship his entire life, had never cried so desperately and sadly in his life.

Looking in the direction of the sound, almost everyone present collapsed to the ground.

Below the hillside and above the River Styx, the bridge had been reduced to a sea of ​​fire.

Several explosions rang out, sending pieces of wood flying high into the air, and splashes of water rose from the River Styx.

The Parat people, who had not yet had time to cross the river, gathered on the riverbank and cried out in heart-wrenching grief.

So that's how it is... Winters understood, he understood everything.

As the last embers began to burn, Winters slapped Anglu hard across the face and yelled, "What are you crying for!"

Anglu shuddered, stopped crying, and sobbed softly.

It was as if he was freezing cold; Winters' body trembled uncontrollably. He started to laugh, a loud, broken laugh, a shrill, piercing laugh, as he said, "Fuck you."

After saying that, he began to cough violently again, as if he were coughing up his lungs. His chest heaved, and each cough brought up blood.

No one knew what to say, and everyone stood by Winters' side.

On the banks of the River Styx, the camp's last resistance vanished. Barbarians stormed the camp and began burning, killing, and looting.

Winters and his men were surrounded by the barbarians of Hed.

Stopping his cough, Wentes took Charles's hand and asked, "Do you remember the place where we hid the raft?"

Charles nodded vigorously.

“When I was with the logging team, I made a few rafts and hid them in the Bridge Forest,” Winters told the others. “We’re attacking the Bridge Forest. Anyone who tries to stop us will be killed! Once we’re across the river, we’ll be safe. If I die in battle, you’ll follow Charles to find me. If Charles also dies, you’ll search for me in the Bridge Forest.”

Winters stood up, leaning on the military flag: "Let's go!"

Another Paratus fled down the hillside and, seeing the Paratus banner in Winters' hand in the distance, cried out anxiously for help: "Colonel Bode has been intercepted by the barbarians!"

Winters reached for the reins of the chariot: "I'm going to rescue Colonel Bode."

“Let’s go together!” Charles and Anglu helped Winters onto the strong rail.

“No! You go and secure the raft! I’ll meet up with you. Charles, Anglu, take everyone back!” Winters gently patted Strong’s neck: “Little guy, take me to Colonel Bode.”

The powerful vehicle sped off, carrying Winters Montagne into the night.

……

Some say that "after a great battle, there will be heavy rain," but this saying does not always come true.

This time there was no heavy rain.

The dark clouds dispersed, revealing a clear blue sky. The sun shone on people, bringing a touch of warmth.

Only the corpses scattered across the wasteland, the fragments of the pontoon bridge washed ashore, and the dark red bloodstains on the withered grass proved that a great battle had taken place last night.

The fighting had ended, and the various tribes were now searching for spoils or dismembering corpses in their camps.

Gold and silver are good things, as are armor, weapons, and horses; the Huds waste nothing.

The little lion rode his horse across the battlefield, gazing intently at the remaining bridge piers in the river.

"Little lion, hurry!" A guard ran over to report, "There's a fine steed down the hill! The man by the fire is training it!"

The little lion laughed and asked, "The one warming himself by the fire is taming the animals, why are you calling me over?"

The guard replied slyly, "Those horses there are quite temperamental! If the fire-warmer can't tame them, we can just lasso them and they'll be ours!"

The little lion laughed heartily: "Alright! Let's go take a look."

I rode down the hillside and saw the horse.

The little lion had to admit that it was indeed a fine horse, and he was somewhat tempted by it.

The silver-gray horse circled one spot, emitting mournful neighs.
The man warming himself by the fire was trying to lasso the horse; each time he threw out the lasso, the horse would lower its head and dodge away.

The man warming himself by the fire tried to approach the horse to take its reins, but the horse turned and kicked him.

The man tending the fire was struggling to handle the horse alone, and he refused to call for help from others, so the situation remained deadlocked.

“What a fine horse!” the little lion said to the man warming himself by the fire.

“Yes! I recognize this horse,” the man by the fire replied. “Its original owner killed my Bala Tu’er. This horse is here; that man must have died in battle last night as well.”

[Note: "Baratur" is an honorific title for a warrior in Hetrian German, similar in meaning to "champion" in mainland languages.]
As more and more Herd people gathered around, the silver-grey horse grew increasingly agitated. It neighed and circled around.

The little lion listened quietly for a while, then whispered, "It seems very sad."

"Horses have a spirit; how could they not be sad when their master dies?" the man by the fire said dismissively.

The little lion asked again, "Why doesn't it run away?"

"I do not know either."

The little lion squinted its brown eyes and observed, then suddenly said, "It seems to be protecting something!"

After saying that, the little lion walked forward.

"Be careful not to get kicked by it," the person warming themselves by the fire casually reminded.

The man tending the fire didn't believe the little lion could tame the horse by himself, and he was actually quite pleased that another person had also failed him.

The little lion didn't respond. He tried to relax, moved slowly, and whispered to the horse, "Don't worry, don't worry, I have no hostility."

The horse stared warily at the lion cub, but refused to leave.

Upon closer inspection, the lion cub realized that the horse was pacing around a military flag.

He also noticed that there were two arrows stuck in the horse's chest, with the fletchings broken off—which he found very regrettable.

The cub had approached a spot the fire-gatherer hadn't even gotten close to, making the fire-gatherer somewhat embarrassed. He slowly lifted the military flag, revealing a corpse.

The surrounding Hed people gasped in surprise.

The body had two bullet holes in its breastplate, one in the abdomen and one in the chest.

A gunshot wound to the abdomen might be fatal, but a gunshot wound to the heart is certain death.

“He’s dead, and I know you’re sad.” The little lion slowly approached the horse. “Let me remove the arrow for you.”

The silver-grey horse's eyes seemed to be filled with tears as it lowered its neck and gently nestled against the lion cub's shoulder.

The little lion gently stroked the horse with its left hand, gripped the arrow shaft with its right hand, and resolutely pulled it out.

The horse let out one last mournful cry before collapsing with a thud. Its cry echoed across the battlefield, and every warhorse followed suit.

The little lion looked at the corpse on the ground and said softly, "Having such a companion, your life wasn't in vain."

He suddenly wanted to see what the horse's owner looked like, so he squatted down and removed the corpse's helmet. He was stunned.

The surrounding Hed people were completely bewildered, not knowing what the little lion was doing.

The little lion could hardly believe his eyes; he was completely panicked: "[Common Language] How could it be you! Herstius? How could you die here!"

The others couldn't understand what the lion cub was saying, but they had never seen the lion cub so panicked.

"No! No!" the little lion cried out, "He's still breathing!"

He placed his hand near the "corpse's" nostrils to confirm that it was still breathing faintly.

He quickly removed the breastplate of "Herstus." There was blood on the gunshot wound in his abdomen, but nothing on the "gunshot wound" in his heart—the flask had blocked the fatal blow.

"Help! Someone help!" the little lion cried out thankfully.

I've finally managed to finish the "Final Act" chapter! This chapter explains many of the questions and connects with the foreshadowing from before.

After the final act, "the war is over!"

If everyone can refrain from criticizing me, I would be extremely grateful... I'm writing this while crying, and the tears just keep flowing.

The next volume will definitely be easier... I swear.

A character's behavior will be consistent with his personality. Winters has a personality that is a mixture of kindness and violence, like a double helix, with one chain being fire and the other being cloud.

Moreover, he desperately wanted to go home.

Thank you to all the readers for reading, subscribing, recommending, voting, donating, and commenting. I wrote this chapter from 6 PM last night until 9:30 AM this morning. I can't stay up any longer, so I'm going to sleep now.

If there are any typos, please wait until I wake up before correcting them.

(End of this chapter)