Knight Lord: Start with Daily Intelligence.

Chapter 451 Old Jasper's Misunderstanding

Su Li's roar swept across the battlefield like thunder. The golden light of the Oath Spear surged, tearing through the heavy death aura brought by the undead, pointing directly at the surging black tide ahead.

"Fight back!"

This roar ignited the already crumbling defenses. The exhausted Black Forest soldiers felt as if molten lava had been injected back into their bodies.

The Griffin Heart pounded violently in their chests, squeezing out its last bit of strength to unleash a deafening roar.

The shield slammed forward, smashing the climbing zombies to the ground. The chipped halberd and the nicked battle axe slashed out with a death-defying resolve. The priests of the Eternal Light and the Sunfire Knights, their faces gaunt and blood trickling from their lips, poured out their remaining divine power without reservation; the dim golden light suddenly blazed brighter, scorching the approaching undead.

Marshal Orstein roared like a wounded lion. He no longer held his ground, but brandished his chosen warhammer, stained with blood and bone fragments, and charged over the pile of corpses, leading the charge through the low wall! The heavy warhammer swept across, and the decaying armor of the tomb guardians in front of him, along with the withered bones inside, instantly shattered! He was like a red-hot iron, fiercely plunging into the flank of the undead army.

"For Hessen! For the mountains!" The marshal's roar became the clarion call for the entire army to charge.

The defensive line, the dam that had groaned all night under the onslaught of the undead tide, cracked and creaking, suddenly surged forward! It was no longer a desperate defense, but a fierce counterattack! The soldiers followed closely behind the marshal, like a torrent bursting its banks, crashing their dense shield walls and sharp steel against the undead lines thrown into chaos by the dwarven raid.

The dwarven war cries crashed down like rolling thunder from the mountain ridges on both sides. The berserkers of the Redbeard tribe, like crimson lava, wielded their battle axes and hammers, unleashing a storm of blood and tearing apart the thick flanks of the undead main force. The Grayrock tribe's phalanx, like a moving mountain of steel, advanced steadily with an impenetrable shield wall, each synchronized strike felling rows of zombies. Dwarven helicopters in the sky rained down fire, the roar of their rotary machine guns a death knell for the bat swarms, their bombs exploding in bursts of destructive flames where the undead were densely packed.

The undead army's offensive collapsed instantly. Lacking unified command and flank protection, the legion, which had been an invincible black steel forest just moments before, rapidly crumbled under the combined assault of humans and dwarves. The tomb guardians' phalanxes were scattered, and the zombie horde was divided and crushed. The dreadbeasts in the sky let out mournful cries under the combined firepower of griffin riders, pegasus riders, and dwarven riders, being shot down or fleeing in disarray. Several enormous tomb demons, targeted by the final armor-piercing shells of the war chariot fortress and the dwarven heavy crossbows, collapsed with a roar, becoming new piles of corpses.

The vampire on the black carriage let out a furious and desperate shriek, wildly swinging its eerie green flame greatsword in an attempt to stabilize the situation. But defeat was inevitable. The Redbeard Chieftain's burning runic axe slammed into the corner of the corpse wagon, blasting apart large chunks of rotting wood and bones. The Grayrock Chieftain's heavy crossbow bolt, accompanied by a piercing shriek, pierced the head of a tomb demon that was trying to protect the black carriage.

The vampire's figure stood utterly isolated amidst the violent shaking of the black carriage. Just then, a cannonball struck with pinpoint accuracy, sending a thick cloud of black smoke billowing around the carriage. When the smoke was dispelled by the explosion and magic, the massive corpse-carrying wagon, along with the vampire atop it, had vanished, leaving only a foul-smelling crater and distorted traces of negative energy.

Having lost their supreme commander and core strength, the remaining undead utterly lost their will to fight. Like a receding tide of black sewage, they scattered in panic downstream to the dry riverbed under the crushing force of the Allied army's steel torrent. Griffin riders and Pegasus riders pursued relentlessly, tearing the fleeing undead to shreds. Dwarven helicopters flew low overhead, strafeing the fleeing soldiers with machine gun fire.

When the last tomb guardian that tried to resist was smashed to pieces by Orstein's warhammer, and when the last bloodthirsty bat in the sky was torn apart by the dwarven machine gun, the deafening battle roars and the clamor of the slaughter were gradually replaced by heavy breathing and the clanging of weapons against the ground.

Raven Ridge, this land repeatedly ravaged by blood and fire, finally ushered in a brief period of deathly silence. Not the silence of the dead, but the exhaustion after fierce battle.

Exhausted soldiers slumped to the ground in twos and threes, leaning against the crumbling low wall, the corpses of their comrades, or simply lying in the muddy bloodstains. No one cheered. The heavy helmets were removed, revealing faces as pale as paper, soaked in sweat and blood.

Bloodshot eyes stared blankly at the battlefield strewn with corpses, at the rising sun finally piercing the clouds in the east, casting its light. Their armor was almost entirely damaged, riddled with deep claw marks, pierced by halberds, and charred blackened by magic. The adamantite plates were twisted and deformed, the linings soaked with sweat and blood, clinging coldly to their bodies. Their arms were too heavy to lift, their strength exhausted even to grip their weapons.

The dwarves also ceased their pursuit. The red-bearded warriors, leaning on their battle axes, sweat and blood dripping from their tangled beards, their chests heaving violently. The gray-rock warriors' shields were deeply embedded in the ground, supporting their equally weary bodies. Helicopters circled above the battlefield, their engines roaring with a low, cathartic intensity.

Marshal Orstein pulled his warhammer, deeply embedded in the skull of a zombie, and leaned on it, surveying the devastated battlefield of victory. His plate armor was riddled with wounds, his shoulder armor nearly torn apart, dark red blood staining the once-gleaming metal. Su Li walked to his side, the light of his Oath Spear dimmed, his face showing deep weariness, but his eyes remained sharp.

“We won…” A battle priest leaning against the broken wall broke the silence with a hoarse voice. He tried to force a smile, but it aggravated the wounds on his face, making him wince in pain.

"Gods above... truly... powerful..." A knight from the Sunfire Knights lay on his back, too weak to even lift his hand to wipe the blood from his face, only muttering to himself. His breastplate was badly dented, and it was only thanks to the enchantment and lining that he hadn't died.

“Thank goodness the dwarves arrived in time…” A high-ranking squire panted, looking at the red-bearded dwarves lining up in the distance, his eyes filled with relief at surviving the ordeal. “A quarter of an hour later… and we’d all be fucking wiped out…”

This statement elicited a chorus of low, weary echoes.

"yes……"

"Too much skeleton..."

"I almost couldn't hold on..."

A dwarf warrior from the Grayrock tribe walked over, his heavy helmet tucked under his arm. His face bore a mixture of post-battle excitement and exhaustion. His voice boomed, "Well done! Human brothers! You held on! Even our Grayrock shield wall couldn't have held out as long as you guys last night!" He slapped a Blackforest soldier on the shoulder, almost knocking the soldier to the ground.

Erstein and Su Li exchanged a glance, both seeing the same complex emotions in each other's eyes—the relief of victory, and an indescribable lingering fear.

“Thankfully…” Erstein’s voice was low and hoarse, carrying a kind of soul-piercing weariness, “Thankfully, that old bones of Jasper isn’t here.”

These words were like a stone thrown into a stagnant pond, instantly creating ripples among the weary soldiers and officers around them.

"Right! That old vampire didn't show up!" An officer suddenly realized, propping himself up on his knees as he stood up, his face filled with disbelief and relief. "The black carriage is here, his elite troops are all here... but where is he himself?"

“If he had personally commanded that black carriage…” Su Li slowly interjected, his gaze sweeping over the destroyed tomb demons and the deep pit left by the disappearing black carriage on the battlefield, his tone grave, “commanding those fear beasts and the phalanx… we definitely wouldn’t have been able to hold out until the dwarf brothers arrived last night.”

The air around them seemed to freeze for a moment. The soldiers recalled the terrifying oppressive feeling brought by the black carriage, the terrifying discipline and power that the undead legion still displayed at the last moment, and the scene of the Nightwalker leader himself driving and commanding all of this... A chill instantly overwhelmed their fatigue.

"May the gods protect us..." someone prayed softly.

"Where is that old man?" a young soldier asked, puzzled.

His words piqued everyone's curiosity. Yes, where did that old man go?
Fortunately, he did not personally participate in the battle tonight; he only fought with his subordinates, and Black Forest Territory was exhausted and on the verge of death.

If a legendary wizard were added, the battle would likely be completely reversed!
While everyone in the Black Forest Territory was surviving the ordeal and looking on in confusion.

Deep within the Black Pine Forest, an impenetrable darkness, like viscous ink, stretched out from massive, gnarled ancient trees towards the gloomy sky, obscuring the last ray of sunlight. Decaying leaves piled up beneath their feet, forming a thick, soft cushion, exuding the stench of earth and mold. A cold, negatively charged mist swirled around the tree roots, flowing slowly as if alive.

Old Jasper, the leader of the Nightwalkers, stood beneath a giant tree covered in pale moss, shrouded in a heavy, light-absorbing black cloak. Two faint, ominous crimson lights flickered like will-o'-the-wisps in the absolute darkness of his withered, dried-leather face, deep within his eye sockets.

Suddenly, his bony fingers clenched tightly around the scepter inlaid with twisted human bones. The dark purple gem at the top of the scepter flashed violently without warning, then emitted an extremely faint yet soul-piercing cracking sound, before the light completely went out, turning it into an ordinary obsidian.

Old Jasper's body shuddered violently, as if struck by an invisible hammer. A tremendous shock and a chilling sense of despair, stemming from the severing of his soul link, instantly overwhelmed his inhuman senses. He clearly "saw"—not with his eyes, but with the Lich King's will that bound the undead army together—that familiar, massive cluster of soul fires, symbolizing the main force of the Nightwalkers, in the distant direction of Raven Hill, like a snowball thrown into flames, violently expanded, twisted, and then…extinguished completely in an extremely short time! Not even a ripple remained!

The feeling was as if a vital pillar supporting his existence had been forcibly and brutally ripped away. A cold, primal sense of emptiness gripped his heart, which had long since stopped beating.

“Main…Main force…” A hoarse, sandpaper-like voice struggled to escape his parched throat, filled with disbelief and terror, “annihilated…” He took a deep breath of the forest’s icy, death-laden air. The chill seemed to freeze his decaying lungs, yet strangely, it brought a trace of… relief? A chilling shiver of relief, like surviving a catastrophe, spread down his spine.

"That was close...that was close..." he muttered to himself, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the direction of Raven Ridge, as if they could pierce through countless trees and spaces to see the devastating purgatory that had just ended for him. "Thank goodness...thank goodness I wisely left...thank goodness I saw through their trap and conspiracy at a glance, and didn't foolishly rush headlong into it, otherwise I don't know how many allied forces of dwarves and human nobles would have targeted me!"

A strong sense of lingering fear, like a cold, venomous snake, coiled around his consciousness. Had he overestimated his opponent? No, he absolutely refused to believe this was the result of a simple battle. There must be a larger force involved; the Dwarf Kingdom and Maleburg must have orchestrated this to lure him in.

“One night… just one night…” Old Jasper’s voice trembled with an almost fearful tone, and the scepter made a slight creaking sound in his withered hand, but he was more and more certain in his heart, “My main force… my elite legion that I have accumulated over centuries… just gone like that, how could it be the work of a pioneering leader!? If I hadn’t run, I would have been trapped too.”

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became of his judgment. That human chosen one named Su Li possessed a terrifying hidden strength far beyond his imagination! That seemingly struggling army was definitely bait!

A meticulously planned, massive trap, large enough to devour his entire Night Wanderer Corpse force! They possess the means to instantly wipe out high-ranking undead, and the power to silently devour his elite squad right under his nose!

They might even have anticipated his personal involvement, which is why they set up that deadly trap! The destroyed black carriage and the annihilated vampire commander are proof of that! That was the spot where he should have been stationed!

If... if he hadn't decisively abandoned his main force, hadn't chosen to take his core elite and personal guards and quietly escape the battlefield using the pre-prepared secret passage, heading straight for the Valley of Memories deep within the Black Pine Forest... then at this moment, it wouldn't just be his massive undead army that would have been completely erased!

“A trap…a terrible trap…” Old Jasper pulled his cloak tighter, as if the chill of the forest was now even more biting. In his bloodshot eyes, fear and lingering dread finally overwhelmed the anger and rage of losing his main force. He was now absolutely certain that staying at Raven Ridge last night meant certain annihilation. That Su Li…he was terrifying! The power he concealed was enough to make any ancient being tremble with fear.

A chilling sense of relief finally took hold of him. He had lost his henchmen, his vast empire destroyed, but he had survived! He had survived with the most essential elements! As long as he reached the Valley of Memories, completed the ancient ritual, and obtained the legendary lost power… he could make a comeback! Meanwhile, Su Li was firmly held back by his massive army and unable to provide any support.

His plan has a very high probability of success. When the time comes, both that terrifying Su Li and those damned dwarves will pay the price!
Without further hesitation, he turned abruptly, his withered figure disappearing into the darkness like a phantom, rapidly drifting towards the depths of the forest, towards the Valley of Memory. His speed carried the panic of someone fleeing imminent doom.

The thick darkness was pushed aside by an unseen force. Old Jasper's withered figure appeared silently at the edge of a forest clearing surrounded by huge, twisted, pale ancient trees, like a bat merging into the shadows. In the center of the clearing stood an ancient altar made of heavily weathered obsidian, covered with blasphemous runes, exuding a cold and oppressive aura.

Before the altar stood several figures. The one at the head was the tallest and most conspicuous—Mhava, the chosen champion of the Nightwalkers, and a former chieftain of an ancient barbarian tribe. He was completely encased in thick, decaying plate armor riddled with knife and arrow wounds, armor that looked like burial goods unearthed from the depths of a tomb, imbued with the eternal scent of earth.

Within the gaps in his armor, only two points of deep purple soul fire flickered eerily deep within the helmet, devoid of any trace of flesh or blood. In his hand he held a massive two-handed battle axe, wreathed in black, thorn-like negative energy, its blade stained with dark blood. Simply standing there, an aura of bloodlust from an ancient battlefield permeated the air, seemingly freezing the surrounding frigid atmosphere. He was like a war sculpture rising from the abyss of hell—silent, powerful, and radiating pure destructive energy.

Behind Mhava stood several Nightwalker Corpse Messengers of various forms. These were true elites and apostles, not ordinary messengers that could be easily discarded. Some were lich priests clad in tattered robes and wielding skeletal staffs; others were ethereal spirit binders emitting piercing mental screams; still others were colossal black knights. They stood silently, their soul flames flickering restlessly within their heads or bodies, awaiting the arrival of their leader.

When old Jasper appeared, draped in a cloak that absorbed light, the deep purple soul fire of Mhavana flickered violently, like a stone thrown into a deep pool.

He didn't speak, but a cold, metallic mental wave pierced Old Jasper's consciousness, like a silent question: "Main force?"

These two simple words carry immense pressure, as if asking: Where is the army you promised? Why are you the only one who has rushed here in such a panic?

Old Jasper let out a hoarse, unintelligible gasp from his withered throat. He stopped, his bony fingers gripping the extinguished gem at the top of his staff tightly, the knuckles making a faint cracking sound. His crimson eyes swept over Mhava and the silent undead messengers behind him, the two points of red light standing out starkly in the darkness.

“They’re gone…” he said in a hoarse voice, forcing himself to remain calm, as he turned his back to everyone. “I left them all at Raven Ridge! Their sacrifice bought us time.”

Without a doubt, this key player has been abandoned!
This message, like an invisible shockwave, instantly extinguished the atmosphere in the open space. The flames of the souls within the eye sockets or bodies of the undead messengers flickered violently, conveying waves of shock, fear, and disbelief. The subtle sound of bones rubbing together was exceptionally clear in the deathly silence.

A spirit-binding messenger, its form shifting erratically and composed of countless pained faces, cautiously transmitted its message, its mental fluctuations trembling with obvious doubt: "Master... that's the main force of our legion, accumulated over many years. Are we just going to give up like this? Could it be... that we misjudged the enemy's strength?"

"Misjudgment?!" Old Jasper suddenly raised his hoarse voice, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, his crimson eyes instantly flashing with a strong, almost crazed, eerie light. He brandished his bone staff, pointing it in the direction of Ravenhill, his movements carrying a fierce sense of being offended.

"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!" he roared resolutely, his voice echoing among the ancient trees, filled with an unquestionable fervor. "What do you know?! That's a trap! A deadly trap that has been meticulously laid out for who knows how long, aimed at me!"

His emaciated chest heaved violently, as if drawing in the chill of the forest to calm his immense fear and anger.

“One night! Just one night! My main force, my legion, vanished in an instant like a snowball thrown into a furnace! Not even a decent resistance was reported back!” His voice trembled with fear. “This is something that pioneering lord and his small force could never have done! It was the dwarves! It was Maleburg! And even the human kingdoms deeper within! They united! They were lying in ambush, just waiting for me to crash into them!”

Old Jasper became increasingly agitated as he spoke, as if trying to convince himself and his wavering subordinates. His withered fingers pressed hard against his temples, where only shriveled skin and bone remained.

“Su Li… that Chosen One… he was just bait! The most tempting bait, laid bare in the open! They knew I would go! They knew I would be enraged! They knew I would commit my main force! The Black Caravan was destroyed! That vampire commander couldn't even escape! That's proof! That position should have been mine! They came for me!”

He abruptly turned to Mhava, his crimson eyes fixed on the two deep purple flames of the soul deep within the other's helmet.

“Mhawa! My champion! Just think! The vanguard was crushed in an instant! Then the main force was completely wiped out in just one night! How much power did that require? How precise the calculation? How terrifying the targeted deployment?!” He gasped for breath. “If I had stayed there to command… I wouldn’t be standing here now! You all, our last hope, would have been buried in that damned trap!”

He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, as if the non-existent chill of Raven Ridge was still seeping into him.

“They…they were terrifying! They were hiding so well!” Old Jasper’s voice finally lowered, carrying a chilling lingering fear. “But thankfully…thankfully I saw through them! Thankfully I acted decisively! I used our main force to hold them off, buying us time!”

He suddenly raised his bone staff, pointing it towards the even denser darkness deeper into the forest behind the altar.

"The Valley of Memories is right before us! An ancient ritual awaits us! Once we obtain that power... everything we have lost will be repaid a hundredfold! Su Li... the dwarves... Maleburg... all those involved in this conspiracy will pay an eternal price!"

Mhawa's deep purple soul fire burned calmly, offering no response. His towering figure stood silently before the altar, like an unchanging ancient rock.

The flickering of the soul flames among the surrounding undead messengers seemed to calm down somewhat under old Jasper's resolute "impossible" and the grand conspiracy theories he described, suppressing their suspicions and wild thoughts.

Everyone turned their attention to the Valley of Memories hidden in the distorted light. Just as old Jasper had said, although the main force was gone, their battle was of great significance.

That powerful offensive definitely kept the main force of the Black Forest Territory tied up there, leaving them no time to focus on this place.

Once they capture the Valley of Memories, they can reclaim everything they have lost, and even use the remains of the elves to annihilate the entire Gray Mountain Dwarf Kingdom, recreating the scene of the Longbeard War thousands of years ago!
So old Jasper waved his staff and ordered the Valley of Memories, "All troops, advance at full speed!"

The elite core of the Night Wanderer Corpse, numbering over 2000 monsters, immediately surrounded this legendary mage and sped into the Valley of Memories.

(End of this chapter)