https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-312-The-Battle-of-Aferton-Part-2-/13672412/
Chapter 313: The Battle of Aferton (Part 3)
Chapter 313: The Battle of Aferton (Part 3)
Within a mere three hours, the “First Line” army of over 40,000 was reduced to just over 10,000.
These remaining troops were mostly personal guards from Northern families, tightly bound to the nobles’ war chariots, with many holding knightly status.
They knew that even if they surrendered, no benefits awaited them. Instead, their end would be more tragic, possibly implicating their families.
Among them were over 3,000 heavy cavalry from the Bosk Duchy, nearly 7,000 elite spearmen and shield soldiers, and over 2,000 archers.
Yet they were horrified to find that the Ember Kingdom’s vanguard had already broken through the weak defenses at the pass, infiltrating the duchy’s interior and, like specters, appearing behind them to completely encircle the remaining stubborn troops.
This was not just a battlefield miscalculation but a comprehensive crushing of movement, intelligence, tactics, and even military systems.
—While the Northern nobles indulged in dreams of defending natural strongholds, the Ember Kingdom’s forces had, through land-air collaboration and the “Nocturne” intelligence system, swiftly encircled this army, even shattering their morale through pre-battle propaganda.
They intended to wage a war of annihilation.
Gazing at the menacing army ahead, then turning to the glowing eyes behind them, Loren Bosk finally fell into utter despair. He stared blankly into the distance, shaking his head repeatedly.
“No, no, impossible.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“I was supposed to achieve a glorious victory, use it to defeat my brother, and become the rightful heir of the Bosk family…”
In this dire situation, his words became incoherent.
It wasn’t until his adjutant’s reminder that he barely regained his composure.
“My lord, what should we do?”
From afar came the oppressive voice of the red dragon, its tone laced with a playful mockery, further aggravating Loren’s frustration yet leaving him powerless.
“Time is running out.”
“Ten.”
“Nine.”
“My lord, what should we do?”
“That… that damned dragon! How dare he treat us like this! And those filthy livestock!”
“When the war is over, I’ll slaughter them all!”
As the countdown neared its end, the pressure became unbearable.
Under this mounting pressure, Loren completely lost his composure, resorting to curses.
Meanwhile, even among the nobles’ elite private armies and officers granted land and titles, some could not withstand the pressure and fled.
Soldiers on the battlefield trembled, drenched in sweat, their fighting spirit entirely gone.
On the Ember Kingdom’s side, hobgoblins and ogres glared with bloodlust, eager to tear the enemy apart, revel in the rare pleasure of slaughter, and achieve battlefield glory to elevate themselves to noble dragon-blood status.
As for failure?
That was never a consideration. It was a cold joke, fit only for the humor section of the 《Kingdom Daily》.
“Four.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“I gave you a chance, but you squandered it.”
The voice was unnervingly calm, as if stating an ordinary fact.
“So… crush them.”
At the red dragon’s final command, the entire wasteland seemed to boil over.
“Crush them!”
“For the Ember Kingdom!”
“Fight for the great red dragon!”
The satyrs’ war drums echoed, wyvern screeches pierced the air, and the hobgoblins and ogres roared like blazing flames. The heavy rumble of cannon wheels rolling across the ground added to the cacophony.
This chaotic symphony of the kingdom’s military power reverberated across the wasteland, leaving the encircled enemy trembling.
In the ogre artillery camp at the rear, the ogre commander, Big Head, was about to order a bombardment of the enemy’s camp, but was personally stopped by the hobgoblin marshal, Dolo.
“Hold off. There’s no need to waste ammunition here. If we end this too quickly, it’ll lose its flavor.”
“They haven’t tasted blood in so long.”
Dolo gazed at the seemingly sturdy human fortifications in the distance, a sinister smile spreading across his face.
His reasoning wasn’t entirely self-indulgent. He also intended to keep the artillery as a trump card for later, denying the Northerners any chance to prepare.
This so-called “war” resembled a routine infantry drill. He hadn’t even deployed the drake cavalry or wyvern corps, merely sending soldiers armed with semi-automatic rifles on a charge.
Loren watched the terrifyingly swift advance of the enemy forces, sweat dripping from his forehead. His face twisted with despair.
“Stop them! Stop them!”
“Hurry, you fools! Get to the front lines!”
After repeated reminders from his adjutant, Loren finally calmed down and began utilizing the tactical knowledge he had studied since childhood to devise a countermeasure.
Fixing his grim gaze on the enemy, Loren noticed they hadn’t deployed cavalry or shielded infantry for a frontal charge. Instead, they sent their most vulnerable gun-wielding soldiers forward.
This was undoubtedly a tactical insult, but it presented Loren with a rare opportunity—a chance to achieve a victory.
As the commander of this battle, Loren had studied the Ember Kingdom’s army through magical projections.
The long sticks they called “guns” were powerful ranged weapons, but their weakness lay in the lengthy reload time, leaving them vulnerable during this interval.
And his forces included 3,000 elite heavy cavalry, capable of tearing through these fragile infantry.
With this thought, Loren deftly mounted his horse, donning a helmet adorned with a lion’s mane.
“Rally all the cavalry. Prepare for a mass charge!”
“Archers, provide cover!”
“Yes, my lord.”
The messenger rushed to the cavalry’s camp to relay the commander’s orders, while the adjutant adjusted his armor.
“They dare to underestimate me like this.”
“I’ll make them pay.”
Gritting his teeth, Loren couldn’t suppress a cold laugh.
He knew this war was likely unwinnable after losing most of his forces.
But he intended to teach those who dared underestimate Loren Bosk a lesson and ensure his name would go down in family lore, perhaps even Northern history.
“The lion of Bosk, even in death, will tear off your arm.”
Lowering the heavy faceplate of his helmet, Loren thought bitterly to himself.
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