Chapter 211: Chapter 107: Senior, How Long Are You Going to Hug Me?
...
For a split second,
Catherine thought she’d misheard him.
’Single-handedly?’
’Charge the enemy lines?’
But when she looked Lynch in the eye again and saw his serious expression, she realized he actually meant it.
In an instant, a furious rage born of intense humiliation surged through her. Her face flushed scarlet.
’That’s a ferocious army of over twelve hundred soldiers! There are Beastmen, Mages, and countless crossbows and arrows! How is that any different from ordering me to my death?’
’No, this is crueler than a direct execution. It’s more... humiliating!’
’He really does hold a grudge.’
’He’s been waiting for this chance, a way to eliminate me completely under the honorable guise of "dying on the battlefield."’
Catherine was trembling with anger. Her eyes were locked on Lynch as she seethed through clenched teeth, "You might as well just kill me now."
"I’ll go with you," Lynch said, his tone flat.
Catherine froze, stunned.
****
「A short time later.」
Red Ridge Mountain, by the shores of Mirror Lake.
The road from Gray Claw Gorge led to Rock Fortress. From there, it stretched along the eastern shore of Mirror Lake all the way to Lakefront Town. This path was once a vital trade route connecting Valencia Province and Sardinia Province.
Caravans came and went, the bells on their packhorses ringing, and the wine banners of lakeside inns had fluttered in the wind for decades.
However, years of continuous warfare had left the trade route to fall into disuse. The farms and inns that once lined the road were now nothing but crumbling ruins.
In the last six months, Lakefront Town’s recovery had prompted the occasional caravan to risk the journey. Even so, the entire road still emanated an air of decay and desolation, flanked by sparse vegetation and overgrown weeds.
And now, a massive army was marching slowly along this desolate road.
Seen from the sky, the column of troops looked like a long, winding dragon, its formation stretched out far.
All kinds of banners snapped in the wind, but the emblems on them were a motley collection.
There was the Draenei Brotherhood’s iconic blue triangular scarf, as well as the crests of various mercenary groups—beasts’ heads, swords, flames, and more.
However, though the army’s composition seemed complex, they were by no means a disorderly mob.
The Soldiers’ weapons and Armor were a hodgepodge. Some wore standard-issue Empire studded leather and half-plate, while others preferred the lighter chainmail and reinforced leather favored by adventurers. There were even some pieces that were clearly homemade or modified. Despite the variety, their overall level of equipment was quite good.
Looking out over the troops, one could see almost none of the peasant cannon fodder in tattered clothes and armed with pitchforks, a common sight in the Blue Scarf Army.
Within the entire force, there were even over a hundred horses. More than a dozen of them were heavy cavalry mounts clad in barding, their thick Armor reflecting a cold glint in the sunlight.
The proportion of archers and crossbowmen was also quite high; about one in every ten men carried a longbow on his back or held a crossbow.
Casters were scattered sparsely throughout the ranks. A quick count revealed more than a dozen of them, most on horseback and surrounded by small squads of guards.
The Caster with the strongest aura among them was a Mage in a gray robe, mounted on a pure black warhorse.
He was completely shrouded in a dark gray, hooded robe, his face hidden in shadow.
He was surrounded by eight fully armed guards, each with sharp eyes and a hand resting on their weapon.
Even from a distance, one could feel the faint fluctuations of Tier Three Mana emanating from him—Fire Element, hot and volatile.
Leading the column was a burly man in heavy plate armor, riding a barded warhorse.
He appeared to be in his early forties, with a scruffy beard and a weathered face etched by the hardships of time.
A kite shield and a single-handed heavy sword hung at his waist, and he carried a cavalry lance nearly four meters long.
This man was none other than the commander of Rock Fortress and the general of this army: Angus Fisher, a Knight who had reached the peak of Tier Three.
Once upon a time, Angus had held the title of an Imperial Knight. He had a small but prosperous fiefdom in Sardinia, a gentle and beautiful wife, and an adorable daughter of seven or eight...
But all of that was destroyed at the hands of a greedy and cruel Baron.
That Baron coveted a newly discovered small silver vein on Angus’s land. He fabricated charges, colluded with the tribunal, and had Angus thrown into prison, stripping him of his title and fief.
After enduring countless hardships, Angus finally managed to escape prison and return to his homeland, only to find that everything had changed. His wife, unable to bear the humiliation, had thrown herself from the Baron’s castle and died. His daughter was nowhere to be found.
In his despair, Angus joined the Draenei Brotherhood.
Three years later, he personally stormed that Baron’s fortress, dragged the corpulent nobleman into the public square, doused him in oil, and set him on fire.
The flames consumed his enemy, and with them, the last of Angus Fisher’s humanity.
He had his revenge, but there was no going back.
Now, mounted on his horse, Angus stared absently at the shimmering surface of Mirror Lake ahead.
In that instant, for some unknown reason, he found himself recalling a happy afternoon with his family from a decade ago.
A coarse voice pulled him from his reverie. "Angus."
Angus turned his head to look at the man riding abreast of him.
The man was on a brown warhorse. Nicknamed "Scarface Craig," he was a Tier Three Warrior.
His tone was thick with discontent: "At this snail’s pace, it’ll probably take us two days to reach Lakefront Town. We should advance at full speed and catch them off guard."
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