Chapter 1099: Chapter 1038: Donkey Cavalry
The September night wind was gently affectionate, carrying the coolness of river moisture, making people want to close their eyes unconsciously.
In a mountain depression north of Starlight Town, the former smuggling den had already been cleared by the Falan Army.
Heads of several bandits and smugglers were placed on sharp stakes, and beyond the stakes and fences were carriages and tents.
Most tents were already dark, only a few still glowed with dim oil lamp light, like eyes too sleepy to stay open.
The campfire crackled with a spark, and Lemay slammed his cards on the box with a snap: "Are you in or not?"
The other three soldiers looked at each other and cursed angrily, throwing down their cards and reaching for money.
"Lemay, you must be cheating! Winning every round!"
"If I were cheating, would I waste it on you three? I couldn’t win more than two Dinars in a night."
Bald Pierre, with a pipe in his mouth and calloused hands, flicked a spark into his pipe: "Lost means lost, stop whining."
He pushed a copper coin to the center of the box: "In this godforsaken place, can’t even see a single female mosquito, what’s the use of winning money?"
Beside him, Robel added a piece of pine wood to the fire, embers splattering onto his torn trousers, to which he paid no attention: "Ain’t it the truth? So much better at Dragonfly Port."
He spat on the ground: "Camping in this godforsaken place, why doesn’t the Legion Commander dare to fight Baron Kresi?"
Before the Queen Mother, Count Kazi and Montel didn’t dare to confront directly, only to comply weakly.
After a two-day march, they bypassed Dragonfly Port and were forced to camp here on the border outskirts adjacent to Black Snake Bay.
"Shh—" Lemay suddenly pressed his arm, gesturing toward the fence.
A Priest with the army was nodding off by the beacon tower, his head bobbing up and down.
These soldiers particularly detested these Priests, who would tattle at the slightest misstep, monitoring them constantly.
"These little devils!"
Little devils were in the Gospel stories, widely known as the mirror opposite of goblins, fragile and cunning, always dependent on great demons.
Gathering the copper coins from the box into his palm, Lemay seemed to recover slightly from the gambling addiction.
He glanced at the pitch-dark night and the winding dirt road in the distance, whispering: "According to the rules, should we set up a lookout outside?"
"You’ve got arms and legs, you go if you want, I’m not sleeping in the wild." Robel rolled his eyes and continued shuffling the cards.
Pierre puffed out white smoke: "Look where we are and how far from the camp.
Thousands couldn’t stop them before, a dozen won’t stop them now, what’s there to fear?"
"I heard the Holy Alliance Army is fierce?"
"Not so much," Pierre snickered, "I’ve seen them before, same two eyes, one nose, who’s afraid of whom?"
"Are we really safe like this?"
Robel pushed Lemay: "If something happens, it happens to everyone, the sky won’t fall, come on."
Lemay nodded, feeling they made sense, brushed off the dust from his backside, and stood up: "I’ll go take a leak, be right back."
He picked up the honey wine on the box, took a swig, burped a boozy hiccup, and walked forward in an erratic zigzag.
Arriving by a big tree, he pulled out his bird and released a stream, watering the tree roots with a gush.
The air was so still, it seemed even the birds and insects had fallen silent.
It inexplicably made Lemay’s hair stand on end.
He hurried to finish, shook it off ready to leave, when a sharp "bang" echoed, like muffled thunder rolling through the valley.
Overhead branches suddenly broke, crashing onto his shoulder.
Before he could pull his pants up, Lemay dove forward, sprawling on the freshly soaked warm ground.
Sparks burst from shadows beyond the fence, then the second, third musket fire sounded, a continuous crackling explosion.
The veteran on patrol didn’t even grunt before he fell stiffly by the fence, spear clattering to the ground.
As for the dozing old Priest, his head was blasted in his sleep, slumping over.
"Enemy attack! It’s the Thousand River Valley people’s Devil Guns!"
Screams spread among the tents, then were drowned by louder musket fire.
Dammit! Pierre’s jinx!
Not caring about the wet mud on his face, Lemay hunkered down like a hunchbacked old man, skimming low across the road.
Right then, Pierre, hiding behind the box fastening his helmet, grabbed Lemay’s hand as he approached: "Let’s go."
Holding onto his iron helmet, Pierre clutched Lemay, Lemay dragged Robel, and the three stumbled over each other in retreat.
"Run!"
"With the enemy still unclear, shouldn’t we be organizing a counterattack now?"
"Counterattack my uncle!" Pierre lowered his head, "This density, this sound, this frequency, at least three hundred gunners.
That means three hundred long spearmen. If we don’t run now, we’ll be surrounded and finished."
As a mercenary veteran of the Second Thousand River Valley War, Pierre was very experienced.
Using the density and frequency of gunfire to judge numbers was a skill ingrained in his bones.
Weaving through the bushes, Leme glanced back to see the outpost’s bonfire hit by stray bullets, sending firewood flying.
The canvas tent flared up, illuminating people scrambling everywhere.
Some were so frantic they didn’t even put on pants, clutching their heads and squeezing through the fence’s gap, only to trip when shoved by those behind.
Others dashed out of tents shirtless, running towards the woods.
But after just a few steps, a moonlit lead bullet caught up to them, dropping them onto the grass without a sound.
Bullets whizzed past the ears, sparking against stones.
While running, Leme felt warmth on the back of his neck, touched it, and found sticky blood.
He didn’t know if he’d been wounded or someone else’s blood had splattered on him.
He couldn’t care less and simply followed Pierre into the dark woods.
Branches snapped against faces, leaving bloody marks, but he felt no pain.
"Stop! Everyone stop!"
"Woosh—"
Leme’s legs gave way, nearly falling, he turned to see about a dozen shadows riding donkeys coming up.
Donkey hooves struck the ground, sharper and more piercing than horse hooves.
The riders held short guns, their barrels glinting coldly in the firelight; they were the Dragon Cavalry of the Holy Alliance.
"Donkey cavalry!" Robel barely cursed before being whacked on the back of the head with a gun butt, groaning in the snow.
Leme tried to hide behind a tree but was kicked in the waist, clutching his back in pain.
"Pierre, Pierre!"
As for Pierre, who previously bragged about the Holy Alliance’s insignificance, he charged into the thorny scrub without looking back.
Thorns tore skin, ripping a large chunk of flesh; he seemed oblivious, only frantically fleeing.
Leme called out twice, but all Pierre, the smoking fiend, left behind were the hem of his clothes and some blood as he vanished.
"Stop chasing him." The soldier leading the group dismounted the lone mule and stepped to Leme.
The icy barrel pressed against Leme’s temple, without a word of nonsense: "The main camp, where is it?"
Leme’s teeth clattered, face smeared with blood and snot: "I don’t, don’t know, we are just a two hundred men outpost..."
"I’ll give you three seconds." That officer kicked him, pulled a thumb clamp from his pocket, "The main force, where? Three, two,..."
The distant outpost still burned, gunfire gradually thinning.
Looking around, smoking fiend Pierre was gone, and Robel lay on the ground, fate unknown.
Leme intended martyrdom for Falan but thought of his orphaned and widowed kin and the fierce tax collectors, then glanced at the thumb clamp held by the Dragon Cavalry, suddenly deflated: "Go south thirty miles, there’s a pine forest, behind the forest."
"Not encamped at Starlight Town?"
"No, the rear army hasn’t arrived, we’re the left flank, only five thousand men; Starlight Town is reserved for big shots."
The Dragon Cavalry grabbed his hair, lifting his face: "Lie to me, and I’ll kill you nine different ways, nine!"
Leme shook like a leaf: "That’s really it, ask me more and I wouldn’t know..."
The Dragon Cavalry said nothing more, only whistled to his companions.
Soon, the Holy Alliance soldiers who attacked the camp gathered, but Leme glanced around and suddenly yelled.
"What are you yelling about?! Mind your teeth!"
Leme quickly shut up, eyes full of disbelief.
Before him were only about a hundred donkey-riding infantry, yet they escorted nearly two hundred prisoners.
All wore unified dark green jackets and breastplates, their guns not only shorter but easily wielded.
Leme already knew they were the Holy Alliance Army, but what he couldn’t understand was—
What was with that earlier dense gunfire?
