Swoosh—
Another deadly arrow was released. With lethal precision, it flew and found its target.
Each shot claimed the life of a brave soul stepping up to fill the void left by General Braun's demise.
The sound of cries and agony filled the air, intermingling with the soldiers' frantic shouts.
Every time they see someone try to step up and replace General Braun's position as a leader, they will release arrows, killing the said person. The aim is to keep killing brave and courageous people until only a coward is left in the army. So that they could stay leaderless like a headless chicken.
As the night wore on, Alaric maintained a watchful eye on the Blande soldiers so that they would never escape from the camp.
Occasionally, the sharpshooters would release arrows toward Blande soldiers, killing them in a random manner.
After all, he also understood the importance of keeping the enemy soldiers' nerves frayed and their senses heightened.
A few hours passed and his efforts finally bore a result. The Blande soldiers were deprived of thinking rationally. Fear and uncertainty begin to cloud their minds, eroding their mental fortitude. Paranoia spread among them, sowing doubt and discord. Their once-unified force fragmented, as trust disintegrated and survival instincts took over.
Seeing this, the sharpshooters further exploited their weakened state, targeting those teetering on the edge of sanity, pushing them further into madness.
The soldiers' descent into chaos played into Alaric's hands, as he observed their shattered spirits.
The Blande soldiers, exhausted and battered, caught sight of the long-awaited illumination. The first light of dawn pierced through the lingering darkness. Their weary faces turned toward the horizon, their eyes adjusting to the newfound brightness.
A collective gasp escaped their lips, mingled with a mix of relief and trepidation. The arrival of the dawn symbolized the end of a long, torturous night, a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.
With the coming of daybreak, the sharpshooters lowered their bows. Alaric, their leader, surveyed the scene with a sense of satisfaction. "Our job here is complete," he said in a low voice, "Let us retreat and leave the rest to others."
The sharpshooters nodded in unison, acknowledging their leader's command.
Swiftly and silently, they made their way back to the city, their movements fluid and agile. Like shadows among the foliage, they skillfully leapt from one tree to another, leaving behind a battlefield strewn with confusion and the remnants of shattered resolve.
Their mission to eliminate the top brass of the Blande army had been fulfilled.
In addition to that, they even deliver extra damage, disintegrating the enemy's spirit.
On their journey back to the city, the sharpshooters stumbled upon Admiral Stormrider, leading thousands of sailors.
Alaric quickly got down to the ground, approached the admiral and saluted him respectfully. "Admiral Stormrider, I bring news of our successful mission," he reported, his voice filled with a blend of pride and professionalism.
"Did you successfully kill their general?" asked the admiral.
"Yes, Admiral." Alaric nodded, his gaze unwavering as he delivered his report. "We executed our mission flawlessly. General Braun and the top officers have been eliminated. The enemy camp is now in disarray."
"Excellent," the admiral responded, his voice filled with determination. "Return to the city and rest. Leave the rest to us."
With a final salute, Alaric turned and signalled to his subordinates.
The sharpshooters continued their journey back to the city, knowing that their actions in the night had struck fear into the hearts of the enemy.
As the sharpshooters disappear from his sight, Admiral Stormrider turns his attention to the sailor beside him. A fierce determination burned in his eyes as he addressed his men.
"Did you hear it, boys?! The enemy is in disarray and exhausted. So, I expect this battle to be an easy one. With that being said, I don't want to see any of you die stupidly." he commanded, his voice filled with authority and a touch of concern.
"Yes, sir!" the sailors replied in unison. Their voices reflect their loyalty and readiness for the impending conflict.
With Admiral Stormrider leading the way, the marching sailors approached the camp of the Blande forces. The chaotic atmosphere enveloped them as they neared.
The admiral surveyed the scene before him, taking in the dishevelled tents, the signs of struggle, and the lingering sense of fear.
It was evident that Alaric and his team had done their job well, destabilizing the enemy and sowing confusion.
Immediately, the admiral began giving out a series of orders in a low, commanding voice, ensuring they would not be overheard by the enemy. Soldiers leaned in, attentive and focused, as they received their instructions.
"Your team, proceed to the eastern side silently," he whispered, pointing towards a vulnerable point in the enemy's defences. "Your team, take up positions in the lake direction. Be ready all the time as they most likely escape that way." he directed.
Admiral Stormrider continues, "Half of you, conceal yourselves in the nearby woods, kill all the enemy that manages to slip out our encirclement." he continued, outlining a strategy to flank the enemy from behind.
The soldiers moved into their designated positions silently.
Once the soldiers were in place, the admiral's voice, though hushed, carried an air of determination. "ATTACK!!" he shouted with a steely resolve.
With adrenaline rushing through their veins, the sailors launched their sudden assault.
....
Inside the camp, the weary Blande soldiers, still recovering from the torturous night, managed to muster some semblance of normalcy. Some soldiers busied themselves with preparing breakfast, while others tended to their wounded comrades.
The flickering flames of a makeshift fire brought a faint sense of comfort in the otherwise grim atmosphere.
Amidst their attempts to regain their strength, a sudden shout pierced the air, sending shivers down their spines. "Attack!" The soldiers froze, their eyes widening in disbelief and fear.
"What now?!" one of them exclaimed, the panic evident in his voice.
Before they could react, the alarming truth became apparent. The realization washed over them like a wave crashing against the shore. "We're being attacked!" another soldier exclaimed, his words laced with a mixture of terror and resignation.
Frantically, they reached for their weapons, hoping to defend themselves against the impending threat. But their efforts were in vain, for before they could fully arm themselves, a relentless onslaught ensued.
Ryntum sailors, fueled by their sharpshooters' earlier victories, stormed into the camp with fierce determination. The element of surprise was on their side, and the Blande soldiers stood little chance against their well-coordinated assault.
In the chaos that followed, cries of pain and despair echoed through the camp. The clash of steel reverberated in the air as the Ryntum sailors swiftly and efficiently eliminated their disoriented foes.
The Blande soldiers fought valiantly, but their exhaustion and disarray proved to be their downfall. Moreover, the absence of a leader makes them even more vulnerable.
Within a short span of time, the camp, once a refuge, became a battlefield stained with blood and littered with fallen soldiers.
The Ryntum sailors emerged victorious, their triumphant shouts echoing through the now-silent camp.
The Blande soldiers, who had survived a treacherous night only to face an even more devastating fate, lay defeated and broken. No one was left alive.
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