"If we were to calculate skills according to Mount and Blade, these horse archers would have riding skills of at least over one hundred and fifty!"
Such tricky enemies.
As soon as Duncan entered the small forest, he began looking for opportunities. The effective range of the Northern Land war bow wasn't as far-reaching as the longbow, and he wasn't confident he could kill in a single shot, so his first step to achieving results was definitely to shoot the horse first.
As long as the enemy falls from the horse, he would have a chance to kill them directly.
Whoosh!
In the brief skirmish, Duncan finally found an opportunity. He had no energy to pay attention to the caravan guards' battle situation. Once an enemy light cavalry entered his range, he immediately aimed at the warhorse and fired. The target of the horse was larger, making it easy for Duncan, with his current archery skills, to hit it without difficulty.
A shrill neigh resounded.
The mount of the light cavalry took an arrow and screamed in misery, but remained on its feet. Feeling things weren't right, the rider turned the horse around to prepare for retreat and shouted in the language of the grassland to nearby comrades for help.
Without hesitation, Duncan fired another arrow, killing the warhorse.
With his current archery skills, he could roughly maintain a shooting speed of 1.5 seconds per shot, but the energy bar was depleting rapidly, with recovery unable to keep up with consumption. After twenty to thirty consecutive shots, the energy bar would almost be exhausted.
The enemy fell off the horse.
It was difficult for him to run out of Duncan's range on foot, especially since he was galloping in an open area with no space to hide.
Duncan, from his elevated position, fired three consecutive arrows and killed the target directly.
However, he had to hit the road immediately.
Two light cavalry members, tangled with the caravan guards, heard the cry for help and immediately split off, one carrying a bow and the other holding a lance. They circled from both sides toward the small forest by the roadside. Without a god's view, Duncan would have been directly surrounded by the enemy from front and back.
"Huff!"
Duncan took a deep breath, slightly tense, and retreated deeper into the small forest while removing the French throwing axe from his waist.
Hit!
Thud.
Aiming with the throwing axe was even more difficult, but Duncan still struck the enemy with a headshot, knocking him off his horse.
Whoosh!
The bowstring vibrated.
Another enemy had spotted Duncan's position and quickly drew a bow and fired, the arrow whistling through the air toward Duncan's back. With his inner lining of the short robe embedded with studded leather armor, instant death was unlikely, but serious injury was certain.
Only by wearing heavy armor could you have over a dozen arrows stuck in you and still continue fighting.
A gentle breeze passed through.
It was as if a cicada was chirping, and the arrow heading for Duncan suddenly skewed a bit, hitting the nearby tree trunk.
From a god's viewpoint, the mark representing the witch had entered the small forest.
Without hesitation, Duncan, from a distance of sixty meters, drew an arrow on his bow, aimed at the enemy's head, and shot it to pieces.
Strange shouts came from afar.
The light cavalry, engaged in skirmishing with caravan guards, immediately retreated, and by the time Duncan emerged from the small forest, the enemy had gradually left the battlefield.
Their willingness to fight wasn't high, and after suffering losses, they withdrew promptly.
If it had been a real fight to the death, the caravan guards would likely have been wiped out, and Duncan would have had to flee alone, relying on dense wilderness to avoid enemy pursuit.
Of course, if the enemy dared to chase into the forest, he wouldn't be worried at all.
"The witch is gone!"
Just as Duncan was re-examining the battlefield, the unit mark representing the witch had disappeared. Several minutes later, it finally surfaced at the edge of the god's view and silently returned to the caravan.
At the same time.
The retreating light cavalry regrouped, conversing in slang close to Persian.
"Why retreat?"
"We could definitely take them!" one of the riders complained angrily.
The leading captain, expressionless, replied coldly, "They're just a group of caravan guards, what's the point of taking them down?"
"Don't forget our mission."
Initially encountering three riders, they thought they were imperial messengers, easy to take down, but ended up biting into a hard bone and losing many men themselves.
If they kept fighting, they'd likely suffer significant casualties.
Just as they were talking.
A pitch-black crow suddenly swept through the air, startling the cavalry captain's warhorse, which began to frantically neigh. Before the rider could tighten the reins, the horse raced toward the river, and within just a few breaths the frenzied horse threw the rider, dragging him over ten meters, leaving a blood trail before stomping his head to pieces with a hoof and plunging into the river.
Witnessing this sudden scene, the rangers were left looking at each other, all with expressions of shock.
Outside the caravan.
The witch paused, slightly tilting her ear. Amidst the hoarse cries of the crow, her mouth curled into a seductive smile, before quickly blending silently into the convoy.
"Disengage combat."
——"Riding Mastery: You possess profound riding skills no less than the nomads of the grassland, a natural gift among horse-riding people."
——"Mounted Archery Mastery: You are proficient in mounted archery, no less than grassland horse archers, significantly boosting hit rate during mounted archery."
——"Resting Horse Arrow [Combat Skills]: You can proficiently deploy the Resting Horse Arrow technique during combat, quickly shooting while facing or backing the enemy."
——"Lance Charge [Combat Skill]: You masterfully grasp the combat technique of Lance Charge, allowing you to quickly launch offensive charges with a lance in battle."
The caravan guards suffered heavy casualties.
Almost all were injured, and the guard leader was seriously wounded and unsure if he could hold on.
"Dump all cargo, take essential supplies."
"Everyone travel light."
With a serious expression, Duncan led a grassland horse out of the small forest, looking at the guard leader before him as he pulled arrows and treated wounds, calmly saying, "We must move quickly, otherwise we might not make it."
The guard leader opened his eyes with difficulty, his voice rasping, "You mean they are..."
"Scouts!" Duncan said decisively, "At most a day before the enemy cavalry units arrive for battle."
A small troop of elite light cavalry penetrating behind enemy lines.
If they weren't scouts, what were they?
Soon, large numbers of imperial remnants might retreat here, and the enemy's cavalry aims to intercept them, wiping them out completely.
Duncan couldn't determine the battlefield situation from limited information.
But from his experiences over the past two days, the imperial army seemed defeated, and disastrously so, possibly with all border provinces falling.
The empire's territory was vast.
It encompassed the continent's most fertile lands, at its peak spanning more than half the continental shelf, but such broad territory meant the empire's control over border provinces significantly decreased, especially as it weakened with bloated and rigid administration, unclear on how long it would take to gather troops to reclaim lost lands.
This colossal empire was slowly disintegrating.
The Barbarian Race uprising, Barbarian Race invasion, the imperial legion already decayed, the glorious Eagle Banner mere decoration, the last semblance of battlefield morale upheld by Barbarian Race mercenaries.
"This empire is probably doomed!"
After a moment's contemplation, Duncan said sharply, "Dump all cargo, everyone board the wagons, travel through the night, quickly escape the border, head north to the cities."
He then lowered his gaze to the guard leader before him.
He was the true decision-maker for the caravan.
If he didn't agree, Duncan would travel alone, at most asking the mysterious witch if she wanted to join him.
However, doing so would reveal everything, the witch would certainly guess.
But in such a situation, better to lay cards on the table, and if all else fails, part ways.
Duncan was unrelated to them all, and what he had done was already the limit.
In war, individual strength was so insignificant.
He didn't want to be drawn into conflict at this moment.
The guard leader hesitated for a moment, gritting his teeth, "Dump the cargo, everyone travel through the night."
This decisiveness unexpectedly made Duncan respect him.
War had arrived.
What must be abandoned should be abandoned; as long as they survived, they'd have opportunities to rise again; but if killed by chaotic troops, then there'd truly be nothing left.
In these times, massacres of towns and villages were as common as daily meals.
Since the other party had this determination, Duncan would travel with them a while longer.
Though now a lone rider, he could retreat at any moment should something happen, with his most important focus being to lay low until he achieved the strength of a Hundred-man Enemy before acting recklessly.
Given his current combat skill improvement speed, becoming a Hundred-man Enemy wasn't too difficult.
If only he could master Supernatural Power!
...........