To completely absolve himself of responsibility, Number Two did his utmost to embellish the strength and threat of the barbarians, and to paint his own desperate flight as a heroic effort to bring back reinforcements.
"I reckon those barbarians are the culprits. They were probably hiding there, waiting for nightfall to continue their purge of the other brigands. We were just unlucky enough to stumble upon them. If not for us, many more would have died at their hands tonight."
Seeing the Captain's silence, Number Two could only press on, trying to claim some credit for himself. But the Captain was barely listening to these details. His attention was fixed on something else. If his story is true, and the bodies were cleared away so quickly, doesn't that mean the transcendent item is real? He had been vexed, trying to find an excuse to attack the barbarians. And now, a perfect reason had fallen into his lap.
Thinking of it this way, the loss of a few elites no longer seemed so painful.
Having come to a decision, the Captain drew his saber and roared out his orders. "Those barbarians murdered our brothers! I will have vengeance for them! Find them! Kill them!"
"Vengeance!"
"Kill them!"
"KILL! KILL! KILL!"
The men had been cooped up for too long. No one could refuse a bit of sport. A strong, warlike fervor now swept through them all. Soon, the brigands had fanned out to search the surrounding area, but Lance and his party were long gone. It was an impossible task.
"Though we lost many men," Number Two said, "they can't have gotten off lightly. They've probably already fled back to the barbarian camp by now."
"Back to camp!" the Captain commanded. "Prepare for a full-scale assault!"
He knew that if the enemy had been discovered, they would not linger. It would be difficult to find them in this vast forest. Better to strike where they must defend, to bombard the barbarian camp with cannons and force them to return.
The large force returned to their camp, and the remaining brigands were briefed. Two elite squads and the Third-in-Command had been killed by the barbarians. Now, the Captain was launching a war of revenge to avenge his brothers.
These men, after all, had come from the army. Under the Captain's command, they displayed a level of order and efficiency that was unattainable for common brigands. They quickly donned their gear. Some began to hitch horses to a cannon, dragging the engine of war from the camp, along with two crates of cannonballs. The "not much" ammunition that Number Three had spoken of was perhaps a bit of an understatement. How did these deserters get their hands on so much ammunition? Lance wondered. They must have raided an armory on their flight.
The Captain, now in his own armor with his saber at his side, patrolled the camp, making arrangements. Under his command, everything became orderly. This man had truly earned his commission as an officer in the new artillery. Soon, everyone in the camp was armed and armored, standing in military formation. The Captain mounted a tall warhorse and stood before them for inspection.
The strength of the Cannon Company was considerable. Even after the loss of two elite squads, and leaving men behind to guard the camp, he could still muster more than seventy men. And with a cannon, against a mere twenty or thirty barbarians, would it not be an easy victory?
"...Those barbarians crossed the line, ambushing and killing many of our brothers. This, added to our old grievances, will all be settled today..."
The Captain gave his pre-battle speech, then drew his saber and pointed in the direction of the Wolf Pack's camp. "Victory will be ours! March!"
A force of less than a hundred men set off with such an imposing presence. One could only imagine the magnificent spectacle of a true battlefield, with thousands of men locked in combat.
Lance's party had long since circled around and was now observing the advancing column from a distance. They saw that the enemy camp had more than a dozen horses. These were not the draft animals of the landowner, but proper Imperial warhorses, used to pull the artillery. Envious, Lance thought.
"They're on the move. What now?" Number Three asked, watching the column depart.
"We follow them. Reynauld, Barristan, you two hang back a bit. If you are attacked, prioritize your own safety. Do not engage," Lance ordered. The two of them were heavily armored and not as mobile. To follow too closely would be to risk being discovered. After giving his instructions, Lance took Dismas and Number Three and began to shadow the army.
There was some distance between the two camps. An operation of this scale could not possibly be kept secret from everyone. Some of the other brigands, seeing the Cannon Company on the march, thought they were attacking the town and hurried over to get a piece of the action. But they were all, without exception, driven away by the Captain.
Seeing this, Dismas glanced at Lance. The lord's earlier judgment had been correct. Under the lure of the transcendent item, the Captain had no intention of bringing in other brigands. He would take the Wolf Pack, and its prize, for himself. Dismas's admiration for his lord grew even deeper.
The Cannon Company had begun their march with good discipline. But after a short while, the formation began to slacken. Aside from a few of the elites who could still maintain their ranks, the initially tight column began to stretch and straggle. Without the discipline of a military identity, a life of laxity and indulgence had destroyed the last traces of a soldier in them.
Seeing this, Lance knew they were not a serious threat. As the Cannon Company was about to enter the Wolf Pack's territory, he spoke. "How do you think the Captain will attack?" he asked Number Three. He needed more information to judge the situation.
"The barbarian camp is different from ours. They did not choose to camp in open ruins, but in the dense forest. In this situation, I believe the Captain will divide his forces to limit their space. He will form the gunmen into two ranks, eight men per rank, and encircle them from several directions, driving the barbarians towards the front, and then bombard them with the cannon." Number Three had, after all, attended a military academy. When it came to tactics, he knew what he was talking about.
But reality rarely conforms to one's expectations. The moment the column entered the dense forest, gunfire erupted. Some of the gunmen, without waiting for orders and without even seeing the enemy, began to fire blindly into the surrounding trees. White smoke billowed up. But besides that, nothing. They saw no enemy, but their own men began to die. The column began to panic.
The Captain at the front tried to command the rear, but his column was stretched too thin, and his orders were lost in the dense cacophony of gunfire.
Just as the men were trying to reload, a series of wolf howls echoed through the forest. In the next second, a dozen pure-white wolves charged into their ranks, their claws and teeth causing even greater chaos.
Finally, the Captain managed to rally his elite troops. Two neat volleys of gunfire rang out, suppressing the shots from the forest. At the same time, a number of elites with swords and blades charged into the wolf pack. These well-armored elites easily overwhelmed the wolves, which, without the cover of gunfire, had no choice but to leave behind a few of their dead and retreat back into the dense woods.
And at that moment, the forest fell silent. But the Captain's force had already suffered heavy casualties. The ambush had taken down several men, and the wolf attack had wounded several more, rendering them unable to fight. All told, he had lost more than a dozen men, nearly a sixth of his force. If not for the quick reaction of his elites, the chaos would have continued, and many more would have died.