[Spirituality: 13,090]
[Divinity: Blessing of the Deer Spirit]
Sunlight filtered through the gaps between the leaves, dappling the forest floor. The shimmering leaves reflected that sunlight back, imbuing the ground with a vibrant, living energy.
It was as if the forest were listening to a solemn vow.
"In the name of the Deer Spirit, I grant you my blessing."
"Stand by my side, defend my honor, and protect my life."
Ryan extended a finger and pressed it gently to the forehead of the soldier in front of him.
At this moment, five hundred soldiers knelt on one knee before him, their eyes ablaze with fervor as they felt the power erupting within them.
"My honorable lord, my master, I swear to eternally be your soldier—your blade."
"I shall be loyal to you, even unto the end of death itself."
"Winter cannot freeze my faith. Dawn shall bear witness to my vow of protection."
One soldier after another roared out these oaths, their voices low and powerful, like a herd of proud stags offering solemn tribute.
But soon, they were overcome with hunger.
The Blessing of the Deer Spirit had granted them the physique of an apprentice knight without any training—but it came at a cost. The sudden surge in strength left them agonizingly hungry. Their blood and vitality couldn't yet compare to Ryan's knight-retainers.
"I believe in your loyalty. What you must now do is fight for me. Win this war, and you will cast off all shackles of the past. You will become my retainers, and together, we will witness the summit of this world."
Ryan raised his longsword.
And these 500 soldiers consumed all the army's remaining rations.
It wouldn't fully quell their hunger, but it would be enough to spare them the agony of starvation.
After all, in any world, the poor and downtrodden are masters at enduring hunger.
"The enemy outnumbers us. But I know you've felt it—you are stronger than them. You have a glorious future. You will kill them."
"And then—you will survive."
A great commander is always a great orator. Whether born an artist or a noble, he must know how to inspire the soul.
"We will overcome every enemy! We shall have everything we desire!"
"Dreams—shall be made real!"
Thus, when Artel led his thousands of soldiers toward the forest, they were greeted by faces full of bloodlust and fury—like wild beasts ready to devour them—shouting words they couldn't even understand as they charged.
"Attack!"
"Victory is ours! Glory to our Lord!"
Counting Leon's troops, a total of 1,300 soldiers charged the enemy without fear of death. These men, once slaves, now unleashed a terrifying force, tearing through the enemy ranks—breaking the slave soldier formations within moments.
In the face of such madness, the enemy collapsed. Even the half-trained regular soldiers stood dumbfounded, unsure how the battlefield had suddenly turned into their funeral pyre.
Their hands trembled. At the end of the day, they were merely part-time militia, trained a few days a month. They had better gear—but at heart, they were still farmers.
Now, facing the insane charge of the Frozen Soil soldiers, some dropped their weapons in panic and fled.
Thousands of soldiers, shattered in an instant. The cries of retreat and panic outpaced the clash of weapons.
"All deserters shall be burned alive!"
A thunderous roar drowned out the chaos. Artel's 200 transcendent soldiers finally moved. Led by Ash, they swung massive axes indiscriminately—cutting down both enemies and their own fleeing allies.
Meanwhile, deep in the forest, Ryan rode his warhorse, followed by only 178 knight-retainers.
"To win this war, we must kill the barbarians—and rout the thousand or so regular troops."
There was no need for speeches. These were Ryan's personal knights. As their lord, he was their one and only object of loyalty.
The 178 knights sat in total silence. Even their horses made no noise but soft snorts.
Each held a shield in one hand and a sharp longsword in the other. As Ryan's horse advanced, they followed closely behind.
Every horse had its eyes blindfolded with cloth, guided only by reins—until they emerged at the forest's edge.
And then—they charged.
Warhorses thundered out of the forest, crashing into the disordered enemy with unstoppable momentum.
"Kill!"
Their battle cry echoed loud. The brute force of the warhorses smashed enemy soldiers aside. Blood and bodies were crushed beneath hoof and blade.
An army made of men is not a machine. Faced with cavalry, even desperate soldiers would rather fight infantry than stand before the hopeless charge of knights. The riders' shock and awe quickly cleared a path ahead.
Ryan's cavalry surged toward Artel's location, where 200 barbarians were butchering his troops with overwhelming force.
Even barbarians had to fear cavalry. The power behind a charge was something even they could not match.
RUMBLE!
The slow-moving barbarians couldn't dodge in time. But they too went berserk, swinging their massive axes at the incoming cavalry.
"Glory shall be ours!"
Brand roared as he surged past Ryan, locking onto a barbarian with silver-rank strength.
He lowered his torso level with his horse's head, his shield glowing with deep red bloodlight. In its aura, the faint image of a mighty stag appeared, overlaying the shield.
Knight Technique: Stag's Shield—now empowered, blocked the descending axe, and the warhorse's momentum sent the barbarian flying.
Behind him, the other knights did the same. Shields absorbed axe blows while the warhorses' impact tore through the barbarian formation.
"Kill!"
Ryan's own strength was terrifying. His longsword split open a barbarian's skull in one clean strike.
Over a hundred knights broke through the enemy ranks of 200 barbarians, killing nearly twenty and emerging on the far side of the battlefield.
"Dismount!"
Brand shouted. Before his horse had even turned around, he leapt to the ground, quickly turning to face the enemy with sword and shield at the ready.
In less than thirty seconds, the cavalry had transformed into infantry, forming tight ten-man phalanxes. They stood in formation, blood surging, eyes fixed on the enemy.
Fifty meters. Thirty. Twenty. Ten...
At ten meters, the barbarians let out beastlike roars and charged.
At that moment, centered on Brand, a powerful surge of knightly blood force erupted. The army's lifeblood pooled into one, and in that instant, an illusory stag formed above them—its face awe-inspiring, letting out a deep, resonant cry.
"Attack!"
...
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