"Young Master Soren, watch out!" shouted Kline, the vice-captain of the First Squadron, as he rushed forward. Behind him followed Caesar, Karl, and others, swiftly forming a protective barrier around Soren.
Despite only a third of their battalion's soldiers being present, and without key leaders such as Captain Monte and Sir Will, the core strength of the battalion—the squadron captains and vice-captains—were all assembled here. Kline, vice-captain of the First Squadron, led from the front, Karl from the Second Squadron covered the left flank, Jelson, captain of the Fourth Squadron, stood firm, while Chris, captain of the Third Squadron, and Dal, his vice-captain, secured the right. Caesar himself was running alongside Soren, effectively serving as his personal guard.
Including Soren, seven individuals wielded fighting energy at the level of entry-level knight squires. Even the defenders of Phalanx City had not gathered such elite strength in one place. Surrounding them were nearly two hundred Garrel veteran soldiers. Numerically, Soren's force outnumbered the crimson soldiers chasing Princess Angelina by twenty to one.
The silent night forest erupted with a wave of furious shouts: "Kill! Charge!"
Princess Angelina was nearing exhaustion. Her pursuers, the crimson soldiers, were mere meters away. Just when it seemed she would be caught, a distinct war cry, bearing the heavy southern accent of Garrel, echoed from the southeast.
Raising her head, Angelina saw soldiers bursting from the dark forest, their ragged Garrel uniforms starkly contrasting the refined armor of palace guards. But to her, these battle-worn soldiers were a beacon of hope. Summoning the last of her strength, she surged forward.
The crimson soldiers noticed the approaching Garrel force and could no longer afford the luxury of a leisurely pursuit. Fighting energy flared as they accelerated, closing the gap to mere inches. A fierce gust from a crimson soldier's outstretched hand brushed past Angelina's ear, and in that moment, light erupted from her left palm.
Point Light Spell!
Like a miniature sun, the spell dazzled the eyes of the nearest crimson soldiers. Blinded, they staggered back, giving Angelina just enough time to duck and evade their grasp.
Soren, seeing the princess escape immediate danger, activated his fighting energy and rushed forward to meet her. Behind him, the crimson soldiers, regaining their sight, resumed their relentless pursuit.
The distance between the two sides narrowed to fifteen meters. The clash was imminent.
Soren spread his arms dramatically, ready to catch the beautiful mage in his embrace. In his mind, he rehearsed the line: "It's all right now, you're safe."
But reality had other plans. Angelina completely ignored him, charging past his outstretched arms and into the safety of the Garrel soldiers. Her clear, commanding voice rang out: "Knight! Hold them back!"
The authority in her voice left Soren momentarily stunned. Before he could process her command, the crimson soldiers descended upon him, swords raised, aiming to cut him down in a single blow.
Panicking, Soren raised his longsword in a desperate block. Metal clashed against metal, sparks flying in the dark forest. The sheer force of the blows numbed his arms, and his sword was wrenched from his grasp, spinning away into the darkness.
The fatal strike was imminent, but Caesar and the other squadron leaders sprang into action. Fighting energy flared as weapons met the crimson swords, narrowly deflecting the killing blows. Caesar, the closest to Soren, roared in fury, kicking off the ground to shove Soren aside while joining the others in fending off the crimson attackers.
The collision of weapons resounded through the battlefield. It took the combined strength of the captains and vice-captains to halt the crimson soldiers' advance. These weren't ordinary foes—every single crimson soldier wielded fighting energy, and they fought with terrifying precision.
The squadron leaders exchanged shocked glances. Even among the elite forces of Baron Kyle's army, there were fewer than ten soldiers who wielded fighting energy. Yet these crimson soldiers, every single one of them, were at least entry-level knight squires.
Before they could regroup, another wave of crimson soldiers charged forward, undeterred by their numerical disadvantage. They fought not as individuals but as a cohesive, deadly unit.
Recognizing the danger, the squadron leaders pulled Soren and Angelina back into the formation of Garrel soldiers. Soren's reinforced chainmail and soft under-armor had saved his life, but only just.
The Garrel battalion fought in formations of ten-man squads, a strategy refined by Baron Kyle himself after his studies in the Ormorian Empire. But despite their discipline, the initial clash was devastating. Within seconds, nearly ten Garrel soldiers lay dead or dying, and casualties continued to mount.
The crimson soldiers were no ordinary enemies. They were a highly coordinated force of knight-level fighters, each strike deadly and precise. Worse still, more crimson soldiers emerged from the dark forest.
Kline, watching his men fall, could no longer stand by. With a furious cry, he activated his fighting energy and charged into the fray, his longsword gleaming. Caesar and the other leaders followed suit, their fighting energy flaring as they joined the battle.
Caesar quickly realized something chilling. These crimson soldiers were not only superior in fighting energy but also in combat skill. Even Caesar, despite his own prowess, felt he was no match for them in single combat.
The battle descended into chaos. Blood sprayed into the night, severed limbs fell to the forest floor, and the air was filled with screams and war cries.
Soren's earlier confidence had evaporated. He had gravely underestimated the strength and numbers of these crimson soldiers. His force of two hundred might hold, but the cost would be catastrophic. These soldiers were the elite remnants of Kyle's forces after four years of war—losing even a quarter of them would cripple their barony.
In the melee, Kline speared a crimson soldier through the throat with a lightning-fast thrust, while Dal tackled another, his muscles swelling with fighting energy as he crushed the life from his enemy.
But despite these small victories, the Garrel forces were steadily being ground down. The crimson soldiers showed no sign of relenting, their deadly cohesion pushing the Garrel lines closer to collapse.
The squadron leaders fought desperately, but each knew the bitter truth—this was a fight they could not win without reinforcements. And reinforcements were not coming.
The night wore on, illuminated by flashes of fighting energy and the glint of steel. And in the darkness, death reigned supreme.