Leyte swung his scimitar and charged toward Angelina's position, leaving no opponent standing in his wake. The signature mark of a high-ranking knight squire—fighting energy—emanated from his blade, glowing faint red. Its sharp energy cut through anything, even the hardest of bones.
In an instant, several soldiers who dared to approach Leyte were cleaved into pieces. The overwhelming aura and oppressive energy radiating from him cleared a circle around him; no one was willing to face this god of slaughter head-on.
Soren's pupils contracted as he turned and ran. No one here understood the combat strength of a high-ranking knight squire better than he did. Even with over a hundred soldiers protecting Angelina, or even twice as many, they couldn't stop Leyte if he set his sights on killing her.
Only someone of equal rank could face such an enemy. Even then, multiple mid-level knight squires would be required to hold their ground. Previously, Sir Lane—despite being a rank lower than Casar—could still hold out for a while by fighting desperately. But unfortunately, the strongest warriors here were merely entry-level squires. A sea of soldiers might restrain such an opponent, but a mere hundred or two soldiers couldn't be called a 'sea.'
Caesar, who had been watching Soren closely, immediately understood the situation. He had always treated Soren as his lifeline. Seeing Soren flee, Caesar knew what it meant. Unless faced with an utterly unstoppable enemy, Soren—being a commanding officer—would never abandon his men.
Glancing back at the blood-red armored figure effortlessly slaughtering ordinary soldiers, Caesar gritted his teeth and discreetly signaled Tom, Jon, and Uncle Karl to follow Soren.
Tom and Jon were struggling to fend off a blood-red soldier alongside Caesar. But as soon as Caesar subtly signaled with his thumb, both men, long-time comrades, instantly understood his intention. The three of them retreated in three different directions. The blood-red soldier, seeing them disperse, didn't pursue but instead turned his attention toward Angelina.
When Caesar reached Karl, the older warrior was locked in combat with another blood-red soldier. Unlike Caesar, who required support from Tom, Jon, and other soldiers, Karl—an experienced veteran—was holding his own in the duel. When Caesar tried to pull Karl away, Karl, startled, almost struck him with his sword. Fortunately, Caesar reacted quickly, and Karl pulled back in time.
"Uncle Karl, we're leaving!" Caesar grabbed Karl without further explanation. Karl was momentarily stunned, and even the blood-red soldier fighting him paused in confusion before also redirecting his focus toward Angelina.
Uncle Karl, much like Uncle York, had taken care of Caesar over the years. As fellow townsfolk, Caesar felt obligated to bring him along. Karl quickly realized the situation when Caesar pointed toward the retreating figure of Soren.
Without making a sound, the group fled. Deserting one's post on the battlefield was only slightly less severe than rebellion; the punishment was death by hanging. Moreover, they needed other squad leaders and soldiers to cover their retreat.
Soren and his group's quiet withdrawal went largely unnoticed by the chaotic soldiers. Even if someone had noticed, they wouldn't have dared intervene. However, Angelina, who was positioned nearby, saw everything. She couldn't believe it. The Garrel army—her father's pride and her brother's celebrated force—had deserters?
Angelina almost fainted.
"I am Princess Angelina! I order you to take me with you!" Angelina no longer had the luxury to maintain her dignity. Her legs ached, and the backlash from her depleted mental strength was overwhelming. She could barely stay conscious.
When Soren heard the name 'Princess Angelina,' his first reaction was disbelief. The noble Princess Angelina of Garrel shouldn't be in this remote wilderness; she should be safe in the royal capital. But after considering their mission, the truth became clear. His father had mentioned that several divisions had been dispatched for a rescue operation. Who else but the king's most beloved daughter would warrant thousands of troops in the middle of a critical war?
But understanding was one thing; acting was another. Soren wasn't a patriotic fool. A competent nobleman always weighs costs and benefits. The blood-red soldiers were clearly targeting Princess Angelina. Bringing her along would mean certain death. No one could stop a high-ranking knight squire from pursuing his target.
Yet, disobeying a royal order wasn't an option. Running away earlier was one thing, but now that the princess had revealed her identity, pretending ignorance would doom not just him but the entire Kyle family.
In this critical moment, Soren made a quick decision. Looking around, he spotted Caesar.
"Caesar! Take her with us! We're leaving!" Soren commanded.
Caesar nearly cursed out loud. Bringing along such a burden was a death sentence.
Angelina turned her gaze to Caesar. If Soren was the initial hero who charged to her rescue, and Dal and Kline were the supporting heroes who stood out in the melee, then Caesar was little more than a side character—a nameless soldier in the chaos. His graying hair, unkempt bangs, battered half-plate armor, and a standard longsword with several nicks gave her little confidence.
But here, Soren's orders were absolute, and time was critical.
"Jon, we'll carry her! Tom, clear the path!" Caesar barked.
Without hesitation, Caesar and Jon each grabbed one of Angelina's arms and started running, decorum be damned. Karl, the strongest among them, took the rear to guard their escape.
"Trying to run?!" Lane, still locked in combat, noticed their escape attempt. He couldn't allow one of Shiloh's last hopes to slip away.
With fighting energy coursing through his body, Lane's blood-red blade flared brighter. Soldiers in his path were cut down swiftly, and he carved a bloody trail through the chaos.
The escape was one of the most devastating losses Caesar's unit had ever faced since the Battle of Felmer Grand Canyon. Of their two hundred soldiers, nearly half had already fallen.
The slaughter continued, and another oppressive presence surged onto the battlefield—Casar had arrived after dealing with Lane.
"Don't waste time! Grab her and go!" Casar shouted from a distance. They were close to the Bering Mountains' border. If more Garrel reinforcements arrived, their mission would fail.
Soren's group ran for their lives, with Leyte and Casar in relentless pursuit. Both high-ranking squires had fought all night, and their energy reserves were depleted. Even Leyte, despite his composed demeanor, was breathing heavily.
The night forest became a stage for their desperate chase...
Behind them, the Garrel soldiers continued their doomed fight against the blood-red warriors. Without someone of equal rank to lead them, their chances of survival were slim.
Leyte's hand clamped around Dal's neck. Dal's face turned purple as he struggled to break free. With a sickening crack, Dal's body went limp.
Kline let out an enraged roar and charged with his spear. Leyte blocked with Dal's corpse and then thrust his curved blade forward. Kline gasped in disbelief as he looked down at the blood-red blade embedded in his abdomen. His last act was to weakly raise his spear toward Leyte before his eyes went dark.
At the rear, Karl confronted Casar. With a single swing of his blade infused with pure fighting energy, Casar severed Karl's right hand along with his weapon.
Two squad leaders dead, one gravely injured—the night was painted red with blood, and Kyle's unit suffered losses they had never seen before.