Chapter 84: Blood Spear Camp
Whoosh—
Pff!
Before the soldier on the high watchtower could even scream, the black-feathered arrow pierced his throat, taking his life in an instant.
He was merely the first to fall. From such a distance, only a vague shadow could be seen, showing a head and half a shoulder. The darkness before dawn made his figure almost ethereal.
But even so, the first arrow from Dry Leaf hit his throat accurately. The force of the arrow jerked his body backward, and he collapsed, lifeless, on the watchtower.
No one would believe that someone would dare attack the Blood Spear Camp of the Bloodstone family in the dead of winter. Since the mysterious destruction of the Blood Hammer Camp, the Bloodstone family, along with the other three major families of the Stormrider Tribe, had strengthened the defenses of their slave camps. The Blood Spear Camp, which was even larger than the Blood Hammer Camp, had at least two hundred elite soldiers stationed there.
However, after several months, nothing had happened, and this led many to believe that the assault on the Blood Hammer Camp was just a fluke, perhaps not even aimed at the Bloodstone family.
Around the Hunting Spear Valley, within a radius of one to two hundred kilometers, there were six slave camps of varying sizes, and along the northern wilderness border stretching over a thousand kilometers, there were more than thirty such camps. The smallest held a couple hundred slaves, while the largest could house over a thousand.
In addition to the Blood Hammer Camp, the Bloodstone family controlled three more slave camps. Among them, the Blood Spear Camp was the closest, and Kent estimated the straight-line distance to be less than forty kilometers. However, due to several mountain ranges in between, the journey would take about five days to complete, especially in the winter with several carts in tow.
For this raid, Kent dispatched Dry Leaf, Crow, Bear, Scar, and Mazi as his bodyguards, along with twenty barbarian axe-and-shield bearers, forty half-orc throwers, and fifty cave-dwelling crossbowmen. They also brought a hundred firebombs, forming a formidable mixed force.
The raid began in silence as Dry Leaf's first arrow was released.
Seated on horseback, Dry Leaf watched as the barbarians and half-orcs, led by the other four bodyguards, split into groups and moved forward.
From the top of a hill just over a hundred meters away from the makeshift wooden wall of the Blood Spear Camp, Dry Leaf could overlook the stables, gladiatorial arena, mill, warehouse, and the open-air shelters where three to four hundred slaves lay. The only bedding was hay, and even the thick-skinned, muscular barbarians could not escape the winter chill.
The eastern mountains began to glow with the first light of dawn, and the cold wind blew fiercely. Dry Leaf observed as the barbarians crept to the edge of the wall. Twenty barbarians crouched, while Crow and the first batch of half-orcs climbed the wall with ease.
On the wall, a few Blood Spear Camp sentries were asleep. Dry Leaf could hear the sound of swords slicing through their throats, the gurgling of blood filling the air as their windpipes were severed.
The smell of blood filled the dawn air, though Dry Leaf knew it was merely a figment of his imagination. The wooden gate was opened from the inside, and the rest of the mixed force surged in.
Firebombs exploded, setting the walls and buildings alight. The elite Bloodstone family sentries, armed with long swords and battle axes, rushed out of their dormitories, but they were quickly turned into pincushions by the cave-dwelling crossbowmen lying in wait. Some staggered forward, still trying to fight, but every step was met with more arrows.
The swift crossbows used by Dry Leaf's troops had razor-tipped arrows that could pierce through plate armor at such a close range, let alone the unarmored guards.
The fire quickly spread, and the once-dead camp of slaves began to stir. But under the watchful eyes of some barbarians and half-orcs, many of the slaves realized that their own kind, the humans, were attacking the Blood Spear Camp.
Soon, the chaos turned into a mix of curses and celebrations.
Shouts, cries, horse whinnies, clashing swords, and the sound of crossbows fired all blended together in a frenzy. In the thick smoke, more Blood Spear sentries charged out, some driven by the desperation of the flames, transforming their fear into a fierce determination.
One guard, wielding a strange curved blade and covered in tattoos, took several arrows but still charged at the barbarian axe-bearers, smashing into their shields with a mighty force. His battle axes struck with lethal precision, shattering the shield into pieces.
Crow, Scar, and the others watched coldly as the battle unfolded before them. The frantic shouts and pleas for mercy did not stir their emotions. The foreign soldiers, trained and coordinated, were performing like nothing they had ever witnessed, even back in the legions during their service.
Even though the barbarian and half-orc forces were strong, the true turning point of the raid lay in the hands of the cave-dwelling crossbowmen. These often overlooked troops had proven to be the most deadly.
Deep down, Crow felt a rush of excitement.
Who would have imagined that these once-subjugated foreign slaves would become humanity's secret weapon?
He couldn't help but wonder—might there come a day when their leader would lead an army of foreign soldiers to the highlands, reclaiming everything that was once theirs?
If that day came, it would be something to look forward to.