By the time the sun rose high above the mountain ranges in the east, the battle at the Blood Spear Camp had already ended.
It was a completely one-sided ambush, Dry Leaf thought. He had never seen a battle like this in any of the High Plains Alliance's legions or wars—killing twice the number of enemies without a single casualty on their side and taking over the enemy's camp.
He took a deep breath of the cool morning air.
The flames burning throughout the camp had died down, leaving only embers and thick smoke. The warehouse, stables, and slave huts were all intact. The number of slaves had been tallied, and aside from a dozen or so seriously wounded slaves who had suffered in the arena or resisted, there were over 430 healthy slaves. More than half of them were from various tribes of the Forest Alliance, while the remaining less than two hundred were wildmen and half-orcs.
The sixty-plus Northern warhorses stabled in the camp were a pleasant surprise. The horses from the Northern borders were known for their stamina and speed. With these horses, a cavalry unit could be formed.
An elder from the Falling Leaves Tribe had once said, "Before the elite heavy cavalry, all resistance is futile. Even without full armor, a cavalry unit can double the patrol range of the Hunter's Spear Territory."
This raid on the Blood Spear Camp had a clear goal: it was a strike at the Blood Stone family's slave camps. Besides their own mixed unit, Splitting Blade had led another mixed unit and set off two days earlier for the Blood Axe Camp. The orders were clear—leave no one alive except for the slaves.
Because of certain taboos, no women or children would be found in these slave camps. Only guards and slaves were present, and no other ordinary tribespeople.
Dry Leaf looked up to see where the sun was. By now, Splitting Blade's mixed unit should have already reached the Blood Scythe Camp.
Splitting Blade's mixed unit had, in fact, arrived near the Blood Scythe Camp the afternoon before.
The Blood Scythe Camp was different from the Blood Spear Camp. Located on top of a mountain, it was a semi-fortified slave camp. An attack from the front would require a long journey up a mountain path, with no cover, and the main walls were built into the mountain, making them difficult to scale.
But the steep terrain was no match for Splitting Blade's mixed unit.
They set up camp at the base of the mountain. Splitting Blade gave a short motivational speech, and more than twenty warriors volunteered to go first. Stone Fist was the first to step up, followed by sturdy half-orcs, their bodies strong and their fingers thick—excellent climbers.
In the fading light of dusk, hidden in the shadows of the mountainside, Splitting Blade, Cripple, and Tally, along with the twenty half-orcs, prepared to climb. Each of them carried several firebombs, their weapons hung from their waists, and Splitting Blade's greatsword was strapped to his back. Coarse ropes were also slung over their shoulders.
"The warriors who reach the summit will each receive the leader's medal and a reward in gold," Splitting Blade's voice carried through the night air, a chilling but motivating sound. "Why are we attacking the Blood Scythe Camp? It's because many of your brothers are imprisoned here. Stone Fist, say something!"
"No need to say more, Splitting Blade! The leader truly sees us as brothers, and the Thorn Tribe and Poison Spike Tribe will never forget!" Stone Fist growled softly.
He had mentioned to the leader that many half-orcs had been captured and brought to the Blood Scythe Camp as laborers, as it was an important mining base for the Blood Stone family. Now, the leader had sent them here to rescue the half-orcs—what more needed to be said?
"No half-orc is a coward!" Stone Fist looked around, "Stay alert! Don't fall behind and become a coward!"
"Ha!" The twenty half-orcs responded in unison.
Splitting Blade led the way, and the group of warriors slowly began their climb up the steep ridge, disappearing into the darkness. They would spend the rest of the night climbing the cliff behind the Blood Scythe Camp. The remaining hundred men would lie in ambush at the base of the walls, waiting for the signal to attack once the warriors had found a way to open the gate.
This wasn't the first time Splitting Blade had scaled a mountain. During the Alliance Wars, as part of an elite scout unit, they had used this tactic to appear behind enemy lines. In the southern mountain ranges, they had once climbed five peaks in ten days.
The Crown Mountain Range had been taken this way, he thought.
It wasn't the first time for the half-orcs either. Stone Fist followed closely behind Splitting Blade. Outsiders often thought that half-orcs were reckless, but they knew better. They didn't complicate things like humans did, but they were better at achieving their objectives more efficiently.
They had been trained from an early age in climbing, hunting, and one-on-one, even multi-person combat, awakening their strength and potential. Stone Fist carefully grasped the cracks in the rocks, and Splitting Blade was quick in his movements. The twenty warriors behind them were all worthy of the leader's medal.
Cripple followed third. As a hunter, he was different from Dry Leaf in that he was more steady. Throughout the climb, he remained the calmest—steady and silent. "Death only comes once," he always remembered the teachings of his mentor from his time as a scout in the legion.
He still remembered his first experience climbing a cliff with his bare hands. His fingers no longer felt like fingers, his arms were stiff, and even his heart seemed to beat for someone else. The mountain winds were freezing, his body frozen, but he succeeded in the end.
"There's never a 100% certainty, but if you keep your mind steady, the next time you make a mistake, it'll be a long way off," his mentor had taught him. A hunter's arms were long, so they could do more, but the key was to remain steady.
As they reached halfway up the mountain, they encountered a sheet of ice blocking the way. At this point, they couldn't use swords or axes, as the sound of chopping would easily alert the Blood Scythe Camp's guards.
"Let me do it," Stone Fist said as he passed Splitting Blade. He tested the ice with his fingers—it was thick and incredibly solid.
He felt the connection between the ice and the rock. His iron-like fingers slowly pried into the crack, the sharp stone cutting into his skin. The warmth of his blood slightly numbed the pain. He smiled and, with a push of his fingers, quickly made a small handhold.
With this technique, he managed to clear a path for the others. By the time it was midnight, the cold wind had become even sharper. The night sky was covered in dark clouds, blocking the moonlight, making the climb even more difficult.
The final narrow rock slope was about two people high, almost at a right angle, with only a narrow place for their toes to fit. The best way was for one person to help the other up.
"Stone Fist, I'll be below. You go first!" Splitting Blade called.
"Splitting Blade, you go!" Stone Fist replied.
"Stop wasting time," Splitting Blade grumbled, "If you want to test your strength, wait until we're off the mountain."