At his command, the allied knights moved swiftly to carry out the order. It was then that a ssenger arrived, shouting from behind.
"My lord! A ssage from the main camp!"
"What's the news?"
"Traitors Franz and Roland are advancing toward Glixborg's rear! It seems they've deployed nearly all their forces!"
"Oh?"
A sly smile spread across Sylas's face. If they had committed nearly all their troops, it ant only minimal defenses were left to guard their strongholds.
"This just makes things easier. We'll simply turn our forces and head for the two traitors."
"My lord, is it alright to leave the rear undefended?"
Sylas shrugged at Baron Caspar's worried question.
"Why not? We have plenty of reinforcents to rely on."
The baron's expression remained uneasy.
"Of course, the Red Dragon Knights are strong—"
"The Pilgrim Knights," Sylas corrected.
"Yes, the Pilgrim Knights. Their strength is undeniable, as is the power of the magical armor. But…"
"Then what's the issue?" Sylas asked.
"The numbers," Caspar replied grimly. "I don't an we're outmatched in strength, but there are simply too many of them. Even with superior force, we can't cover every angle. If they avoid direct confrontation and only strike at weaker points, we'll be vulnerable."
Sylas nodded, understanding the concern. One knight might kill five soldiers in a single swing, but in that ti, ten more could slip past and loot undefended areas.
"They'll charge recklessly the first ti, but after that, they'll avoid direct combat and focus on weak points," Caspar explained.
"No matter. We've got defensive forces in place," Sylas replied.
"Not enough for such a widespread attack," the baron countered.
"Baron," Sylas said, his tone calm but firm. "I've already spent half of the gemstones we received from the North."
"What!?"
The baron's eyes widened in disbelief. Spending such an imnse fortune in so short a ti seed impossible unless it had been thrown into a bottomless pit.
"What did you do?"
"What else? I hired troops. A lot of them," Sylas said with a grin.
Caspar's jaw dropped.
"So don't worry," Sylas added confidently. "They won't get the chance to cause trouble in the rear."
"Why not?"
"Because we outnumber them." Sylas's smile widened.
"Damn it," Malon cursed, his hand instinctively rubbing the scar under his left eye. It was a mark left by the Dragonslayer months ago during the battle at Ebilene Castle. Though it had healed and left only a faint trace, the stress of the current situation made it throb anew.
"To lose a third of the forces on a pointless maneuver before we even got a proper fight... this is laughable. The world will mock us," Malon muttered to himself, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Nearby, a younger knight nad Birgit, acting as the commander of Roland's forces, flinched at the scathing remark. "Still," Birgit said hesitantly, "it's fortunate we managed to preserve as many troops as we did in that fierce battle."
"Fortunate? Hardly," Malon shot back, his eyes sharp. "If we'd avoided passing by Glixborg Castle in the first place, those losses wouldn't have happened."
Birgit clamped his mouth shut under the weight of Malon's glare. The veteran knight sighed, his frustration bubbling over. This was all due to that arrogant fool's stubbornness.
I warned them to avoid Glixborg Castle, Malon thought bitterly.
After barely escaping with his life from Ebilene Castle, thanks to his late lieutenant's sacrifice, Malon had been reassigned as a commander by Franz. The logic was sound: soone who had survived the Dragonslayer would know best how to deal with him.
And Malon had indeed suggested the most sensible course of action the mont he t with the forces of Roland.
"Under no circumstances should we face the Dragonslayer directly. He doesn't play by the rules of normal warfare. Worse yet, he knows how to exploit that unpredictability."
Malon had urged the allied forces to steer well clear of Glixborg Castle. Even if the Dragonslayer wasn't present, there was no telling what traps or strategies he might have set up.
"Even if it takes longer, we should go the long way around and strike from the rear," Malon had advised.
But his suggestion had been t with scoffs from Birgit.
"Do you not see what's happening to Stolman?" Birgit had retorted. "The Dragonslayer is advancing at lightning speed. If we waste ti circling around, our lords will be next."
"And if we're ambushed near Glixborg Castle? Would you prefer that risk?" Malon countered.
"Ambushed? By what? Aside from the Dragonslayer and his inner circle, they're nothing but rabble. Their main forces are at Stolman, so what could they possibly use to attack us?"
The logic was sound in theory. The allied forces outnumbered the enemy, both in quantity and quality. Even if they attempted an ambush, they would likely be crushed by the superior might of the allied troops.
Birgit, who had never faced the Dragonslayer personally, could not comprehend Malon's insistence.
"Honestly, Sir Malon, you've been too shaken by your previous encounter. This could be an opportunity to regain your confidence," Birgit had added, his tone almost mocking.
Malon had gritted his teeth, suppressing the urge to lash out. To avoid friction among the allies, he had reluctantly agreed to Birgit's plan.
And then, as Malon had feared, the worst-case scenario unfolded.
The mont the allied forces passed Glixborg Castle, its gates had swung open, and knights had poured out, charging directly at them. Initially, the allied troops had laughed.
"Look at these fools. Riding on the Dragonslayer's reputation and thinking they're invincible," they had jeered.
But their laughter died quickly when the knights in their strange, impenetrable armor arrived.
"Who are these people?"
"They're not from the South!"
The peculiar accent and unfamiliar combat style marked them as outsiders. But it wasn't their origin that mattered—it was their overwhelming skill.
How could they be this strong? Malon had thought, stunned.
Each knight displayed swordsmanship that outclassed even the fad Red Wolf rcenaries. The allied knights who rushed forward, brimming with confidence, were swiftly unseated, often without landing a single blow.
Even worse, their weapons were useless against the enchanted armor. No spear, sword, or even mace could pierce or dent the magical plates.
"Retreat! Fall back!" Malon had ordered, realizing the battle was lost. But the enemy knights pursued relentlessly, turning what should have been a disciplined withdrawal into a chaotic rout.
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