章節 11: chapter 10
Vaelion had spent the last week in meticulous preparation. His soldiers observed every movement of the merchant caravan with patience and precision. Now, the perfect moment to strike had finally arrived.
The caravan moved slowly along the narrow forest trail, surrounded by tall, dense trees. Carl, the merchant, sat comfortably in his carriage, though his expression was one of irritation. He glanced at his assistant beside him and let out a short, bitter laugh.
"Just three more days until we reach that bastard Berengar's village. After that, we'll finally be out of this cursed forest," Carl grumbled, rubbing his temples. "A whole month dealing with these miserable peasants, but I can't complain. This forest, as poor as it is, still gives us plenty of gold in exchange for grain. Foolish idiots."
The assistant nodded silently, not daring to disagree.
Carl peered out the carriage window, observing the mercenaries he had hired to protect the caravan. There were over forty armed men, led by Rick, an experienced yet equally irritable warrior. Rick walked beside the carriage, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding forest.
Suddenly, he raised his hand to signal the others.
"Hold up for a moment," he ordered, his voice firm. The mercenaries obeyed immediately.
Carl leaned out of the window, frowning.
"What's happening now, Rick?" he asked impatiently.
Rick didn't reply immediately. He looked around the forest, his instincts screaming at him. Something was wrong. He felt as though they were being watched, but he couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from.
"I don't like this," Rick muttered to himself. He turned to Carl. "Stay in your carriage, merchant. Stay calm, but be ready."
Carl rolled his eyes but complied, sinking back into his seat. He was still convinced that no one would dare attack his caravan, protected by so many mercenaries.
Rick stopped again, frowning. He raised his hand as if to speak, but his words were cut off by the sound of an arrow slicing through the air. One of the mercenaries beside him collapsed to the ground, an arrow lodged in his neck.
Vaelion stood atop a nearby hill, watching the scene with cold, calculating eyes. He remained steady, flanked by his two knights of the personal guard, while Commander Vicente organized the First Legion for the attack. The strategy was clear: surprise the mercenaries and merchants, eliminate any resistance, and seize the gold and grain cargo.
Vicente was at the forefront, mounted on a white horse, the gleam of his elven armor standing out against the forest's gloom. He glanced at the archers positioned in the trees along the trail and then at the spearmen hidden among the bushes and dips in the terrain. All awaited the signal to strike.
"Let it begin," Vicente murmured, raising his hand.
The archers were the first to act. The initial arrow whistled through the air, embedding itself in the neck of a mercenary walking beside the carriage. He collapsed with a gurgle, his blood staining the ground. Before the others could react, more arrows were loosed, striking targets with lethal precision.
"Ambush!" shouted Rick, the mercenary leader, drawing his sword as his eyes frantically searched for the attackers. "Protect the cargo! Form ranks!"
The mercenaries, experienced and well-paid, quickly responded. Some crouched behind the carriages, while others raised shields to block the arrows. Even so, three of them were already on the ground, dead or gravely injured.
Rick snarled at his men.
"Hold your ground! There can't be that many of them!"
But Rick was wrong.
At Vicente's signal, the elven spearmen emerged from the shadows, blocking the trail ahead and behind the caravan. Their spears glinted under the faint light filtering through the trees. The sound of their boots echoed like muffled thunder as they marched, driving the mercenaries toward the center of the trail.
The mercenaries reacted swiftly. Two of them charged with swords in hand, attacking the first spearman they encountered. One elf attempted to defend himself but was caught off guard by a lateral strike. The blade slashed his throat, and he fell to the ground, his eyes wide in shock. The elf's dying scream echoed through the forest—the First Legion's first casualty.
Vicente frowned at the sight of his fallen soldier but did not hesitate. He raised his sword and shouted:
"Advance! Show the strength of the elves!"
The spearmen pressed forward, using the reach of their weapons to force the mercenaries to retreat. Even so, the battle was far from easy. Rick, with his war-hardened experience, organized his men into an improvised defensive line. He himself charged at a spearman, disarming him with a precise strike before driving his sword into the elf's chest. Another fell.
"Damn you! You're not invincible!" Rick shouted, a cruel smile on his face as he raised his bloodied sword.
However, the archers continued their assault, picking off mercenaries who exposed themselves too much. One mercenary attempted to climb a tree to reach the archers but was struck by two arrows before he could reach the first branch. He fell to the ground with a dull thud, his life quickly slipping away.
Vicente realized the battle was becoming more balanced than anticipated. He pulled his horse's reins and advanced with a small group of spearmen to reinforce the line.
"Human!" Vicente shouted, pointing his sword at the mercenary leader. "Face me if you have the courage!"
Rick laughed, though the sweat on his brow betrayed his confidence. He wiped the blood from his sword and assumed a fighting stance.
"Finally, someone worthy of a fight," he replied, charging at Vicente.
The duel was fierce. Rick was quick and unpredictable, but Vicente fought with the discipline and grace of the elves. Their swords clashed as they exchanged blows, each movement meticulously calculated. Rick attempted a low strike, but Vicente dodged, spinning his blade to slash his opponent's arm. Rick cried out in pain but continued fighting, driven by sheer determination.
Meanwhile, the battle around them raged on. A group of mercenaries broke through the spearmen's line and charged at the archers in the trees. Two elves were killed before reinforcements arrived to protect the archers.
Vaelion watched everything from his elevated position, his expression as cold as ever. He disliked fighting on the front lines, preferring to command from afar, but he knew that each of his soldiers' deaths was a blow to his strategy.
"Send in the knights," he finally said to his two guards. "Let's end this."
The two knights of Vaelion's personal guard charged forward, their black mounts thundering down the trail with a deafening sound. They struck with full force, shattering the mercenary line that still resisted. The knights' lances and swords cut through men like rag dolls, the overwhelming force of their assault ending any remaining resistance.
Rick, wounded and bleeding, looked around and realized the battle was lost. He tried to retreat, but Vicente gave him no chance. With a swift motion, Vicente disarmed Rick and drove his sword into the mercenary leader's heart.
When silence finally settled over the forest, Vicente surveyed the damage. Some elves lay dead, their bodies scattered across the trail, but the victory was clear. The caravan had been completely destroyed, and the grain and gold were now under Vaelion's control.
Vicente returned to Vaelion, cleaning his sword before kneeling before his master.
"The caravan is taken, Your Majesty. But we suffered losses," he said firmly.
Vaelion regarded him for a moment before responding.
"Every sacrifice will be remembered. Ensure that our soldiers' bodies are treated with honor. As for the mercenaries... let them rot."
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