When the full moon was in the sky, it sprinkled a layer of bleak light, reflecting on the busy beings in the mortal world, as usual.

"Ahem..."

The Count of Carolus sat on the snow, the leather mattress embedded in his armor soaked with sweat and beaten by the cold wind.

He stood up and looked into the distance.

The rucksacks that the soldiers had discarded in battle were picked up by the Misty Mountain Tribes, who sang and danced in their tents that belonged to the Livingstonians.

The women's breath and the men's laughter were clearly audible in the night, and the aroma of the roasted meat made the soldiers look at the camp with envy from time to time as they gnawed on the dried meat.

"My lord, maybe we can do a night raid and take out these damned brutes. A knight staggered to his feet and suggested, wanting to move his limbs, which had become stiffer.

"And then, do you exhaust the last of your physical strength and be overturned by the brute?" said the Earl, laughing self-deprecatingly, regretting his recklessness.

Maybe Lance of the Stoke family was right, even if the nerves were big, the Count sensed that something was wrong.

How could it be such a coincidence?

As a nobleman, it is not difficult for him to smell the smell of conspiracy.

Although my heart is filled with anger at the moment, what is more important now is how to lead these soldiers back to their homes.

But... Will there be a chance...?

The Count does not know, fate has always played tricks.

But if not, it is believed that death is also a good destination.

As a warrior, a warrior from the North! He doesn't mind having those abominable Misty Mountain barbarians pay the price in blood!

"But... Your Excellency...!" The knight tried to fight again, but was interrupted by the Count waving his hand.

"I know what you're trying to say!Fear of freezing to death, fear of starvation?, or fear of a senseless death that won't bring glory to you?" said the Earl, in a calm tone, how could he not understand the innermost thoughts of his followers, but...

Looking around, I was attracted by the sound of the two talking, and the eyes were full of longing, loss, and confusion.

The Count sighed sullenly.

It's been two days...

It's been two full days and one night since they were ambushed by this group of Misty Mountain barbarians!

There are fewer and fewer soldiers who follow him, some of them die on the battlefield, some die in their sleep, so that they dare not even sleep now, for fear that they will not see the sunshine of tomorrow.

"I know that we are running out of food, the cold is eroding our will, and it won't be long before hunger strikes, and you long for a final fight, even if it is a hideous death, and don't embrace this snow with a smile..."

"Lance of the Stoke family is not stupid, and I have not ordered his followers to be pursued, and if we don't get the news back, they will find out sooner or later that something is wrong!Only if we hold out long enough, the more chance the civilians of Ilcutlin will escape!" The Count raised his voice and raised his arms in an impassioned tone: "Have you forgotten what the warriors of our Silverblade Castle are?!"

"The shield that guards the kingdom!"

The soldiers beat their chests hard, and their blood-boiling shouts made a commotion in the Misty Mountain camp in the distance.

"The shield that guards the kingdom!"

The Count also smashed his breastplate with his fist, his voice low and hoarse, and although he ignored the provocation of the barbarians, how could he not want to come to a hearty fight.

He glanced at the greatsword in his hand, the mottled blood stains on it frozen into ice cubes in the low temperature.

The people of the Misty Mountains seemed to be slack, but they didn't give themselves the slightest chance.

The warrior's instinct made him know that as long as he dared to lead the team to rush out, the elite of the Misty Mountain hidden in the forest would be very happy to kill, and teach the survivors of Livingston a painful lesson.

"I guess they're having a hard time too..."

The Count shook off the snow from his armor, looked in the direction of Ilcutlin, and sat down again.

"Rest, there's a tough battle tomorrow. ”

He had to recover as much as he could, and the whole day of fighting was really exhausting.

...............

The night passed.

When only embers remained of the campfire of the Misty Mountain people, the sky turned a hint of fish's belly white.

The Count opened his eyes violently, and put his hand to his ear in the shape of a trumpet.

"Hey, wake up!" he shouted as he pushed the knight beside him and lowered his voice.

"Bang dang!"

The knight, who had been keeping watch with his sword down, fell straight to the ground, his armor colliding with the ground with a slight muffled sound.

From the gap between his helmets, you can vaguely see the curvature of the corners of his mouth, and it is a very happy smile...

"Hey..."

The Count silently withdrew the hand that had tried to hold him, feeling a little sad that he should have died under the sword and axe, with hot blood as his companion.

Fortunately, many warriors were awakened by this soft sound, and except for a few people like the knights, they all opened their eyes one after another and looked at them suspiciously.

"Prepare for battle! Perhaps our reinforcements have arrived!" roared the Earl.

He fell to the ground, trying to test his guess.

The icy snow drove away the remaining sleepiness, and the Count felt the pulse of the land and stood up in surprise.

"Array, Fuck these damned brutes!" he shouted in a low voice as he picked up his two-handed broadsword.

"Whoa..."

The soldiers formed a silent and rapid formation, trying to move their stiff limbs as much as possible.

The long-awaited moment has finally come, and from their respective pursed lips, it is not difficult to see the fighting spirit in their hearts at this moment.

Kill one shameful, kill two is enough!

"Kill!"

"Kill, kill, kill!"

In order not to alarm the barbarians who were still sleeping soundly in the warm tents, the soldiers shouted slogans as low as they could, followed the Count's back, and rushed cautiously and quickly towards the camp of the Misty Mountain people.

Perhaps it was the stiffness of the limbs from the long hibernation and the annoying low temperature, and when the Count led his soldiers into the camp, the so-called elite who were ambushed in the dense forest had not even reacted.

"Ahh

Blood splattered, and the warriors of the Misty Mountains were beheaded by sharp blades in the process of waking up in a daze, and together with the disheveled women in their arms, no one could escape the slaughter of the Avengers.

When the tent was set on fire, smoke engulfed the entire camp.

The earl and the soldiers no longer concealed their loud battle cries, accompanied by the sound of ghosts crying wolves, weaving into a cruel music.

"Damn Ravenstonians!"

The elite of the Misty Mountain, who arrived late, finally rushed over, and the two sides collided, and with the advantage of numbers, they successfully blocked the earl's advance.

"Die!"

The Bearclaw Berserker swung his axe and lunged at the Earl.

Once the commander is killed, the remaining soldiers will not be worried—thought the Bearpaw Berserker.

"Whoosh!"

A sharp arrow pierced through the crack in his helmet and struck him in the eye, sending a snow-white brain through the back of his head.

The Count smirked and leaped over the burly and somewhat astonishing corpse, his greatsword mixed with the whistling of the wind and snow, like a tiger slaughtering into a flock.

"Whoosh!

With the muffled sound of horses' hooves trampling on the snow, a rain of deadly arrows struck.

Lance arrived!

He lived up to his oath, his superb horsemanship allowed his sword to hit the target more easily, and after the Rangers scattered and fired freely, he rushed in the direction of the Count alone.

"Kill, kill them all!"

In the distance, a shaman's angry roar could be heard.

Lance's heart froze, it seemed that his guess was right, the Omenwolf that was supposed to appear here was gone, so the Silverblade Castle...

"Retreat, Lord Count!" he cried out.

"Stoke cubs, kind of them with me!"

Seeing that the situation was temporarily favorable to his side, the Earl had obviously risen up and planned to crush this army of Misty Mountains in one go.

"Silverblade Castle! Silverblade Castle is surrounded!" Lance could only remind, although this was only his own unilateral conjecture, he didn't care so much at the moment.

The solo rider was destined to be the focus of attention on the battlefield, and the increasing number of barbarians around him made it impossible for him to join the count's team.

"What?!"

When it came to his lair, the Earl's fierce fighting spirit cooled down, and he looked around and found that there were already many armed barbarians from the Misty Mountains in the distance, and the soldiers under his command were already a little difficult to parry, and they were almost unable to keep up with the pace of progress.

After all, the physical strength consumed by the fierce battle before was not something that could be replenished by sleeping in the snowy night, not to mention that they were still wearing heavy armor.

It's time to break through!

"Retreat!" commanded the Earl with a loud voice, making up his mind.

His thick voice conveyed his command well, and the array slowly retreated to the rear.

"Whoosh!

The arrows of both sides flew through the air, the Misty Mountain people were superior in numbers, and the rangers were superior in precision.

The arrows made a crisp "ding" sound on the armor, and apart from the occasional few unlucky eggs, it didn't have much of an impact on Livingston's soldiers.

"Kill!"

The people of the Misty Mountains rushed forward one after another.

It has to be said that retreat is an artistic activity and the best way to test whether a commander is qualified.

From the direction of Reims, Ravenston slowly retreated in a circle, and the Earl, because he was at the forefront, turned back to take charge of the rear of the palace.

There are countless barbarians in the Misty Mountain who have died under his sword, but these guys have fully demonstrated what it means to be fearless of death.

Since the rough weapon could not pierce the heavy armor, he used his body to hit and grasp it with his hands, and Lance saw more than one soldier being grabbed by his legs, dragged out of the formation, and his throat was cut by a small dagger.

"Bell!"

The horses were galloping, and their swinging swords were blocked.

Lance watched more and more gray shadows rushing out of the camp, and his heart began to become anxious...