Amber Sword

Hundreds of soldiers stood silently in the pouring rain, the raindrops on the dark tower shields creating a misty fog, the long spears reflecting a cold metallic sheen as they extended forward side by side, forming a silent steel forest atop Evergreen Tree Square.

Sir Marloes, the Swordsman Captain of the Seventh Swordsman Battalion of Ampezel’s Harbor Guard, finally breathed a sigh of relief; he did his best not to think about the pale faces beneath the steel helmets and the crooked formations. Regardless, they had managed to complete the defensive deployment within the expected time.

He turned and saluted the young man behind him: "General, it is done."

Owen stared at the gloomy sky over the port—the Black Blade Legion and the Holy Temple stationed at Ampezel didn’t gain the upper hand against the powerful lineup above them. The Southern Army had long possessed Erune’s strongest Flying Dragon Cavalry, yet such a force was cast aside by the Kingdom in another period of history.

He couldn’t envision such a future, but now it was indeed the same Kingdom’s two armies clashing over Ampezel. Perhaps they should have sought more valuable victories, facing Kruz, Madara, confronting more glorious adversaries.

He withdrew his gaze, merely glanced at the defense line established over the better part of an hour, and couldn’t help but shake his head. Such a line, before the White Lion Legion, was as easy to break as a thin paper in a storm.

Nevertheless, this was the Kingdom’s wealthiest region, where the soldiers didn’t face the northern Luz people nor the undead of Madara. Their adversaries didn’t consist of barbarians or mountain people; to have achieved this was already commendable.

This was how the Kingdom’s second-rate army was, Owen knew this fact well, and he nodded expressionlessly: "Yes."

Sir Marloes wiped sweat away secretly, relieved to have passed the mark. He thought it rather unlikely — the Royalists weren’t foolish enough to walk into a trap in the north. However, the opposing officer belonged to the White Lion Legion—well-known was the fact that any noble commander emerging from the White Lion Legion was a prominent figure in the Kingdom, either an outstanding progeny or a descendant of a prominent family. The young man before him was probably the latter—he couldn’t afford to offend these people.

Marloes’ dismissive expression deepened Owen’s contempt. Such shallow individuals, he looked ahead — and at the other end of the rain, the last force of the Royalists, the officer cadets from the Royal Academy, what kind of legion were they?

He hoped they wouldn’t disappoint, Owen felt an eagerness stirring within.

Within the rain, Ampezel remained shrouded in darkness, yet dawn was almost upon them.

"Du Rock, Merkan, fourth years gather with me!" A young officer cadet on horseback raised a black battle banner high, standing like a totem in the wind and rain.

The young people from the Royal Officer Academy quickly formed ranks, their movements precise and well-trained, leaving only the sound of footsteps and the occasional clash of scabbards and leather boots amid the pattering rain.

In front, passing through the interconnected lines of rain, reconnaissance cavalry crisscrossed delivering reports back:

"Knight Commander, we’ve encountered unidentified enemy troops ahead!"

"They are blocking our way!"

In the wind and rain, the knight pointed backward: "There are forces from three directions!"

"Investigate further, extend reconnaissance to the left and right," Nemesia replied coldly, she pulled at her reins — Brando beside her did the same, both warhorses stopping immediately.

Brando looked ahead, raindrops slipping down his pale brow, resembling water droplets on a sculpture. He raised his hand and motioned forward: "This army is deploying from Lion Street—Hawkfins Inn to Silver Smith Bridge line, two battalions of over 500 men at the forefront, they haven’t reserved any backup troops; they are unlikely to be regular forces."

Before his words finished, a distant voice reached them: "It’s the black spider emblem of the Northern Man, the noble private army!"

"The Helian family, it’s Luo Du’s private forces, such clowns also wish to share in the spoils," Ou Fuwei’er behind Nemesia couldn’t help but scoff.

Everyone’s gaze immediately focused on Brando.

"How do you know?" Nemesia turned back, her wet hair stuck to her jade-like forehead, her body straight in the downpour like a sharp sword. Her expression was indifferent and cold, her eyes dark and full of suspicion—yet all this was to conceal the slight trembling caused by her injuries.