The silver-haired girl smiled slightly, a trace of slyness flashing in her silver-grey eyes: "But at least it’s a way."
The princess was dazed for a moment, sitting in the chair, she turned her head again to watch the dust floating up and down beneath the tall arched window. The golden sunlight seemed to weave a dream, making her unable to help but ponder.
What kind of story unfolded after that?
Wind rose in the forest.
The low wind breezed through the treetops like flowing water, causing the dense fog to slowly move. Layers of white mist spread between the branches, contrasting with clusters of fiery red berries below.
The stillness of the early morning was broken by the distant, approaching sound of galloping horses.
Iron-shod hooves trampled shrubs and berries, skimming over a pebbled riverside, splashing water like white crystalline pillars. A total of thirty-four horses galloped through the water. The skeletal figures in the valley, disturbed by the sound and feeling the ground tremble, began to rise, looking around in alarm. But before they could even turn their heads, the image of an ever-growing warhorse reflected in their eye sockets’ fiery orbs.
These were the tall and majestic Anlek warhorses, whose strong chests and powerful forehooves smashed and crushed the frail Undead creatures, or sent them flying to smash against the white rocks of the riverbank, shattering into scattered bones.
The cavalry forged a path through the scattered skeletons and then slowed down. The warhorses’ paces became increasingly smaller. The young Knight leading them suddenly raised his hand high, the thirty-plus horses took two or three steps forward due to inertia before coming to a unified stop—over a hundred hooves standing in the stream, the rapid water flowing around them—
A loud shout heralded the beginning of this morning.
"We’ve won—!" followed by a second shout.
"Long live Brand!" As the warhorses halted, the mercenaries atop them seemed to realize something. They raised their arms in unison, their cheers echoing throughout the valley.
Amid the cheers, Brand took off his leather helmet and tossed it far away. He couldn’t help but wipe the sweat from his cold forehead. The morning breeze brushed past, chilling his face. Sitting upright on horseback in his grey leather armor, he looked around at the verdant hills and thought:
It’s over, finally over!
He clenched his fist.
The previous battle had been a nightmare. When they entered the Valley of the Saints from the wilderness, everyone was down to their last ounce of strength.
A mere two thousand refugees fought their way through tens of thousands of Undead, which sounded almost like a fantasy, but it really happened. Some had left, some lay as cold corpses on the ground, some grieved, and some cried, but most of them had made it through, hadn’t they?
He turned around and saw the mercenaries that Frey had brought out from the Red Copper Dragon Storytelling. Now almost every one of them bore injuries—but they all looked at him with eyes full of conviction, knowing who had led them to this moment.
It was almost a miracle—
But this young man before them had done it. He had promised to guide them to miracles with his sword, and he had delivered.
Frey caught up with the Self-defense Corps following behind.
Her first words upon seeing Brand were: "Brand, did we really win?"
Brand looked at the valiant girl on horseback and nodded.
He didn’t speak, yet Frey’s Self-defense Corps fell silent instantly. Suddenly, those small citizens, the routed soldiers of the White Mane Legion, and disgraced mercenaries dropped their weapons clattering on the ground. They were stunned, barely able to believe their ears. After a day and a night’s chase and flight, could they have really won?
The enemy that even the White Mane Legion couldn’t defeat, they had repeatedly broken through their encirclement?
So, someone couldn’t help but loudly ask in disbelief: "Sir Knight, did we really win?"
"Long live—!" In an instant, the crowd erupted. They yelled and jumped, some shedding tears of joy they couldn’t hold back, and others immediately turned to run. They wanted to bring the good news to the refugees behind them.
The riders watched these excited people with silent smiles. Just moments ago, they had felt the same way themselves.
But Brand saw Frey staring at him, dazed. He couldn’t help but ask, "What’s wrong?"