35: Chapter 31: The Routed Soldiers 35: Chapter 31: The Routed Soldiers Hidden amongst the tall grass, Boris watched as a group of Kantadar people hastened towards Selva Village.
The flames had already gradually disappeared below the hillside, and he couldn’t help but fall into deep fear.
Rush back to spread the alarm?
Spread what fucking alarm!
Boris’s movement aggravated his wound, causing him to shudder with pain.
After all, his father and brothers had been conscripted to fight in the war, conveniently not in the village, so where did he get the mood to risk danger going back to care for the survival of these broken people of the land?
As for those two nagging old folks, old biddies at home and the other villagers?
It would make no difference to him if they all died.
With the image of Olivia flashing in his mind, Boris could not help but smirk with self-satisfaction.
Damn whore, protecting the spies from outside the village, I truly wish to see with my own eyes how you look when disaster befalls you.
Imagining the girl suffering brutal ravages under the iron hooves of Kantadar people, Boris felt a dark thrill in his heart.
Struggling to his feet, his legs seemed invigorated by the pleasure swelling within him, and he carefully turned and walked cautiously along the dirt road towards the distance.
“I need to go to town to notify the lord…”
Boris’s figure disappeared resolutely at the end of the road.
Under the cover of the night, dozens of Cavalry who had been fleeing long distances stopped far away at the foot of a hill not far from the village, extinguishing their torches one by one as ordered, waiting quietly with their horses for the Scout Rider to return with news.
Having fled the battlefield in defeat, both men and horses of their party had become utterly exhausted during their days of escape, with their supplies of food and water all but depleted – they were in a tight spot.
However, the discovery ahead caused the spirits of these tired and broken soldiers to lift immediately.
Several Knight Attendants, who had gone ahead to reconnoiter, galloped over the hill and rushed back to their masters with swift reports.
The Kantadar Noble Knight, who appeared to be the leader, listened to his Attendant’s report, learning that ahead was just a small village with a few dozen households.
His face, once tired, immediately shed its weariness, abruptly overcome with joy.
Under the moonlight’s gaze, he turned to give his orders to his Cavalry and Mercenary Leader, which was tantamount to pronouncing the death sentence for this small, foreign village.
Quickly, the remaining troops divided into four groups and set out on their respective paths.
The leader’s orders were simple yet cruel.
Take a short rest and, just as dawn breaks, each unit was to surround the village and strike within, sparing no chicken or dog, taking what they needed.
No villager was to escape the net.
The Noble Knights quietly led their servant Cavalry around to surround the east, west, and south sides of the village.
Meanwhile, several Hired Cavalry, differing in weight of Armor, directed by their Mercenary Leader, bypassed the hill and swiftly headed towards the north side up the hill slope.
According to the scouts, there was a small tower on the hillside that was unknown to be inhabited or not, and it could serve as a temporary outpost before the attack.
The sound of horse hooves traversed the night’s dusty path, danger drawing ever closer…
In the Windmill Mill, Leon, who was pretending to sleep in a corner by the window, seemed to hear something stirring.
Having just experienced a village rogue breaking into his home, he opened his eyes alertly, listening carefully with a tilted ear.
Discerning the faint sound of approaching horse hooves, Leon quickly got up, went to the window, and peered out through the slits of the partially closed wooden shutters.
Shadows of numerous people and horses moving could be made out on the hillside, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
In the cover of the night illuminated by moonlight, Armored Cavalry could barely be seen.
Leon was alarmed; where had this band of Cavalry sprung from?
Surely it wasn’t Boris who had called them for revenge?
Impossible, if that rural hoodlum had such connections and capabilities, why would he resort to such petty thievery?
Lokhak and Azeryan also ran over, peering out of the window, and instantly, unease flooded their hearts.
Even a quick glance revealed at least a dozen riders approaching—this was more than the three of them could handle!
Could it be the bandits from around Selva?” Lokhak nervously gritted his teeth and lowered his voice, “Just ran into a thief, now bandits?
Why are we so unlucky tonight?”
“Looks like we can’t avoid them, what do we do?” Azeryan looked towards Leon; the riders approaching in the dark were clearly up to no good.
“It’s too late to escape now, behind the hill is a cliff, and the only way down is blocked by those people; we’d run right into them if we went out.” Leon was sweating with anxiety, sketching out the terrain of the small hilltop in his mind, realizing there was absolutely no way to get past those riders, and of course, two legs couldn’t outrun four.
Looking back around, there seemed to be nowhere to hide inside the Windmill Mill.
Suddenly, he looked up and saw the remnants of the windmill’s upper gears in the attic.
The so-called “attic” was just a space formed by several rough intersecting wooden beams, and looking up from below, the spaces between the beams were open, rendering them unsuitable for concealment.
But what Leon noticed was the hole at the very top where moonlight seeped through the Windmill Tower!
Let’s climb up there!
We can crawl through that hole onto the roof!”
No sooner said than done, the three of them moved a crate to step on, and Leon stepped up and leaped, grabbing onto a beam and trying hard to climb up to the next level.
Thinking of something else, he turned back to his companions, “Pass up the blankets, quilts, and our baggage; we can’t let them find any signs of people living here.”
Lokhak quickly picked up the bedding rolled by the wall and tossed it up to Leon, and Azeryan also picked up the incense burner left behind by Boris on the ground.
Fortunately, they had packed their baggage ahead of time, or it would have been troublesome.
The three, with their odds and ends, climbed up the beams and continued to use the narrow space between the layers to form a human ladder, making their way towards the hole at the top.
By this time, they could already hear the low neighing of the horses beneath the Windmill Tower, and the strange whispers of those people.
The fragile wooden door of the windmill on the first floor clearly wouldn’t stop any violent intruders.
The banging sounds of the door being smashed soon followed.
With a loud crash, the wooden door was fiercely knocked open, and just then, Leon and his companions finally managed to reach the outside of the Windmill Tower’s top with their rolled-up bedding.
Lying on the roof, the young men were so nervous they hardly dared to breathe.
Outside the Windmill Tower, Leon could already make out the jabbering conversation from below.
“Urian Language, it’s those Kantadar bastards…” Lokhak muttered in a low, angry voice.
“Shh—” Leon raised his hand to signal silence, but his heart was also full of anger, feeling like these Kantadar people were like clingy plasters, impossible to shake off.
How could they appear within Orland territory?
Could it be that the Kantadar people had already defeated the Orland people at the border and led an army inside?
Through the crack at the top of the tower, Leon could hear the metallic sounds of the soldiers’ Armor and weapons moving inside the Windmill Mill…
Heavy footsteps quickly climbed the wooden stairs, level by level.
A few mercenaries holding sharp blades searched each floor of the windmill in the dark, but found nothing.
“Is there anyone inside at all?”
The Kantadar Mercenary Leader shouted into the tower from outside.
A mercenary kicked a wooden crate casually, pushed open a window on the third floor, and poked his head out to answer the leader below, “Boss, this crappy place seems like it’s been abandoned for a long time, there’s not a single trace.”
The Mercenary Leader looked down at the village under the night sky and then ordered the men on the windmill, “When we head down later, you take a few men to stay behind as lookouts; this place has a good view, help us keep an eye out for any pursuit.”
“Just don’t forget to snag an extra share for the brothers,” the mercenary on the third floor reminded his leader.
Looting villages and towns has always been the mainstay of the mercenary profession, engaging enemies in battle was secondary.
“Damn it, when have I ever shorted you guys?
Don’t be lazy, when we’re done I’ll tell the brothers to save a few village girls for you to blow off steam,” the Mercenary Leader laughed and scolded.