Bloodbound Oath: Between Realms
Chapter 42: A Hasty War

Chapter 42: A Hasty War

A few hours earlier in the city of Red Bell, Sven Quincy stood atop one of the archery towers on the city walls. Around him stood several Arcane Masters specialized in archery, clad in lighter armor than the rest of the soldiers and wielding massive bows crafted from sturdy, flexible wood and strung with powerful beast tendons. The archers’ eyes differed from those of ordinary soldiers—sharp and hawk-like, enabling them to discern minute details of the enemy camp despite the distance.

Sven stood with the pride and arrogance of a crowned prince, his hand resting on his sword, exuding an intense aura. Despite his youth and lack of experience, his power surpassed most of the soldiers around him—not due to talent, but because of the abundant resources and unwavering support from his father. In truth, the early stages of the Path Unfolding realm were simple, and anyone could reach its peak swiftly with sufficient resources.

Even Sollivan had taken less than a year in the past to reach the peak of the early stage, whereas Sven had required nearly two due to his lack of dedication. Though he had been stuck at the early stage for three years, he was now a hair’s breadth away from the intermediate stage and could break through at any moment. However, unlike the early stage, advancing to the intermediate required genuine talent. Even with ample resources, breaking into the late stage was far from guaranteed—unless one possessed considerable wealth and was willing to spend it on exceedingly rare materials.

Before the war between the empires erupted, the number of Arcane Masters in the early stage of the Path Unfolding realm had been vast. Even among commoners and the poor, nearly every family had at least one Arcane Master, not to mention the multitude of trainees in the later stages of the Body Strengthening realm.

But the war had been brutal and chaotic from the outset. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers fought, with tens of thousands perishing and many survivors left permanently disabled, their power diminished. As conditions worsened—prices soared, wages plummeted—commoners and the poor found it nearly impossible to advance. Even after the situation stabilized somewhat, border states like theirs continued to suffer from neglect.

A heavy gust of wind swept through, carrying thick humidity that foretold an impending downpour. Sven’s hair fluttered, yet his gaze remained fixed on the enemy camp ahead. Despite his composed exterior, his mind was anything but calm, plagued by doubts, ’What is the Cold Sun Army truly after? Surely this isn’t just to prevent us from reaching the ancient vault. Do they know something we don’t? Does the vault hold a powerful treasure or a rare cultivation resource?’ Lost in thought, he failed to notice the strange expressions that had simultaneously crossed the faces of the archers around him.

After minutes of silence, one soldier muttered suspiciously, "Did you see what I just saw?"

The words snapped Sven out of his thoughts. He squinted at the enemy camp but noticed nothing unusual—his vision wasn’t sharp enough to discern fine details. "What are you talking about?" he asked skeptically.

One of the archers pointed to a specific part of the forest. "There’s strange movement in the woods around their camp. The density of the trees obscures it, but something’s off."

"I saw it too," another confirmed.

"Probably just beasts—maybe a small pack of predators," a third suggested.

Sven narrowed his eyes. After a brief pause, he said, "No need to overthink it. Keep watching and don’t miss a thing."

But his words were rendered meaningless when another archer suddenly gasped, mouth agape, and shouted in alarm, "LOOK!"

Everyone turned at once, staring as the trees shook violently, splintering apart. Thousands of beasts surged forth in a massive stampede, scattering in all directions upon reaching the forest’s edge. Most charged straight toward the Cold Sun Army’s camp. Even from a distance, Sven and the archers could hear the enemy soldiers’ panicked screams.

Unlike Roland’s battalion, which had been caught off guard and crushed without much resistance, the troops near them reacted swiftly, forming orderly defenses. Yet the casualties were heavy. The remaining beasts that didn’t join the main stampede either rushed toward the city walls or fought among themselves, plunging the battlefield into bizarre chaos. In mere minutes, the tense silence had transformed into a hellscape of frenzied monsters.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

The Red Bell tolled four times, signaling a beast tide. But unlike the usual rare occurrences, the citizens showed no reaction—their expressions remained indifferent. Even the soldiers, who would typically tremble at such an event, seemed almost... pleased.

Sven watched in stunned silence until his eyes caught a flying beast hurtling toward them at terrifying speed. It resembled a cow-sized eagle with a long, bald head devoid of feathers. Its face was dog-like, lacking a beak but instead sporting a crocodilian maw filled with jagged fangs.

"Shoot it down!"

The archers moved as one, nocking arrows to their bows with seamless precision. Their movements were so synchronized it was as if they were reflections of a single entity.

Whoosh!

The arrows flew in unison, striking the beast’s head and sending it crashing to the ground. Without pause, they fired again, picking off the few beasts attempting to scale the walls.

The beast tide was unnatural and short-lived. Within half an hour, most of the creatures shook off whatever had agitated them and fled back into the forest.

Toot!!

A war horn blared. Sven turned to see soldiers sprinting toward the assembly area. He descended the tower and joined them, finding his father standing atop a high platform. He took his place beside him without a word, waiting like the others for orders. Once a sizable force had gathered, the mayor gestured to the standard-bearer nearby.

The man raised the empire’s banner high—a white flag emblazoned with a golden lion roaring at the sky, clutching a gem-encrusted scepter in its paw. The banner fluttered in the wind, signaling the time for attack.

With a voice thick with authority, the mayor raised his sword and declared, "Assemble and prepare for war! I want every unit ready in half an hour!"

He gave them no time to hesitate, urgency lacing his command.

Sven watched as the troops formed ranks. Soldiers retrieved their weapons and donned their armor, while cavalrymen fetched their horses and readied their lances. In minutes, the southern sector of the city was a teeming mass of soldiers.

Silently observing, Sven finally asked his father, "You plan to ambush them with a surprise attack?"

The mayor took a helmet from an aide and replied with battle-hardened resolve, "Yes. Their forces are severely weakened by the beast tide, and the rest are in disarray. I don’t know who’s leading them, but it’s clear they’ll order a retreat. This is our perfect opportunity." He donned his silver helmet, obscuring his stern features, and added cryptically, "I don’t know what caused this unnatural tide, but it’s our chance to end this stalemate."

In truth, the mayor wasn’t worried about the enemy. Victory was assured. His initial fear had stemmed from the lack of support from the nearby Southern Army Base, led by the Silver Commander Leopold.

But after sending multiple messages, he’d finally received a reply from an old friend, revealing that the enemy had deployed two thousand soldiers to disrupt supply routes and villages, isolating the city. They’d even intercepted messengers and shot down carrier pigeons, cutting off communication. After interrogating captured soldiers, they’d learned the truth. Reinforcements would arrive within two or three days at most.

The troops assembled swiftly—two thousand Arcane Masters and three thousand Body Strengthening trainees. The remaining forces stayed behind under the command of Guard Captain Vincent Xavier.

The massive southern gates creaked open. The mayor mounted his armored warhorse, its powerful muscles bulging unnaturally. Sven, though hesitant, mounted his own steed beside him, flanked by the other noble family leaders.

At the vanguard, five hundred elite Arcane Master cavalry followed, with infantry marching behind in a formidable display. Banners fluttered, war drums thundered, and raindrops began to fall—yet the soldiers’ resolve remained unshaken. Their synchronized steps, enhanced by the Lightfoot technique, prevented mud from hindering their advance. Only the forcibly conscripted Body Strengthening soldiers struggled without it.

Thud! Thud!

After half a mile, the mayor drew his sword and roared, "CHARGE!"

The cavalry surged forward like a tidal wave, the mayor at its helm. The infantry sprinted behind, battle cries amplifying their momentum. They closed in on the enemy camp rapidly.

Contrary to expectations, the enemy camp wasn’t in complete disarray. Despite the corpses of soldiers and beasts littering the ground, surviving troops had regrouped in strategic positions. Archers nocked arrows, cannons were loaded, and catapults stood ready.

"Damn it!" The mayor’s eyes widened as a bad premonition struck. But he didn’t falter. "Advance!" he bellowed, slowing just enough to let the soldiers form a human shield ahead of him.

Boom!

Boom!

Hundreds of projectiles and arrows rained down. Metal shells tore through the cavalry, leaving gruesome wounds on men and horses alike. Each impact felled at least two or three soldiers. Rocks crushed those they hit directly before rolling to maim others. Arrows peppered the ranks, though most were deflected by raised shields.

Before the two sides clashed, dozens of the Golden Lion Empire’s soldiers had already fallen. Yet the army pressed on without hesitation, trampling over the dead and wounded. Mounted archers stood smoothly atop their steeds, firing at the enemy artillery crews.

Whoosh!

Dozens of arrows flew—some struck true, while others were blocked by defenders.

Boom! Whoosh!

Another volley of cannon fire and arrows descended, claiming more lives.

Crash!

Chaos erupted as the cavalry reached the enemy camp. Archers leaped from their horses mid-gallop, unleashing arrows that pierced skulls and eyes. Spearmen thrust their weapons, swatting down archers like flies. Those who survived landed gracefully, drawing swords to engage the nearest foe.

Shield-bearers advanced, protecting spearmen who drove their weapons into mounted enemies. But the warhorses’ momentum shattered their defenses. Within seconds, the battle devolved into a brutal melee. Swords clashed, while hidden archers picked off targets from trees and corners.

Though the combat of low-level Arcane Masters resembled that of ordinary humans, they occasionally performed superhuman feats—hurling catapult ammunition barehanded, leaping high to impale cavalry, or firing three arrows simultaneously with pinpoint accuracy. Techniques varied, each fighter drawing on their lifetime of experience and Auraxis energy reserves.

Yet the Cold Sun Army was on the back foot. The cavalry alone had pushed them to their limits, and when the infantry joined, the battle became a one-sided slaughter.