A Glimmer of Hope

The bandit leader, Baron, finally snapped out of his shock and cried out in anguish, "Enemy attack! It's an enemy attack! Everyone, stand up and prepare to fight!"

However, due to the burning of the black oil and the impact of the magical explosion, the bandits were already in complete chaos.

Many people were still lying on the ground trying to put out the fire on their bodies, only to wake up as if from a dream at this moment.

They shoved each other in terror, trying to escape the smoke-filled death zone.

But it was too late.

"Boom!"

The dull, rapid clatter of hooves, like rolling thunder, approached from afar and quickly drowned out the bandits' screams.

Baron looked up sharply and saw a troop of heavily armored cavalry, fully armed, rushing out like a steel torrent from the corner of the road ahead, launching a devastating attack in a neat wedge formation.

The leading knight was clad in majestic purple dragon armor, his lance held horizontally, gleaming with a cold light in the morning sun.

"charge!"

At Kane's command, the knights raised their lances and, using the momentum of their charging horses, rammed into the remaining bandit ranks.

"Pfft!"

That was the sound of a spear piercing flesh.

Before the first few bandits could even raise their wooden shields, they were pierced by the force of the impact, their bodies flying like rag dolls, either thrown to the roadside or landing in the sea of ​​fire.

Because the road is narrow, only four or five horses can charge side by side on the entire road.

But the cavalry coordinated extremely well, with the following knights skillfully maneuvering their warhorses, nimbly leaping over the corpses scattered on the ground and the still struggling bandits.

"Put away your guns! Draw your swords!"

At the command of the lead knight, the knights uniformly discarded their broken or jammed spears and drew their longswords from their waists.

What followed was no longer a battle, but a one-sided massacre.

The bandits, who were adept at bullying villagers and militiamen, were as vulnerable as children in front of these properly trained knights. The knights used their horsepower to lean forward and swing their swords. With each flash of cold light, a head would fall or an arm would be severed.

Baron's hand holding the knife trembled violently.

As a bandit leader who had roamed the wastelands for many years, he possessed remarkable fighting instincts. To his horror, he discovered that every official member of this cavalry unit exuded an aura comparable to his own!

The leader, a knight in purple dragon armor, was ridiculously strong.

With a sweep of his longsword, several of Baron's most prized confidants were beheaded before they could even utter a word of pleading.

Baron's calves began to cramp uncontrollably, and the scene before him completely shattered his mental defenses.

How could such a powerful army appear here?

Could they be the elite of the Purple Dragon Legion?

Now that things have come to this, robbing Haiwen Village is out of the question; escaping is the priority.

He instinctively wanted to back up, trying to escape back to the camp from the direction he came from, but before he could take a few steps back, a heavy, orderly and oppressive sound of footsteps approached from behind like drumbeats.

Baron looked over, and his pupils suddenly shrank to the size of pinpoints.

Before anyone knew it, twenty or thirty heavily armored infantrymen had silently blocked the entire retreat route.

They held their shields level, their spears like a forest, completely blocking the mountain path.

The leading warrior was burly and carried a huge silver greatsword.

"die!"

Seeing the bandits attempting to escape from his side, the warrior let out a low growl, his greatsword swirling, creating a fierce, chilling gust of wind—

With a "thud," a bandit who couldn't dodge in time was cut in half at the waist by the sword. Blood splattered on the silver blade and dripped down the blood groove, making for an extremely gruesome scene.

Baron understood at a glance.

That precise exertion of force, that decisive and swift strike—one look was enough to confirm that this was someone he couldn't afford to mess with.

What he found even more absurd was that not only was the leader of the opposing side formidable, but even the ordinary shield-wielding soldiers were all swift and skilled.

They worked in groups of three, with one person wielding a sword and shield to block in front, while the other two behind him thrust and stabbed with spears. Their coordination was seamless, and the bandits could not shake their battle line at all.

Baron secretly weighed the options and realized that even the most ordinary soldier among them would require him to use all his skills to defeat in a one-on-one fight.

Even such strong infantry strictly adhere to operating in groups of three.

He knew he couldn't hold out against three opponents for long; he would have to find a way to retreat after a few regroupings.

And now, there are at least ten such teams!

"Boss... help me..." Baron could hear the surviving bandits wailing.

He turned his head and saw that the heavy cavalry on the other side had completely broken through the bandits' scattered formation.

Because the bandit group was so long, they did it with almost no effort.

The knight leader turned his horse around, blood dripping from his purple dragon armor. He raised his longsword again, and the entire cavalry, like a bloodstained steel blade, coldly formed their formation, ready for a second infiltration.

Baron's bandit gang, which he had built up over many years, suffered heavy losses under the onslaught of the steel torrent. The brothers who had been drinking and eating meat with him just last night were falling like wheat being harvested. Baron's heart was bleeding.

It's over, it's over.

But the instinct for survival quickly overwhelmed everything.

With his retreat blocked by heavily armored infantry and cavalry charging relentlessly ahead, he had to find a way to survive before the enemy completely surrounded him.

Like a wild beast driven to the brink of despair, he frantically scanned his surroundings, and finally, his gaze locked onto the culprit above the hill—the spellcaster.

The spellcaster was sitting casually in a comfortable chair that he had somehow acquired, with his legs crossed and his right hand propping up his cheek, looking like he was watching a play in a theater box.

This blatant contempt made Baron grit his teeth in hatred, but it also gave him his only hope.

"Damn mage, you'll pay for your arrogance!" Baron roared inwardly.

He noticed that the soldiers and cavalry were engrossed in the one-sided slaughter, and it seemed that no one noticed him, this "minor character." He held his breath, lowered his center of gravity, and, under the cover of the smoke and fire, scrambled towards the hill, then, like an agile mandrill, frantically climbed up the mountainside.

He was gambling, gambling that the mage was unguarded, gambling that the mage's arrogance would give him a chance to strike.

The opponent's magic is indeed terrifying, but he still has a chance to turn the tide.

As long as he can get close to the other party, and as long as he can unleash his trump card, he can capture the leading mage as a hostage.

In that case, Baron could not only survive, but he could even turn the tide and win!

As he panted heavily as he rolled over the last rock and surged to the top of the hill, a gleam of wild joy shone in his single eye.

He made the right bet!

The arrogant spellcaster was indeed without any knights, magical defenses, or even guards.

There were only two maids standing on either side of the other side.

The two maids were dressed in gorgeous black and white maid dresses, with even lace trim on the hem—this outfit was definitely not for going out to fight.

One of them was holding a tea tray, looking indifferent; the other was holding a short sword at his waist, seemingly lost in thought.

Baron immediately made a judgment—they posed no threat to him.

As for the mage himself, the other party didn't even lift an eyelid, maintaining that arrogant sitting posture, seemingly not taking the blood-covered bandit who charged at him with a long knife seriously at all.