The snow lted a bit in the morning, revealing several wagon tracks on the slope of the western section of the post road.
Cohen stood on high ground, squatted down, took out a map from his sleeve, and confird the route for the last ti.
"According to the pattern, the supply wagons will pass through here. We’ll burn the lead wagon, kill them all, and seize the grain."
Sarik said nothing, gathered with others by the side, moving barrels of petroleum, pressing roadside brush into makeshift barriers.
Among these people, only a few had initially followed Sarik.
Back then, there were less than five, secretly eting at night, not daring to light a fire, speaking in the dark.
Later, more people joined gradually.
So were sought out by Sarik, others heard the whispers and ca of their own accord, staying on their own.
Cohen looked at these diligent people before him, feeling no sense of anticipation for completing the mission.
This was not a high-success-rate ambush; even if successful, it would only destroy a few grain wagons.
The Red Tide wouldn’t lose their footing due to such a minor loss; they had many supply teams.
But Cohen wasn’t really aiming to destroy anything; he just wanted people to feel that sothing happened here.
Not that the Red Tide was bombed, nor that the Barbarian Race won, but to let everyone know "the surrendered barbarians took action," "the Red Tide started killing barbarians."
As long as the news spread, the already scarce trust would break completely.
As long as the people in Border Guard Village began to guard against each other, the illusion of barbarian autonomy would be shattered.
That was their true objective.
Cohen put the map back into his cloak and took a couple of steps towards Sarik.
"Tomorrow, I’ll guide the way. Your people should guard the corner; don’t hesitate to set the fire."
Sarik looked up at him, didn’t respond, but grasped the longsword strapped to his waist.
Cohen knew he understood, then turned to glance at these diligently preparing barbarians, who genuinely believed there was still barbarian glory.
But that was just a lie he made up. In fact, the Barbarian Race was already dood the mont Tistu launched the war.
Cohen only knew he took on this mission, and the only thing left was to complete it; otherwise, he couldn’t return to the Jade Federation to see his wife and children.
......
The petroleum was spread evenly, all the way down from the corner slope.
"Ready." Sarik checked the fuse one last ti.
More than a dozen barbarians nodded, hiding behind the snow, breathing as quietly as possible.
Not far away, the supply caravan of the Red Tide slowly entered the post road.
Three grain wagons, two leather-covered wagons, a dozen soldiers lined up on both sides, their armor ordinary in sheen, resembling a small, standby escort team.
Yet it made one’s heart start to race.
Sarik wasn’t sure if he should really act, but in the mont he hesitated, black smoke rose in the distance.
Without ti to think, he heard his own order shouted: "Light the fire!"
The flas instantly erupted, engulfing the lead wagon, the roar sweeping back with snow debris.
"Charge!" Sarik drew his sword and led the charge, the sound of their footsteps accompanying the burning fuses of the petroleum.
The team pressed forward, clean and efficient, as if this plan had truly succeeded.
On the other side, standing on the slope outside the post road, using a pine tree as cover, Cohen was still holding the fuse that had not been fully released.
The sound of the petroleum explosion was still echoing in his ears, with thick smoke billowing from below, blurring his vision into a haze.
Cohen saw the first wagon was completely engulfed, its fra collapsing amid the fireworks.
Noises ca from behind, soone shouting, and soone falling.
Those dozen barbarian households charged swiftly, their sword-drawing stance ruthless enough, their movents orderly, not like a ragtag group put together temporarily.
"Turns out they do have so backbone." Cohen murmured softly.
He had thought these people were tad by the Red Tide, but didn’t expect when action was needed, their response was even faster than imagined, they didn’t fumble at the critical mont.
The scene looked like a proper rebellion.
It seed as if the Barbarians had revolted, like the Red Tide had lost control, and they had struck at the lifeline of the supply line.
So this so-called Red Tide order was just like that.
Just a barrel of petroleum, a few swords, and so people who couldn’t suppress their emotions were enough to make a crack on this line.
"These people are too confident, they didn’t even set enough sentries. They forgot that those under their feet are not obedient citizens of the Empire."
This commotion was large enough; when the Red Tide people heard the news, would they think that the Border Guard Village collectively betrayed them?
Cohen slightly relaxed, put away the fuse, and prepared to retreat.
The route was all figured out, a detour along the snow path for three miles, then half a night to get back outside the tree line.
However, just as Cohen turned around, before he could take two steps, a short command exploded from behind the slope.
"Spread out."
Cohen imdiately turned back and saw at first glance a flash of Fighting Energy, cold and dazzling.
The blue Fighting Energy sliced through the fire like a sword light.
The seemingly burning grain wagon’s tarpaulin was suddenly lifted, revealing not frantic carters, but a line of neat Red Tide Knights.
They wore leather armor, but beneath the armor was a uniform blue aura, and each step they took left a shallow pit in the snow.
"Begin rounding them up, capture them alive as much as possible," the leader softly ordered.
The knights spread out, advancing simultaneously, the front row’s short spears sweeping in arcs, directly knocking over a few charging barbarian households into the snow.
The rear row bent and lifted, the iron net-like barrier weighing down on another person, rolling him over completely, leaving no room to struggle.
Sarik froze in place, his hand shaking as it held the old longsword.
Earlier, he thought he could really seize the grain, only to now realize that the wagon was full of straw; the real cargo was none other than these knights.
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