"We’re under attack!"
Walter proved himself a follower, reacting in a flash and drawing the Longsword from his waist.
Just as he was about to move, a sharp arrow shot straight for his face.
He hastily dodged to the side. The arrow grazed his cheek, leaving a bloody gash.
The young follower’s face turned deathly pale in an instant, the hand gripping his sword trembling slightly.
SWISH, SWISH, SWISH!
Another dense volley of arrows rained down from the forest.
The warhorses tied to the posts neighed in terror, struggling desperately but unable to break their reins.
Sharp arrows accurately pierced their necks and bellies. The warhorses let out piercing whinnies, collapsing one after another into pools of blood, their hooves still twitching helplessly.
"Run!"
The Grooms scattered and fled in a panic.
One Groom who had been feeding the horses couldn’t dodge in ti. A stray arrow hit him in the back, and with a terrible scream, he pitched forward next to a feeding trough.
The others descended into chaos. So dove into haystacks, while others dropped to the ground, trembling with their heads in their hands.
Puzzlingly, Green, one of the Knights, was uncharacteristically a beat too slow.
He casually parried the arrow aid at him with a single swing of his sword, then stood quietly in place as if waiting for sothing.
Murphy’s heart hamred in his chest; fear made it almost impossible to breathe.
He forced himself to calm down. Taking advantage of the fact that the volley was focused on killing the horses, he scrambled behind a supply wagon.
Fortunately, the attackers seed to have a clear goal: kill the mounts. They only bothered to greet each of the Knights and followers on watch with a single arrow before stopping.
They completely ignored everyone else.
The draft horse in front of the wagon stomped its hooves restlessly, letting out a low grunt.
It seed to sense the danger and struggled desperately to break its harness, but it was firmly tied to the shafts. It could only toss its head anxiously, jets of white steam puffing from its nostrils.
Murphy peeked out carefully from behind the wagon, looking beyond the camp.
In the darkness, he could make out indistinct figures, as if countless enemies were lurking deep in the woods, but he couldn’t see them clearly.
Hearing the shouts, Glen, Moby, Tommy Han, and Yor also rushed out of their tents.
Knight Glen assessed the battlefield situation instantly. Without hesitation, he charged toward the direction the arrows ca from, his heavy Plate Armor clanging as he ran.
Moby, though pale-faced, followed close behind, forming a wedge-shaped charge formation with Tommy Han and Yor.
During this process, Walter and Green joined in as well.
Green and Glen exchanged a glance and charged forward together, leading the way.
Reaching the front, Glen, who had the best vision, finally saw the enemy clearly.
The battle-hardened Knight couldn’t help but exclaim, "Activated Armor!"
Under the moonlight stood eighteen suits of tallic armor, each two ters tall and shimring with a ghostly light. Eerie blue flas flickered in the eye sockets of their helts.
Though they were much smaller than the four-ter-tall figures he rembered, their numbers were twice as many. Furthermore, these Activated Armor were not wielding the Giant Axes from his mory, but rather tal longbows that radiated a chilling aura!
A wave of terror washed over Glen.
He clearly rembered that Activated Armor were powerful beings capable of withstanding a warhorse’s charge. How could a few of them possibly stand against such a foe?
’All right, so at two ters tall, they definitely can’t withstand a warhorse, but there are eighteen of them. This is still extrely dangerous.’
And besides, all their warhorses had been killed in the first volley!
"Run!"
Glen’s roar was like a clap of thunder.
Glen and Green imdiately turned tail.
The followers reacted instantly, spinning around and fleeing back toward the camp.
SWISH, SWISH, SWISH!
A dense volley of arrows shot toward the Knights and their followers.
Glen and Green swung their Longswords, their heavy Plate Armor allowing them to easily parry the incoming arrows.
But the situation was far more dangerous for the followers.
Although the arrows lacked the power to pierce their Chain Armor, the cover of darkness made it difficult to see their trajectory. If they ended up getting shot in the head like Jimmy, it would all be over.
Walter struggled to dodge. Moby, only slightly better off than Walter, also barely avoided an arrow that grazed his shoulder.
Tommy Han and Yor, on the other hand, used their extensive experience and superior strength to parry with their swords, but the trembling of their Knight’s Swords showed it wasn’t easy.
Seeing this, Glen knew they might lose followers if this kept up. Moreover, noticing the arrows posed no real threat to him, he slowed his retreat and considered turning back to counter-attack.
’After all, these two-ter-tall Activated Armor are just too weak.’
’They’re no match for a Knight.’
’I was just startled at first.’
But in that instant, disaster struck. Green, a Knight and faster than Moby, caught up to him. He suddenly struck at Moby—not to kill him, but to use the flat of his blade to swat away his parry.
In that exact mont, an arrow precisely pierced Moby’s skull. Blood and brain matter sprayed into the air.
Glen roared in fury and disbelief, "Green, what are you doing!"
Green’s deep voice emanated from his helt. "Those who desecrate a Divine Relic will ultimately pay with their lives. This is an ancient curse, and none can escape it."
With that, Green swung his sword at Glen, blocking his escape.
The two Knights’ blades clashed violently in the night, showering sparks.
The surviving followers were thrown into a panic by this sudden turn of events.
Walter sprinted away from the camp without a backward glance. Tommy Han and Yor also searched for their own escape routes, no longer caring about the great rit of pleasing Miss Douglas.
The mont Green made his move, everyone knew Miss Douglas had to be involved.
From his position inside the camp, Murphy couldn’t see exactly what was happening outside, but when he heard Glen’s furious shout, "Green! What are you doing!" he imdiately realized the problem lay with Miss Douglas.
He looked nervously toward Miss Douglas’s tent. It was silent. He could see neither Miss Douglas nor her Maid, Chris, nor any sign of the other Knight, Guy.
Murphy’s mind raced.
’Staying in the camp is undoubtedly a death sentence. Miss Douglas’s conspiracy has been exposed; she’ll surely kill everyone to silence them now.’
’But fleeing into the Twilight Mountain Range in the dead of night is also fraught with peril. Who knows what else is lurking in the darkness?’
Both choices were filled with deadly risk.
Finally, Murphy gritted his teeth and chose to flee into the night, running in the opposite direction of the battle.
The other surviving Grooms saw him and followed his example, scattering into the pitch-black forest.
At this mont, Miss Douglas finally erged from her tent, walking at a slow, deliberate pace.
She had changed into an ivory-white satin gown and wore a coronet woven from Moonlight Stone. Her skirt was adorned with fine Pearls, paired with white silk stockings and white leather shoes embroidered with silver thread. Under the moonlight, she looked like an elf descended to the mortal realm.
Her Maid, Chris, and the Knight, Guy, stood quietly at her side like two loyal guardian statues.
Miss Douglas crossed her hands over her chest, her fingertips lightly touching her collarbones. She gave a slight curtsy, the movent as fluid as a dance in the moonlight. Her voice was like a Silver Bell in the night wind: "Fear spreads like a plague, just as a curse flows through the bloodline. When the seeds of despair take root deep in the heart, uprooting them is the best way to purify the curse."
She gently raised her right hand as if bidding farewell to a departing friend. "Go now, go. Let fear scatter on the wind, let despair blossom in the darkness. Only by experiencing the deepest darkness can one witness the purest light."
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