Real Mount and Blade Game

A thick, murky fog hung low, pressing heavily on the scorched earth to the west of the fortified stronghold.

Time seemed to freeze slowly, each second dragged out by the horrific scene.

More than two dull hours had passed since Shen Mu personally led his elite assault group to the edge of the battlefield and quietly stationed his troops to observe.

The fortress stood silently in the rear like a sleeping behemoth, casting its cold, massive shadow onto the carnage ahead. In front of it, a curtain of brilliant holy light, woven from the defensive nodes of the "Ring of Thorns" and sustained by the power of faith transformed from the "blood of the gods" of the Tower Forest, stretched like a wall of sighs, completely separating the fortress from the boiling deathly land before it.

Within the light curtain lies a temporarily isolated safe zone; while outside the light curtain, extending westward to the churning black and red source point at the core of the ruins of Longcheng, lies the most primal and bloodiest arena of power—the black mist of the abyss and the ashes of the Seventh Dynasty's undead tides wash over, gnaw at, and tear each other apart, never ceasing.

That cruel scene seemed to have remained unchanged since time immemorial.

Creatures of the abyss—the wretched, jackal-like skeletons exuding a nauseating stench, and the "Reapers" with terrifying bone blades at their joints and moving as swiftly as the wind—are continuously emerging from the surging, reddish-black mist that permeates the core of the dark domain.

They carried with them a pure will to destroy, howling as they crashed into the silent, chilling defensive line composed of the remnants of the Seventh Dynasty's Black Iron Legion.

At the forefront of the battle, the skeletal heavy infantry phalanx of the "Black Arrow Tower"—once an indestructible spearhead—is now teetering on the brink of collapse.

Their once formidable shield wall was now riddled with holes by the frenzied assault of the abyss's claws.

The rotting claws of the undead tore at the skeletons, while the bone blades in the Reapers' hands, burning with foul black flames, easily cleaved through the breastplates and skulls that shimmered with a faint, dim, eerie green light, each swing sending debris flying. The skeletal soldiers wielded swords forged from black iron, now riddled with nicks, their movements mechanical and stubborn, relentlessly filling the gaps in the defenses.

However, the torrent of the abyss has no end, and the chaos brought about by the death of individuals continues to disintegrate the already broken formation.

After each fierce wave of impact, the number of skeletal soldiers visibly decreased by one layer. Shattered bones covered the scorched earth beneath their feet, bound together by murky blood and ice.

The Skeleton Legion was not entirely passive in the face of attack.

Above the battlefield, gray mist swirled like a dying veil, within which the figures of skeletal spear throwers and archers appeared and disappeared.

Standing behind relatively high ruins and broken walls, they followed the cold commands etched deep into their souls, unleashing a dense rain of "bone arrows" at the charging abyss minions.

However, this blow, which once terrified the living, now has a much lesser effect on the attackers who have been strengthened by the abyss.

Countless bone arrows struck the thick, rotting flesh and calluses grown by the corrupted power of the wretch, or were deflected by the bone blade armor on the "Reaper," futilely embedding themselves in the ground, as if laying down another pale white carpet for the earth.

Only a few unlucky minions of the Abyss, struck in vital joints or around the eyes, will twitch and fall.

The air was equally chaotic, with battle groups of massive flying skeletal creatures fiercely clashing with the abyss faction's stinking, tattered monsters. Shattered bones and filthy pieces of flesh rained down from the gray-black sky like dirty raindrops.

This war of mutual devouring was extremely brutal and extremely protracted.

The Abyss and the Undead, these mortal enemies, were completely absorbed by each other. Their hatred and devouring instincts, which originated from the level of rules, made them almost completely ignore the silent human stronghold in the distance, which was as cold as a giant steel rock, and the human army waiting in battle in front of the stronghold.

It was as if that metal jungle made up of mithril heavy armor, steel spears and crossbows was just an insignificant backdrop to be dealt with later.

The twisted pupils of the Abyss's minions burned with a greedy desire to devour the remaining power of the skeletal legion; the eerie green soul fire flickering in the hollow eye sockets of the skeletal soldiers was a cold, venomous hatred for the Abyss, a hatred that would never die.

The two sides fought fiercely, each collision unleashing fragments of primal energy that were greedily extracted and condensed by their respective cores.

On the edge of this endless vortex of madness, Shen Muzhuo stood on a makeshift command platform. His figure was like a javelin deeply embedded in frozen soil, frozen in place. Only the hilt of the sword at his waist radiated a faint warmth from the unconscious caress of his palm.

More than two hours of focused waiting did not leave the slightest trace of fatigue on his young face; his deep eyes remained as sharp as a hawk's.

Behind him, the massive assault group, like a sophisticated war machine, entered a brief "standby" state.

The elite Swadian heavy knights sat firmly atop their armored warhorses.

These noble knights, clad in heavy plate armor like mobile fortresses, had mostly removed their heavy barrel helmets, letting the cold winter air brush against their sweat-drenched faces.

The mount snorted, its heavy breathing creating puffs of white mist in the cold air.

The knights took out compressed jerky, honey cheese, and cold water from their waists or saddlebags, chewing silently to replenish their enormous energy.

Occasionally, servants would walk through the ranks, whispering orders or replacing worn horseshoes.

The elite Holy Tree Knights, on the other hand, present a completely different image under the protection of the elves.

They maintained a high level of alertness, with their mithril greatswords either hanging on the side of their saddles or standing in front of them.

The cool yet resolute elven whispers emanated from the knight captain, Kalanzo, and clearly reached the ears of every Holy Tree Knight.

They maintained a highly rhythmic and coordinated breathing pattern, with emerald green light spots flowing slowly across the surface of their heavy mithril armor like fireflies, repairing the minor damage left by the armor during the previous high-speed march and small-scale conflicts, while also nurturing the knights' senses that had been eroded by the abyss's aura.

Its chilling aura was more restrained yet sharper than that of the heavy cavalrymen who were gulping down their food.

The Kujit bandits fully utilized their inherent cunning.

These agile light cavalrymen, some of whom dismounted to rest in relatively "safe" rear positions near the ramparts and light curtain, even using this brief interval to deftly check spare horses and clean the string grooves of composite bows; others, like a pack of wolves, were scattered on the low ruined hills further away on both flanks of the assault group.

These scouts, with their sharp eyes like hawks, scanned the perimeter of the chaotic battlefield and the rear of the assault group, keeping watch for any possible flanking attacks from the Abyss or the undead, ensuring the absolute safety of the main force.

They are eyes in the darkness and lurking blades.

The Elven archers concealed themselves behind abandoned buildings or naturally formed rock fortifications slightly behind the core of the assault group, revealing only a small portion of their figures. They neither ate nor spoke, but simply closed their eyes and concentrated, the tips of their long ears twitching slightly, as if listening to the whispers of the wind, or perhaps using the unique intuition of the Wood Elves to scan every subtle energy fluctuation in the churning gray mist, gathering the power of perception for the impending thunderous strike.

The entire Shenmu Legion's formation resembled a primordial behemoth that had temporarily sheathed its claws and lurked in the shadows.

They rest and replenish themselves, all for the next moment when they can unleash a thunderbolt powerful enough to shatter all shadows.

The clamor and sounds of battle echoed across the battlefield, yet they could not penetrate the silent shell of this army forged from an iron will.

Time passed amidst this strange interplay of calm and frenzied clamor.

The Abyss's minions charged like a black tide crashing against reefs, each impact tearing new wounds into the bone defenses.

The skeletal soldiers, like the obsidian rocks on the coastline that have stubbornly persisted despite millennia of erosion, are crushed piece by piece, only to be painstakingly reassembled into incomplete squares from the gray mist surging from behind, filling in the gaps.

The rain of skeletal arrows projected from the gray fog grew increasingly sparse, and the power of the waves charging from the abyss's side also began to weaken noticeably.

Both sides' forces are slowly but irreversibly sliding into a barren abyss.

Just as this war of attrition was nearing its most brutal peak, Legolas, the Wood Elf captain who had been using his mental powers to perceive the core dynamics of the battle from his closed eyes on the command platform, suddenly opened them, his emerald green pupils contracting rapidly. Almost simultaneously, Shen Mu's fingers on the hilt of his sword tightened abruptly, the subtle grinding sound of his knuckles drowned out by the battlefield noise, but all the muscles in his body were already taut to their limit.

"Hate... an unfamiliar presence... very fast!" Legolas's voice, sharp as an elf's, pierced the wind and reached Shen Mu's ears clearly. His long, slender fingers, like sharp swords, suddenly pointed to the left front of the assault group, towards the gravel beach shrouded in a thin mist.

"Target: Point! Speed... Exceptionally fast! Heading straight for our contact line!"

The gray mist seemed to have been sliced ​​open by an invisible blade, and a slender figure was approaching with extraordinary speed and a strange rhythm, completely different from the ferocious behavior of the two sides on the battlefield.

"All! Alert level—highest!" Shen Mu's deep but unquestionable command was like a cold iron block thrown into water, instantly creating sharp ripples in the silent group.

He didn't need to go back to confirm that the command had been executed.

Almost at the same instant, at the forefront of the Holy Tree Knights' ranks, the elite Holy Tree Knights, clad in heavy mithril armor and seated on tall armored horses, had already assumed battle stance.

The heavy mithril tower shields slammed heavily into the cold mud in front of them almost simultaneously, producing a dull, drum-like thud, instantly forming a silver shield wall decorated with patterns of thorns, vines, and giant trees.

The cold mithril gleamed with magical runes, forming an invisible repulsive force field.

From the gaps and above the tower shield, a mithril spear, shimmering with a pale golden light, steadily emerged, its tip pointing menacingly at the surging mist ahead.

The other group of Holy Tree Knights had already taken the massive mithril greatswords that required two hands to wield from their saddles. The swords hummed, and the cool, resilient elven holy power flowed and gathered on the cold metal.

Slightly behind in the formation, the elite spellcasters among the Holy Tree Knights gathered vibrant emerald light in their hands, ready to unleash healing barriers or purification spells at any moment.

The Khergit scouts on both flanks reacted just as swiftly and deadly.

A sharp, piercing whistling sound pierced the air—a signal that the coordinates of a threat had been detected.

The bandits, positioned close to the direction of the attack, skillfully maneuvered their warhorses, nimbly spurring them towards the rear flank of the formation. At the same time, their cold composite bows were drawn to their fullest extent, the poisoned or enchanted arrows locked onto the eerie figure that shot out from the mist.

The sentries on the hillside a little further behind held their horses still, maintaining surveillance over a wider area, their warning cries rising and falling.

The Swadian heavy knights were slightly slower, but they still displayed the extraordinary qualities of Imperial heavy cavalry. Almost simultaneously, they threw aside the food they hadn't swallowed, and their heavy visor helmets were yanked down and fastened, the cold steel obscuring their faces, leaving only two slits of eyes flashing with murderous intent.

The heavy knight's sword or flail was already gripped tightly in gloved hands, and the heavy metal hooves pounded impatiently on the frozen ground, ready to smash any threat that might break through the Holy Tree's shield wall to pieces.

Within the formation, a Swadian elite knight, draped in a cloak bearing the insignia of a commander and riding an even more magnificent warhorse, uttered deep commands as he adjusted the positions within the heavy cavalry regiment to ensure an unobstructed path for the charge.

The slender figure suddenly slowed down when it was only a few dozen meters away from the outermost Holy Tree Knight Tower Shield defense line.

It no longer sprints, but instead moves forward slowly with an ancient rhythm and an almost ritualistic pace.

The thin gray mist enveloping its entire body continued to churn and swirl, like some kind of flowing shroud, blocking all prying eyes and only vaguely outlining the humanoid silhouette.

It stopped just an arrow's length away from the front row of mithril tower shields radiating a chilling silver light, and from the tips of the mithril spears extending above the shields.

The gray mist that shrouded the figure dissipated quietly, like water being slowly drawn away by an invisible force.

In an instant, time seemed to freeze in this deathly place filled with the smoke of gunpowder.

What appeared before all the Holy Tree Knights, Knights, and Archers was an elf.

He possessed the most distinctive features of the wood elves of the ancient forest—a slender yet well-proportioned body, a long neck, a gently curved but somewhat excessively long face, and most importantly, slender, pointed ears that naturally protruded from a head of long hair that flowed like moonlight yet was mixed with ashen ash. However, upon seeing his full appearance, a chill instantly froze the hearts of every human and elf who saw him.

That is definitely not the demeanor of a living person!
His skin was a pure, deathly white, like the ancient rocks buried deep within the ruins of Longcheng, having long since lost the luster and warmth of life.

But this pure white was covered by countless crisscrossing, extremely fine black lines, like cracks in a dried-up riverbed.

These lines are deeply embedded in the bone, as if they were not painted on the surface, but rather marks eroded from the inside out.

What's most striking is his eyes.

Those were a pair of eyes with no whites, no pupils, only a cold, lifeless vortex of eerie green!

Those eyes were not something a living thing could possess; two eerie green flames swirled slowly and strangely within them, as if leading to a narrow passage to another dimension of pure hatred and darkness.

All the emotions of the living—hope, fear, anger—are completely absent, leaving only a pure coldness and scrutiny that has frozen time for millennia.

This is absolutely not the behavior a wood elf should exhibit!
Even the spirits of fallen heroes should retain their pure form in the legends of the elves, rather than this blasphemous appearance deeply tainted by darkness and necromantic power!
A series of gasps of horror and whispers of disbelief emanated from the ranks of the Holy Tree Knights. The grip on the greatsword hilt tightened, and the knuckles turned taut and white.

What was even more disgusting and disturbing was what followed.

This remnant of a wood elf, neither alive nor dead, or rather, an apostle sent by the Black Emperor of the Seventh Dynasty, slowly, with an elegance etched into his very bones like an ancient memory, performed an extremely complex salute towards Shen Mu on the earthen platform.

This ritual can vaguely reveal the shadow of the court etiquette of the Elf Kingdom's heyday. The bending and stretching of every joint and the angle of the fingertips reveal a kind of refinement and restraint belonging to another long-gone era.

However, the instant his torso bent, his arms extended, and his knees bent—

"Click! Click... Snap!"

A harsh, teeth-grinding cracking sound rang out, accompanied by a fine but undeniable dust mote falling.

It was as if the support for his movements inside his body was no longer the supple tendons and strong muscles, but some kind of completely decayed, nearly shattered, dry, withered wood!

Each graceful movement was accompanied by the mournful cries of the old remains, overburdened and on the verge of collapse.

The sound was like a cold, venomous snake burrowing into everyone's ears, causing an uncontrollable chill.

Hoarse and clear, decaying and pure—two completely different voices intertwined eerily, like a shattered cassette tape, piercing through the ceaseless noise of battle and the howling wind, reaching clearly into the ears of every human and elf before the ramparts, carrying with it an undeniable arrogance and the echoes of ancient times:

"Commander of the living, I salute you. My name is Ereen, formerly of the Dewleaf tribe, the seventh chanter of the Wood Elves." His eerie green vortex seemed to flicker for a moment. "I come by the will of His Majesty—the holder of the immortal crown of the Seventh Dynasty, the lord of the Bone Throne, the eternal night lord of the Black Iron Abyss—the Black Emperor."

The hoarse tone rose slightly, like a dull knife scraping against bone:

"This battle is pointless. His Majesty has seen through the true nature of that End Wolf—it is nothing but a vile thief, attempting to steal what does not belong to it!" Arian raised a hand entwined with fine black patterns, pointing directly to the most violently churning direction in the center of the battlefield, where a filthy black and red pillar of light flickered. "His Majesty has witnessed your will and strength, and acknowledges your determination to maintain order amidst the chaos."

His head turned slightly, his swirling green eyes sweeping over the murderous yet extremely vigilant army behind Shen Mu, finally settling on Shen Mu's unfathomable black pupils.

The voice, a blend of decay and clarity, suddenly took on a resolute weight, each word falling like a heavy tombstone:
"Your Majesty wishes... to temporarily align with the banner of the living!" (End of Chapter)