Real Mount and Blade Game

The piercing alarm ripped apart the brief tranquility of the Wood Elf Forest outpost, as if the nightmarish night of four days ago were repeating itself.

However, the anticipated tidal wave of undead hordes did not arrive. The sharp whistles echoed rapidly through the night sky for a moment, but instead of escalating into a charge, they gradually subsided under the watchful eyes of the defenders. At the edge of the dark forest, only shadowy undead figures moved among the dead trees. Like cold reefs, they silently piled up outside the perimeter of the stronghold, exuding an ominous aura of decay, yet eerily remaining still.

This unusual "silence" lasted for four whole days.

Four days were both a precious respite and an invisible mental torture for the remnants of the allied forces who had just returned from the infernal realm of the Molten Heart. Every minute and every second, the nerves within the stronghold were stretched to their limit. The soldiers' tired eyes were bloodshot, their palms were sweaty as they gripped their weapons, and their gazes were fixed on the solidified darkness deep in the forest. Yenogu's dying curse—"The spirit world will descend, and you will all become firewood"—whistled in the cold wind like a leech, haunting everyone's hearts.

Deep within the makeshift treehouse built by the wood elves, the air was filled with the bitter fragrance of herbs and the faint magical fluctuations of healing spells. Shen Mu slowly opened his eyes. The disorientation in his deep pupils, as if his soul had been torn apart, was replaced by a sharp and heavy gaze that had settled within him. Four days of uninterrupted slumber, the nourishment from the wood elf elders who had exhausted the essence of nature, and the faint white light remaining in the will of the allied forces had all worked together to pull his body and soul back from the brink of utter collapse.

The deep, bone-revealing wounds on his body, though scabbed over by divine magic and medicine, still sent shivers of tearing pain through his muscles and bones, a stark reminder of the heavy price he had paid. The truly devastating burden was his spiritual sea. The once vast and star-studded [Tallinn] spiritual network was now nothing but dim embers, its core riddled with spiderweb-like cracks. Each attempt to concentrate his will was like walking on a knife's edge, bringing excruciating pain and intense dizziness. Forcibly tearing apart his spiritual essence to activate the "Wedge of Order," and then exhausting all his strength to unleash the "Lance of Rules," had backlashes far exceeding his wildest expectations. But he could not fall.

He struggled to sit up, the movement aggravating his injuries and causing him to groan softly. The Swadian Iron Guards guarding the door, like the most precise instruments, detected the movement immediately and pushed the door open. Seeing their commander sit up, a flicker of excitement crossed the guard's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by unwavering loyalty and worry. He said nothing, only silently and firmly helping Shen Mu's thin but still upright body to his feet, draping his tattered commander's cloak, stained with blood and the smell of gunpowder, over him.

“The situation.” Shen Mu’s voice was hoarse and dry, like rusty gears grinding together.

"Reporting to the Commander!" Iron Guard's voice was strong and clear, carrying the weariness of someone who had survived a near-death experience, yet also revealing an unwavering determination. "Highest alert level, round-the-clock defense. The undead legion... is still gathering on the outskirts of the forest, in large numbers, but strangely, there are no signs of them attacking. The Khergit scouts report that they seem to be... constructing some kind of fortification? Or... a ritual site?" Iron Guard's tone carried a hint of confusion. "Chief Altan Khan is personally leading a patrol along the outer perimeter. The wounded... are still being treated as much as possible, but..." He didn't finish his sentence, and a silent heaviness filled the air. A loss of more than 70% of their forces, and the continuous loss of life among the seriously wounded in the harsh environment—these were the cold realities facing everyone.

Shen Mu nodded, pushing away the guard's hand that tried to support him. With astonishing willpower, he suppressed his physical weakness and mental anguish, and stepped out of the treehouse. Every step aggravated his wounds, and cold sweat instantly soaked his forehead, but he stood straight, his eyes sharp as he scanned the stronghold before him.

The Wood Elf Forest's stronghold was built on a relatively open forest clearing and several enormous ancient trees. After four days and nights of frantic fortification, it had become a formidable war fortress, though it still exuded a tragic, "temporary" atmosphere.

The outer perimeter, consisting of the remaining Swadian heavy infantry and seasoned Rhodok spearmen, was the first line of defense. It could no longer be called the complete "Wall of Sighs," but rather a series of "Broken Walls of Sighs" made of giant trees, rocks, and the flesh and blood of soldiers.

The massive shield towers were deeply embedded in the ground, their surfaces covered in claw marks, corrosion, and dried blood. Spearmen stood guard in the gaps of the shield wall, their spear tips gleaming coldly, pointing towards the depths of the forest. The soldiers' armor was tattered, many wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, but their eyes were sharp as eagles, their bodies seemingly welded to the spot. Their numbers were far fewer than in the Molten Core Realm; the defensive line appeared thin and desolate, but the fierce aura of those who had survived countless battles, and their determination to build a bulwark with their lives, had never been so intense.

Atop the tallest ancient trees and makeshift watchtowers, the Vaegir Icewind Archers moved like falcons on mountain cliffs. They drew their hard bows, etched with frost patterns, the cold arrowheads reflecting a dangerous glint in the sparse sunlight, precisely covering the open area before the defensive line and the swarms of undead at the edge of the forest.

Every slight movement, every adjustment of the arrow fletching, carried a chilling killing intent. They were Shen Mu's eyes for observing the enemy's situation, and also his sharp claws ready to extinguish any supernatural activity at any moment.

In the wider, dark woods surrounding the stronghold, the surviving veteran horse archers and scouts of the Khergit moved silently like ghosts. They abandoned their high-speed charging warhorses, instead relying on their superb horsemanship to ride hastily gathered forest horses and even strong elk, making the most of their own legs for stealth operations. They were responsible for the most dangerous deep reconnaissance and counter-infiltration, remaining vigilant against any undead attempting to flank or infiltrate in small groups. Altan Khan personally led his most elite squads at the forefront, his signature feathered helmet appearing and disappearing in the shadows of the forest like a signal of danger.

In the heart of the stronghold, the remaining Holy Tree Knights were heartbreakingly few in number. The Holy Tree patterns on their armor had dimmed considerably, but the purifying aura still stubbornly emitted a faint yet resilient, soft white light, covering the wounded concentration area and command node, dispelling the pervasive, chilling deathly aura of the forest. The Rhodok ballistae had used collected wood to urgently repair the few remaining heavy ballistae. Although they couldn't reproduce the power of the "Radiant Burst Arrows," the massive bolts could still inflict devastating piercing damage on the gathered undead. The ballistae were positioned in key locations, bowstrings taut, awaiting the fatal strike.

The air was thick with the acrid smells of ashes, blood, and medicine, along with the chilling, decaying stench characteristic of the undead legions. The soldiers stood silently at their posts; aside from the necessary commands and the sound of patrolling footsteps, the entire stronghold was shrouded in a suffocating, oppressive silence. Exhaustion was etched on every face, but despair was replaced by something deeper—a near-mad, unwavering will forged from the deepest purgatory of the Molten Core, from witnessing the Light of Order tear through the abyss. They knew there was no turning back. Behind them lay the land of the Overlord; before them stood the blasphemy that had to be stopped.

Shen Mu silently walked past each position. He didn't deliver a passionate speech, but simply gazed intently at the weary yet resolute faces of each soldier with eyes that seemed to pierce through their souls. Occasionally, he would stop and gently pat the shoulder of a Rhodok spearman, his body covered in bandages yet still steadfastly at his post, or give a slight nod to a Vikya archer on high ground. The silent communication spoke volumes. The soldiers looked at their commander; though his face was ashen, his steps unsteady, and his imposing presence far less than before, his very presence, his eyes burning with unwavering will, was a signal: he was alive, he was still commanding, and the battle was not over! The soldiers being watched would instinctively straighten their chests, their knuckles whitening from gripping their weapons so tightly.

Echoes of the Heart: A Silent Battlefield
Shen Mu walked to a slightly higher lookout point, from which he could barely see the chilling sea of ​​undead at the edge of the forest beyond the treetops. He closed his eyes and almost instinctively tried to activate the [Tallinn] mental network.

"Om-!"

A sharp, piercing pain and intense dizziness surged deep within his brain, as if countless steel needles were churning his consciousness. The cracks in his mental core resisted, the remaining fragments of his network flickering like candles in the wind. His once powerful perception, capable of covering the entire battlefield and discerning subtle changes, was now compressed to its limit, barely covering the core area of ​​the stronghold, and filled with "noise"—the soldiers' pain, anxiety, fear, and indomitable will surged like an undercurrent, assaulting his fragile mental barrier.

Shen Mu groaned, his body swaying, a trickle of blood escaping from the corner of his mouth. But he endured it, refusing to give up. He guided his faint spiritual energy with extreme difficulty and care, as if untangling a tangled mess, walking on thin ice riddled with cracks.

In the shadows at the outermost edge of the stronghold, he caught a faint, yet sharp, spiritual imprint. It was Altan Khan, the leader of the Kujit! Shen Mu could vaguely "sense" Altan Khan's current state: his exhausted body taut like a bowstring, his alertness at its peak, his gaze piercing through layers of dead wood, locked on a point deep within the undead legion where dense undead energy was constantly gathering. Altan Khan's will was like a tempered scimitar, cold, sharp, and carrying the ferocity and decisiveness unique to the wolves of the steppe.

As his mental energy swept across the wounded area, passing over the few remaining, severely injured, and slumbering Holy Tree Knights, a faint yet incredibly familiar mental fluctuation, imbued with the aura of pure life and order, caught his attention. This wasn't Kalanzo himself (Kalanzo had sacrificed himself to cover the retreat), but rather a Holy Tree Knight who had inherited a portion of Kalanzo's power or will? Or perhaps a fragment of Kalanzo's remaining mental imprint within the [Tallinn] network? This fluctuation was extremely weak, carrying a profound sorrow, yet also containing a tenacious resilience, like a torch passed down through generations. It actively and gently attempted to approach Shen Mu's shattered network, conveying a comforting message, as if saying, "Purification continues…the will endures…" This seemed to alleviate the pain in Shen Mu's core spirit slightly, causing a ripple to spread across his icy heart.

As his mental energy, like tentacles, cautiously and laboriously probed the undead horde on the edge of the forest, a vast, cold, chaotic torrent of will, brimming with endless malice and hunger, instantly surged forth! This will had no clear direction; it was more like a collection of countless individual undead consciousnesses, chaotic and viscous, like a black asphalt swamp. Sensing Shen Mu's faint yet "orderly" aura, it immediately surged with a greedy desire to devour him! Shen Mu felt as if he had been struck by an invisible hammer; his vision went black, his senses were instantly severed, and he gasped for breath. In that mere instant of contact, he sensed that the undead legion indeed had no intention of attacking immediately. They seemed to be… brewing? Waiting? Engaging in some slow and eerie "aggregation" around a certain core!
"Not an attack... but... a lair? A breeding ground?" Shen Mu wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes so serious they seemed to drip with tears. Alatan Khan returned from the front lines, his body wet with dew and the chill of the forest. The Kujit leader's face was etched with deep weariness, but his single eye gleamed with a wolf-like alertness.

"My lord!" Altan Khan's voice was low and hoarse, "You shouldn't..."

“The situation,” Shen Mu interrupted him, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Altan Khan took a deep breath and reported at an extremely fast pace:

It is dozens of times larger than our current troop strength, and is still slowly but continuously replenishing from the direction of the "wound" at the ancestral mausoleum.

They indeed had no intention of attacking, but rather gathered in large numbers in specific areas at the edge of the forest, seemingly constructing some kind of massive, crudely structured "barrier" or "altar" with decaying limbs, bones, and even contaminated land and trees, but with increasingly intense energy fluctuations. Necromantic energy was highly concentrated there.

We attempted to approach and explore the core area, but encountered immense mental pressure and necromantic energy traps, losing three of our best riders. A powerful, commanding undead entity (possibly a lich lord or something higher) was stationed at the core; it didn't actively attack, but instead directed other undead to "build" fortifications.

The foul stench emanating from the "Final Wound" in the direction of the Ancestral Tomb was increasing, and it seemed to have formed a faint energy link with the core area constructed by the undead army. The Khergit scouts observed something with a strange shape, somewhere between a physical entity and energy, slowly seeping from the wound and merging into the undead horde.

Altan Khan added in a deep voice, "The soldiers are all speculating... is this a sign of the 'descent of the spirit world'? Are they... building a 'gate'?"

Altan Khan's report was like a bucket of ice water poured over his head. The four days of "silence" were not a sign of safety, but rather a deeper and more dangerous buildup before the storm! The enemy was not in a hurry to attack this remnant force because they had a bigger plan—to consolidate their bridgehead, to receive unknown threats from the wounds at the ancestral tomb, and even... to actually build a "springboard" for invading the main world!
Shen Mu remained silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers standing ready below, over the dilapidated yet still tenacious defensive fortifications, and over the faint holy light emanating from the wounded area. His shattered spiritual core was frantically functioning amidst excruciating pain.

With their remaining forces, charging a horde of undead many times their size, with clearly prepared defenses and a powerful commander, would be tantamount to suicide. Hold their ground? If the enemy is indeed constructing some kind of portal or ritual site to summon large undead creatures, the stronghold will face annihilation once it's completed. Retreat? The ancestral tomb's wound is not far behind, and this eerie undead legion is heavily fortified. Moving a large number of heavily wounded soldiers through unfamiliar forests would be even riskier. Moreover, allowing the "wound" and the undead legion to take root here would be the beginning of disaster for the entire Kingdom of Swadia and even the continent of Calradia.

"Alatan Khan." Shen Mu's voice carried a strange calmness, beneath which lay a resolute determination like molten lava.

"exist!"

"Gather all the Wood Elf Elders and the remaining Holy Tree Knights, and at all costs, ensure the strength and range of the purification aura in the wounded area. Any deathly aura erosion near the stronghold must be eliminated immediately."

"Yes!"

"Order the Rhodok ballistae crew to adjust their firing arc. Target: those 'nodes' with the strongest energy fluctuations on the outer perimeter of the enemy's core area. Conduct intermittent, precise long-range suppression fire. The goal is not to inflict massive casualties, but to create chaos and disrupt their 'construction' speed."

"Yes, sir! Disruptive fire!"

"You will personally select the most elite Khergit bandits, those most familiar with stealth, to form three five-man squads. Mission: At all costs, find out the exact shape of their core area, the distribution of energy nodes, and especially the location and state of the undead leader! Not a direct assault, but 'eyes'! I need to know exactly what kind of 'gate' we're facing! Remember, stealth first, intelligence second, and come back alive!"

A glint flashed in Altan Khan's single eye: "Understood! Eye!" He turned and, like a shadow blending into the forest, quickly went to arrange the most dangerous infiltration and reconnaissance mission.

"All Swadian and Rhodok infantry, reinforce existing fortifications, especially the second line of defense facing the ancestral tomb breach. Stockpile all available flammable materials."

"Vekia archers, half of you, take turns resting, and remain absolutely vigilant. The other half, nock your arrows, lock onto any undead squads attempting to advance at the edge of the forest, and kill them on sight if they are within range!"

The order was concise and ruthless, clearly communicated. The war machine at the outpost, which had just caught its breath, was once again running at maximum efficiency. But this time, the objective was not to repel the enemy before them, but to see clearly the larger, doomsday outline lurking in the depths of that silent darkness.

Shen Mu stood alone at the lookout point, his gaze piercing through the sparse canopy of trees, looking towards the wound at the ancestral tomb. There, the sky seemed even more somber than elsewhere, like a gigantic, festering wound. He could feel the ominous aura emanating from that direction, like a slow but powerful heartbeat, resonating with the "nest" constructed by the undead army at the edge of the forest. This resonance grew clearer, as if some colossal creature was being gestated in the depths of darkness, awaiting its moment of emergence.

Four days of silence were merely a brief, suffocating calm at the eye of the storm. The core of the storm was quietly solidifying between the wounds of the ancestral tomb and the lair of the undead legion. The soldiers' defenses were tight, their vigilance impeccable, but everyone knew that the real test had only just begun. Shen Mu's shattered spirit burned with excruciating pain; he had to find a glimmer of hope, a chance to fight back, in this forest filled with the aura of the end, amidst the ruins of despair. He had to become the sole "wedge of order" standing firm in the storm, even if the price was his own utter annihilation. (End of Chapter)