Real Mount and Blade Game

A tremendous, chilling sense of powerlessness, even more intense than the pain of a shattered soul, gripped Shen Mu's heart tightly.

He was the supreme commander of the allied forces, the "wielder of destiny," yet he couldn't even lead his followers and survivors in a single charge! The final silhouette of Caranzo, the resolute turn of the Holy Tree Knights into dust in the root erosion... Was their sacrifice merely to eke out a living on this desolate island surrounded by the sands of death?
"My lord! There's no time! The sandstorm is accelerating!" Alatan Khan's roar was like a thunderclap, forcefully cleaving through Shen Mu's surging despair.

At the edge of the gray-white desert, as if propelled by an invisible giant hand, the sand tide suddenly accelerated and surged, its height rising abruptly, like a colossal gray-white wave that devoured everything, crashing down on the simple wooden breastwork and barricades surrounding the Wood Elf Forest stronghold. From within the sand wave, countless twisted sand humanoid figures clearly emerged, silently roaring as they charged forward.

The air became thick and cold, and the suction increased sharply, as if it were trying to forcibly tear everyone's soul out of their bodies!

"Retreat!" The word was practically spat out from Shen Mu's clenched teeth, carrying a metallic, bloody stench. He abruptly flung away Isera and Alatanhan's hands, his broken sword pointing back towards the core of the stronghold, his voice hoarse yet resolute: "Abandon the outer perimeter! Everyone! Retreat to the Heart of the Forest! Now!"

The order was like a boulder thrown into stagnant water, instantly triggering a survival instinct.

The soldiers, already stretched to their limits, erupted into chaotic yet swift action. The Swadian heavy infantry rapidly contracted their formation with astonishing coordination, their massive leather shields stacked upon each other, attempting to use their steel and flesh to shield their retreating comrades from the howling sandstorm and its terrifying soul-sucking power.

But the sandstorms were too strange. They were not physical impacts, but rather like a living plague. Some of them bypassed the shield wall and attacked from both sides, while others spread upwards along the shields and the soldiers' legs. Wherever they passed, the metallic luster dimmed, the warriors' roars quickly turned into painful groans, and the breath of life was visibly drained away.

"The lingering glow of the Sacred Tree guides the way home!" A hoarse yet resolute shout rang out amidst the chaos. It belonged to the last surviving priest of the Sacred Tree Knights, surrounded by only five wounded knights. Without hesitation, they stood their ground, forsaking any chance of retreat. The five knights formed a protective circle around the old priest, their tattered arm guards overlapping, pouring their last remaining holy light into the holy emblem he held aloft.

A ball of light, not dazzling yet exceptionally pure, suddenly shone on the holy emblem in the priest's hand, like a small lamp lit in the murky darkness. This light, carrying a reassuring warmth, miraculously dispelled the chilling suction force within a radius of several feet, forcing back and vaporizing the spreading sand.

A narrow, relatively safe passage was forcibly carved out amidst the chaotic retreat! The orb of light illuminated the old priest's withered yet serene face, as well as the silhouettes of the five Holy Tree Knights who resolutely closed their eyes and poured their life-fueled energy into their holy emblems.

"Go!" Altan Khan roared, directing the Khergit horse archers to quickly pass through the path of light lit with their lives. Led by Arya Frost, the Vaegir ice wind archers retreated rapidly, firing arrows imbued with "Breath of Ice Wind" at the surging sandstorms on both sides, attempting to freeze the spreading path and buy the main force a moment's respite.

However, not everyone could keep up with this speed bought with lives. The Rhodok ballista squad responsible for the rearguard, along with their newly repaired heavy ballista named "Unyielding," and its operators, were struck from the flank by a sudden, accelerating wave of sand. The heavy ballista was instantly submerged up to its axle, the grayish-white sand clinging to it like living things. The ballista captain, Ralph, only had time to let out a roar of defiance, attempting to ignite the oil canisters he carried, but a pallor had already enveloped him and his squad. Their movements froze, their skin ashen, their muscles withered, and along with the ballista that symbolized "Unyielding," they were completely swallowed by the sea of ​​sand in a matter of moments, leaving only a few slightly raised sand dunes, which were then flattened by the rolling sand waves.

"No—!" Aria's scream was drowned out by the sandstorm and the noise of the retreat.

The retreat turned into a brutal death march. Every step was taken over the instantly frozen corpses of their comrades.

The path of light lit by the Holy Tree Knights shrank like a candle in the wind, its range constantly shrinking under the erosion of the sand sea. When the last Khergit archer, his horse's hindquarters already stained with a deathly gray aura, neighed and leaped desperately, barely plunging into the area enveloped by the towering ancient trees at the heart of the forest, the light of the holy emblem in the old priest's hand finally went out completely. He and the five knights, as if drained of all moisture, silently transformed into six armored skeletons, which were then swallowed by the surging sand tide.

The heart of the forest, the last refuge of the wood elves, was now compressed to a mere few hundred paces in radius. The surviving allied soldiers, their backs against ancient, sturdy giant trees, huddled behind makeshift low walls and barriers formed by elven vines, watched in despair as the gray-white wall of death rolled and roared, carrying countless silent, howling sand and corpses, rushing toward this last isolated island.

At this moment, a sudden change occurred!
In the very heart of the forest, from the depths of the oldest, colossal oak tree—its bark gnarled like dragon scales, yet half-withered—known by the wood elves as the "Throat of Elune," a deep, ancient heartbeat suddenly resounded. A soft hum!

A gentle, yet ineffably resilient, emerald-green ripple suddenly spread out from the sacred tree. Wherever this ripple swept, the gray-white gravel that had tried to cling to the giant tree's roots and erode the elven vines hissed and instantly lost its vitality, turning into ordinary dust, as if encountering snow boiling in oil.

Immediately afterwards, the ancient runic array buried deep underground surrounding the base of the sacred tree was suddenly activated by this immense life force! One after another, the intricate and mysterious elven runes lit up, flowing with a liquid emerald-like light. This light rapidly flowed and converged along the grooves etched into the stone slabs of the ground, long since buried by time and moss, ultimately pouring frantically into the base of an inconspicuous stone tower standing beside the sacred tree, built of white rock and shaped like a giant lamp.

boom--!
At the top of the stone tower, a sacred flame that had been dormant for countless years suddenly shot into the sky without warning!

The flames weren't fiery red or yellow, but a pure golden-white, like solidified sunlight, or the condensation of the purest faith. They burned, yet without radiating any heat; instead, they exuded a vast, majestic, and soul-soothing warmth. A condensed, almost tangible beam of light shot straight into the sky from the torch's tip, then suddenly unfolded dozens of feet above the ground, transforming into a massive, inverted, semi-circular golden light curtain, like the most solid glass bowl, completely enveloping the core area of ​​the heart of the forest!

"The Holy Light Barrier! The protection of our ancestors! The Holy Light Torch Tower left by the Holy White Council... It answered the call of the Holy Tree!" Elder Ysera of the Wood Elf collapsed to her knees, her withered hands reaching out towards the golden light barrier. Tears welled up in her eyes, her voice choked with disbelief, ecstasy, and devotion.

The moment the golden light curtain formed, the raging tide of the gray-white sand sea also crashed against it!
There was no earth-shattering roar, only a chilling, dense hissing sound, like cold water being poured into boiling oil. The sand-corpses at the forefront, upon contact with the light barrier, were like snowmen thrown into a furnace; their twisted bodies trembled violently and disintegrated. The grayish-white sand that composed them lost its eerie vitality, falling in a rustling sound, returning to lifeless dust. Countless fine ripples spread across the surface of the light barrier, yet it remained as steady as a rock, firmly keeping the sand tide, imbued with terrifying soul-sucking power, at bay!
The sand-covered ghouls seemed utterly enraged, with more twisted humanoid figures coalescing in the sea of ​​sand, relentlessly charging towards the light barrier. They roared silently, frantically pounding and tearing at it with limbs formed from sand. A constant hissing sound filled the air as the sand before the light barrier vaporized, piling up into a thick layer of lifeless, grayish-white dust, growing higher and higher, gradually forming a ring of ever-growing white bone dunes encircling the light barrier. But no matter how the ghouls assaulted it, the golden light barrier only rippled; its light, though slightly fluctuating after the initial burst, remained utterly unbreakable.

Inside the stronghold, the silence of escaping death lasted only a fleeting moment, quickly replaced by heavy breathing, suppressed sobs, and the clanging of weapons falling to the ground. Their nerves, stretched to their limit, suddenly relaxed, and an overwhelming sense of exhaustion and the despair of surviving a near-death experience washed over everyone. The soldiers collapsed to the ground, leaning against massive logs or cold breastworks, greedily inhaling the relatively clean, damp air of the forest within the light barrier, their eyes blankly staring at the churning, gray hell outside, and the mountains of corpses and remains piled high within it.

Shen Mu leaned against the cold, rough roots of a giant tree, his body trembling slightly. The backlash from forcibly issuing the retreat order, coupled with the excruciating pain of witnessing the annihilation of the Holy Tree Knights and the Rhodok crossbowmen squad, made his vision blur. The broken sword slipped from his grasp and fell with a dull thud onto the decaying leaves at his feet. He struggled to lift his head, gazing at the Holy Light Torch Tower burning with golden flames, feeling the warm, resilient power that dispelled the chill from his soul wash over him. Finally, his taut nerves relaxed slightly. Safe…for now.

"Take a headcount! Treat the wounded! Check all defensive points! Now!" Alatan Khan's hoarse roar broke the brief silence. This Khergit leader, like tireless steel, immediately began to tidy up the mess. His single eye swept across the chaotic crowd, carrying an undeniable air of authority.

Shen Mu took a deep breath, the warm aura of holy light mingling with the stench of blood and sweat filling his lungs. He supported himself against the giant tree, struggling to straighten his body. Safety was merely an illusion; how long could this light barrier last? Would the monstrous creatures outside undergo further changes? Yenogu's curse would not end there. He had to take control of the situation immediately.

More than an hour later, inside the temporary command post—which was actually just a slightly cleared open space next to the Holy Light Torch Tower, barely enclosed by a few broken shields—the atmosphere was so heavy it could drip water.

Alatan Khan's voice was like a dull knife scraping against bone, each number carrying a bloody weight: "My lord, preliminary count complete. Swadian heavy infantry... those still standing, including the lightly wounded, thirty-seven. Rhodok veterans and spearmen... nineteen. Vaegir ice wind archers... twenty-one. Khergit horse archers and bandits... thirty-five. The Knights of the Holy Tree..." He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing, his voice even lower and hoarseer, "...confirmed all dead. Including the priests, the last six, who perished to cover the retreat, have returned to the Holy Light. Also... Wood Elf warriors, those still capable of fighting, including Elder Ysera, eight remain. The seriously wounded... too many, medicine... almost exhausted."

Elder Ysera, the Wood Elf, added from the side. Her complexion was better than before, clearly indicating that the power of the Torchlight had also nourished her, but the worry in her eyes was deeper: "Lord Shen Mu, although the Holy Light Barrier is powerful, it relies on the remaining life essence of 'Elune's Throat' and the Holy Light power stored within the ancient Holy White Council of the Torchlight for support. The Holy Tree... it is too weak, half of it has already withered. The Holy Light reserves of the Torchlight are not inexhaustible either. We cannot know... how much longer it can burn." Her withered finger pointed to the ever-growing dunes of white bones outside the light barrier, "Moreover, those things... they haven't receded. They are piling up, waiting... as if they are consuming us, or waiting for the moment the light barrier goes out."

Shen Mu's gaze swept over the disheveled yet spirited officers before him: Altan Khan's single eye was bloodshot, yet his ferocity remained; Arya Frost was pale, her icy blue eyes filled with sorrow and rage; Hook, the last remaining Rhodok ballista's deputy, clutched his nearly destroyed crossbow, silent as a stone. Exhaustion and despair were etched on almost every face. "Beyond our feet lies the last bastion," Shen Mu's voice, though not loud, clearly drowned out the hissing sounds of the hordes of corpses surging outside the light barrier, carrying a resolute determination that ran deep in his bones. "Abandon illusions, this is the front line! The orders are as follows—"

He raised his first finger, the knuckles still stained with dried blood: "First, huddle in defense, fight for every inch of ground! All remaining forces, relying on the Holy Light Barrier and the giant trees and terrain of the Heart of the Forest, redivide the defensive zones! Swadian and Rhodok infantry, you are the last shield! Hold the line at the forefront, reinforce all the low walls and barricades that can be reinforced, even with vines and tree trunks! Vaegir archers and Khergit riders, you are the only arrows left! Occupy all the high giant trees, cover every inch of the edge of the light barrier! No rotation, everyone, keep your eyes wide open! Before the Holy Light goes out, not a single grain of sand is allowed to get in!" The soldiers instinctively straightened their tired backs.

The second finger rose: "Second, call for reinforcements! Alatan Khan, immediately send men... no, find those who can fly! Do the Wood Elves still have any tamed ravens? Or, use your most urgent Khergit communication method, target Uxhauer! Tell Governor Grass that Long City is dead! The Wood Elf Forest outpost is now the last outpost in the northeast of the Kingdom of Swadia! We are surrounded by the Sea of ​​Corpses from another world, and the Holy Light Barrier is temporarily in place. Tell him to arm everyone in the warehouse who can pick up a shield and draw a bow, whether they are recruits, militia, or prisoners! Send reinforcements here as quickly as possible, regardless of the cost! Tell him that if the city falls, Uxhauer will be the next Long City! We need men, we need weapons, we need medicine, we need food!" Alatan Khan nodded heavily, a ruthless glint in his eyes, and immediately turned and growled orders to the remaining Khergit messengers.

“Third,” Shen Mu’s sharp gaze swept over the crowd, “we cannot be blind and deaf! Arya, select your best-eyed and most agile Vaegir archers to form a reconnaissance team, in conjunction with the Khergit scouts. The objective is—to ascertain the extent and boundaries of this sand sea, and… the current state of that ancestral tomb ‘wound’! Yenogu’s curse has come true, but I don’t believe this sand sea can cover the entire world! Find its weaknesses, find its possible changes! The operation must be covert, utilizing all cover, no forced entry, no entanglement! Intelligence is more precious than gold now!” Arya straightened her chest, a resolute glint in her icy blue eyes: “Yes, sir!”

The orders fell like cold raindrops, temporarily dispelling the gloom of despair and forcibly forcing the remaining will into a sharp awl of survival. Movement resumed within the stronghold, slow and heavy, yet carrying the fierce atmosphere of a desperate battle. Soldiers gritted their teeth, dragging their weary and wounded bodies, and under the warm glow of the holy light, reinforced the low walls, using branches of giant trees as roadblocks. With the help of the Khergit, Vaegir archers climbed to the high posts atop the giant trees, vigilantly watching the still churning, gray hell beyond the light barrier.

Time passed in a stifling atmosphere. The golden flames of the Holy Light Torch Tower burned silently, the shimmering light barrier dividing the stronghold into two distinct worlds: life and death. Outside the barrier, dunes of bones formed from the corpses had piled up to nearly a person's height. They seemed to have temporarily ceased their futile assaults, standing silently atop the dunes, their hollow faces "watching" the life force within the barrier, forming a chilling, greyish-white forest. Inside the barrier, the atmosphere remained tense. Soldiers, clutching their weapons, leaned against the fortifications, their brief respite unable to dispel the deep-seated exhaustion and uncertainty about the future.

after one day.

A weary raven, its wings stained with a few specks of grayish-white dust, fluttered through the weak repulsive force of the light barrier and landed crookedly on Elder Ysera's outstretched arm. Alatan Khan and Shen Mu immediately rushed over. Ysera took a thin roll of parchment, stained with sweat and bloody fingerprints, from a small metal tube on the raven's foot.

"My lord, a message from Uxhauer." Alatan Khan's voice carried a barely perceptible heaviness as he handed the parchment to Shen Mu. The handwriting was hasty and scribbled: "...The devastating news from Long City has arrived, leaving us utterly shocked. Uxhauer has also been affected by the aftershocks of the Heavenly Destruction, with quicksand pits appearing on the outskirts of the city, causing widespread panic. The majority of the kingdom's main force is bogged down in the southern swamps, locked in a stalemate with the Vikya rebels, leaving the city's defenses weak. Having exhausted our treasury, we can only urgently conscript three newly formed militia companies (approximately three hundred men), supplemented by retired veterans of the city's garrison and... some minor offenders, totaling about five hundred men, temporarily led by Old John the blacksmith. They will arrive within three days, carrying some provisions and medicine. Further reinforcements... will require more time to procure. We urge you to hold firm and await reinforcements. The kingdom's hopes rest entirely in your hands! —Lord Glaston."

Five hundred men. New recruits, veterans, prisoners. A drop in the ocean. Shen Mu closed his eyes, clenching the parchment tightly until his knuckles turned white. Grass had done his best, but this number seemed so pale and powerless in the face of the boundless sea of ​​sand and mountains of corpses beyond the light screen. He handed the parchment to Alatan Khan, who glanced at it, a shadow of gloom flashing in his single eye, but he only gave a heavy snort and remained silent.

Almost as soon as the shadow cast by Uxhauer's news had lifted, Aria and the survivors of her reconnaissance squad brought back even more chilling intelligence.

“Sir!” The scout’s voice was hoarse with fear and exhaustion. He pointed towards the ancestral tomb outside the light screen. “The sand… the sand sea doesn’t seem to be expanding wildly anymore. At least to the north and west we’ve explored, the boundaries… seem to have stabilized, but there’s a strange gray mist permeating it. Getting close feels like your soul is going to freeze! The 'wound' of the ancestral tomb… it’s changed! It’s no longer a rift spewing black tides… it… it’s like it’s solidified into a huge, constantly rotating grayish-white vortex! The center of the vortex… the center is empty, terrifyingly black, like an eye! Even more terrifying is…” The scout swallowed hard, his face drained of color, “Those sands… those piled-up corpses and gravel… near the vortex, they’re starting… starting to crystallize! Like gray salt, or like bones… hard as a rock, crunching when you step on them! We saw several corpses crash into the crystallized dunes and shatter, but… but those fragments quickly melted back into the sand and coalesced again…”

Crystallization? The Eye of the Vortex? Shen Mu's heart sank. This wasn't the end; it was the beginning of something far more terrifying! Yenogu's curse was far more than simply summoning a sea of ​​sand that devoured life! Did this crystallization mean the Corpse Fiend was adapting? Or was it brewing some even more terrifying form? And where would the Eye of the Vortex lead?

"My lord! Something terrible has happened!" A wood elf craftsman responsible for maintaining the rune array at the base of the Torch Tower suddenly stumbled in, his face ashen and his voice trembling with tears. "The Sacred Tree... 'Elune's Throat'... the largest supporting root on the west side... the roots are withering rapidly! The bark... the bark is cracking! The life force within... is dimming! The Holy Light of the Torch Tower... the pillar of the Holy Light just... just seemed... just seemed to weaken a tiny bit!" He gestured with trembling hands, the subtle change perhaps only the elves who guarded it day and night could perceive.

The bad news struck everyone's hearts like a cold hammer, one blow after another.

With reinforcements scarce, the desert undergoing unforeseen changes, and the foundation of the Holy Light crumbling… the immense pressure plunged the temporary command post into a deathly silence. Alatan Khan gripped the hilt of his scimitar tightly, his knuckles cracking. Aria's lips were pressed into a pale line. All eyes instinctively turned to the silent figure in the center—Shen Mu.

Shen Mu leaned against the cold stone wall of the Holy Light Torch Tower's base, his head slightly lowered. The holy light warmed him, yet it couldn't dispel the persistent, icy pain deep within his soul, a pain stemming from the backlash of the Yenogu divine fragments. He slowly raised his right hand, opening his palm. The grayish-white mark left on his palm when he first came into contact with the living sand outside the ancestral tomb now emanated a faint but bone-chilling cold. What made his pupils shrink even more was that the edge of that mark… seemed to have expanded outwards by an almost imperceptible fine line compared to a day ago.

Like the tentacles of death, it is growing silently.

He clenched his fist tightly, gripping the ominous mark so hard his knuckles turned white. He raised his head, his gaze sweeping over Altan Khan, Arya, Isera, and every soldier around him who was watching him with bated breath. Exhaustion was etched on every face, but deeper within, there was a ferocious ferocity, like a trapped beast cornered on the edge of a cliff, with nowhere left to retreat.

"Did you hear everything?" Shen Mu's voice was not loud, but it was like the friction of a whetstone, carrying a sense of storm suppressed to the extreme. "We can't count on too many reinforcements. The sand outside has become harder and stranger. The 'lamp' above our heads... is almost out of oil."

He paused, his gaze sharp as a knife, sweeping across everyone's face: "Are you afraid of death?"

The only response he received was deathly silence; only the silent, humanoid figures of gravel standing on the sand dunes outside the light curtain cast distorted silhouettes against the gray background.

Shen Mu's lips curled into an almost cold smile, not a laugh, but the fangs of a wild beast facing certain death. "Fear is good. I'm afraid too." He admitted frankly, then his voice suddenly rose, like a thunderclap striking everyone's hearts: "But what good is fear?! Look outside! One step back and we're turned to sand! Caranzo, the old priest, Ralph… they risked their lives to send us into this circle of light, not to watch us die here!"

He took a sudden step forward, pointing to the golden flames burning in the Holy Light Torch Tower, to the ancient oak tree "Elune's Throat" that was half withered and half flourishing, and finally to the deathly gray outside the light curtain.

"They want to wear us down? They want to wait until the fire is out before swarming in? They've got it all wrong!" Shen Mu's voice was resolute, carrying an almost frantic determination. "From now on, no rest! Shifts, keep your eyes peeled until they bleed! Alatan Khan! You personally lead the men to reinforce the fortifications inch by inch! Wood, stones, vines, whatever you have, use it! Turn this forest into a hedgehog's den! Ailiya! Your men keep a close watch on those crystalline dunes! Any unusual activity, any new monsters that appear, report back immediately!"

His gaze finally settled on Elder Ysera: "Elder, the Sacred Tree and the Torch Tower are our lifeblood. Gather everyone who knows elven runes and nature magic, and do everything in our power to delay its withering! Even if it means using your blood to smear those runes! Every extra day we can hold on means one more reinforcement, one more chance of survival!"

The command, like a cold, iron torrent, once again poured into this small, isolated island. The bewilderment and despair in the soldiers' eyes were replaced by something more primal and ferocious—the desperate glint of a cornered beast baring its last claws.

Shen Mu stopped looking at them, turned around, and leaned back against the cold stone wall once more. He slowly opened his tightly clenched right hand; the grayish-white mark on his palm, illuminated by the holy light, seemed even more clearly defined by its subtle, spreading edges, like death vines quietly taking root beneath his skin. He pressed his palm heavily against the rough stone wall, as if trying to crush the cold, ominous mark. Golden holy flames burned silently above his head; outside the light barrier, the grayish-white mound of corpses stood silently, its crystalline sand reflecting a cold light in the gray mist.

The respite was over. (End of Chapter)