The front ranks instinctively tried to retreat, while the rear pushed forward, creating a chaotic mess of shoving, trampling, cursing, and crying. The two hundred-plus "cannon fodder" recruits were in utter disarray; some even threw away their weapons, looking only for a place to hide.
Karl watched his orders turn to dust as his column transformed into a disturbed anthill. His lungs felt ready to burst with rage. He brandished his scimitar, roaring futilely at the sky: "You bastards! Have the guts to come down and fight me! What kind of heroes hide in the clouds?!"
However, the only response was the whistling wind as the Pegasus knights pulled back up into the heights. Ed and his riders gave Karl no chance for close-quarters combat. The moment the bandits stopped to form a defensive circle or organize archers, Ed ordered a climb, effortlessly escaping the range of their pathetic bows and hovering above like hunters watching ants.
To advance meant facing a rain of arrows and crumbling morale; to stop meant watching the enemy circle overhead, feeling an omnipresent pressure and dread. The Blood Wolf Mercenaries were trapped—mice toyed with by clever hawks, every step treading on the edge of a pitfall.
The core lieutenants around Karl looked grim. A bearded bruiser leaned in, whispering, "Boss, we can't go on like this! The boys will be shot to pieces before we even see the town! And look at the sky..."
Karl looked up. The sun was dipping west, painting the mountains in orange hues, but the warmth couldn't dispel the chill in his heart. At this stop-and-go pace, they wouldn't reach Blackstone Town before dark. To camp in the open against elusive aerial cavalry was a nightmare scenario.
"Damn it!" Karl spat, his saliva flecked with blood—whether from fury or from screaming too hard. Looking at the shifty eyes of his recruits, regret grew like weeds. If he had known Blackstone had such a trump card, he never would have taken this job. The commission wasn't worth the lives of his men.
"Pass the word!" Karl ground out through clenched teeth. "Stop the advance! Set up... set up camp!"
The command brought a wave of relief to many bandits, but the camp's construction was sluggish. No one dared leave the main group to gather wood or scout, fearing they'd be picked off. The entire force sat in a tense, eerie stalemate.
High above, Ed saw the enemy halt and settle. He understood their plan. He didn't order more attacks; a cornered enemy is dangerous, and both knights and Pegasi needed rest.
"Maintain surveillance. Return to town in shifts to resupply and recover," Ed commanded. The twenty-plus riders split into two groups—one stayed as a deterrent, while the other followed Ed back toward Blackstone Town, their white wings tracing elegant arcs across the sunset.
The mercenaries watched them leave, but their hearts didn't lighten. They knew this was only the eye of the storm. The real test would come tonight.
As night fell, small campfires flickered across the wilderness. The wind began to howl, sounding like weeping ghosts. Karl's camp was situated on an open slope—good for preventing ground ambushes, but leaving them completely exposed to the sky.
The campsite was a mess of sweat, blood, and cheap ale. Karl paced irritably before his tent, his shadow dancing like a demon in the firelight.
"Boss, are we really staying here?" the bearded man asked again. "Those bird-men won't just let us be!"
"Shut up!" Karl barked. "What else? You want to lead these fools through the dark? Or do you want to run now?"
"Double the sentries!" Karl ordered his scarred lieutenant. "Tell the archers to keep their bows ready. If anything flies over, I don't care what it is—shoot it!"
But everyone knew this was mere psychological comfort. Against the swift Pegasus knights, these defenses were paper-thin. Fear spread like a silent viper through the camp. No one could sleep; they sat by the fires, clutching their weapons, jumping at the rustle of grass or the cry of a distant beast.