The first rays of dawn struggled to pierce through the heavy smog, illuminating the utter desolation of the Blood Wolf camp. The air was thick with the foul stench of charred remains, the metallic tang of blood, and the icy grip of death. The once-boisterous camp now resembled a skeleton gnawed by a giant beast, riddled with scars. Scorched tents were twisted into blackened husks, and stockpiled supplies had been incinerated, leaving nothing but ash and unburnt charcoal.
Karl stood upon the scorched earth, his heart seething with absolute fury. When had his Blood Wolf Mercenaries ever suffered such a humiliating blow? He hadn't slept a wink; since the fires died down, he had been struggling to rally his scattered men. Those lucky enough to escape the inferno were like startled birds, fleeing in all directions with no will to fight. He had sent out his few remaining skilled riders to retrieve them, but with little success. Many preferred to take their chances in the wilderness rather than return to this cursed place.
After hours of effort, Karl finally gathered the survivors. The count was devastating. His force of hundreds had dwindled to barely over a hundred men, most of whom were infantrymen paralyzed by terror. Worse, the horses had bolted during the fire. Of their nearly one hundred mounts, only twenty-odd remained, many of them scarred or wounded. Karl looked at this remnant; their eyes held only fear and vacancy—the former ferocity of the Blood Wolf was gone.
"Blackstone... Leylo..." Those names echoed in his mind like death-knells. His main force had been annihilated without even catching a glimpse of the enemy. With these hundred men, survival was a question, let alone conquest.
As Karl fell into despair, a military force slowly appeared on the sun-drenched horizon. The sound of their approach grew louder—a rhythmic, steady march. Soon, an orderly column came into view. Banners fluttered, spears gleamed, and their pace was resolute. On the flanks, dozens of cavalrymen prowled like hounds. More terrifying still, several black dots circled in the sky: those damned Pegasus knights!
Blackstone's army had arrived. Karl's heart sank to his boots. He knew Leylo wouldn't miss this chance. He had hoped for a moment to breathe, to regroup, or even to flee. But Leylo's response was so swift it left no room for life.
"Assemble! Form ranks!" Karl screamed, trying to awaken his men's fighting spirit. But the only response was more obvious panic. Many bandits trembled at the sight of the approaching army; some even began to slip away toward the rear. Karl's roar sounded hollow and powerless in the open wilderness. He looked at his terrified men, the encroaching flood of Blackstone's army, and the reapers in the sky—his last spark of hope vanished. He knew this wasn't a battle; it was a massacre. And they were the lambs for the slaughter.
Karl ground his teeth, a flash of resolve in his eyes. Flee? Where? The Pegasus knights would cling to him like maggots on a bone. Fight? With what? Charge into that solid phalanx with these broken remains? He stood his ground, body straight as if nailed to the scorched earth.
The Blackstone army halted hundreds of meters away. High above, Ed hovered on his Pegasus like a hawk overlooking prey. The two sides faced off in a silent stalemate. Then, Ed dove and dropped several severed heads before the Blood Wolf line—the leaders who had stayed to guard their home base.
"Karl, your nest has been purged," Ed's voice boomed. "Look at these heads. Are they your old friends? This is the fate of anyone who covets Blackstone!"
This was the final straw. The bandits began whispering, looking back for escape routes. Leylo didn't plan to give them a moment's peace. To him, these men weren't threats; they were live targets to test his new recruits. Only through blood could apprentices truly become warriors.
At Leylo's command, the army moved. A phalanx of nearly two hundred squires, apprentices, and guards advanced with a unified tread, like a juggernaut. Bolin led the cavalry in a flanking maneuver to cut off the retreat.
Faced with this overwhelming power, the Blood Wolf remnants couldn't even organize a proper defense. When Blackstone's infantry reached bow range, a few weak arrows from the bandits clattered harmlessly against shields. In return, Blackstone's archers fired steady volleys, each arrow causing further damage and panic. When Bolin's cavalry charged, the line collapsed instantly. Bandits threw down their weapons and ran.
"Stop! Don't run!" Karl brandished his blade, but his voice was drowned out by the screams of terror. Seeing the end, Karl turned to his twenty remaining elite riders. "Follow me! Break through!"
He leapt onto his horse and charged toward the wilderness. Bolin tried to intercept, but the experienced bandit riders, driven by raw survival instinct, managed to burst through. Karl felt a spark of hope. If they could reach the rugged wilds, their familiarity with the terrain might give them a chance.