"I can see it," Brann muttered. "We’re almost there."

In the distance, Grimjaw Mountain came into view at last. Though it would still take them at least two to three more hours to reach their destination, he was glad they were almost at their destination.

The travel had not been smooth since they had to make several stops along the way.

They had encountered orcs, as well as goblin raiding parties, during their journey, which slowed their travel time by a lot.

Fortunately, none of the warriors had died from these battles. However, some of them were seriously injured and were currently being taken care of in the wagons.

Brann believed that Leone would show mercy on them and use their resources to help tend to his warriors. In his eyes, the young man was a righteous, and benevolent ruler.

He might still be young, but he could feel the sincerity in his gaze whenever Leone looked at them.

But just as the Chieftain of the Stormhorn Tribe was starting to think that they would no longer encounter any troubles along the way, one of his warriors guarding the rear rode up to his side with a grim expression on his face.

"Chieftain, we spotted a dust cloud to the west," the warrior reported.

Brann’s face immediately darkened as he urged his horse to move to the side of the caravan, hoping to get a better look of the dust cloud in the distance.

As someone who had spent his entire life in the Borderlands, he was quite familiar with such a sight.

The dust cloud was very dense, which meant that hundreds of horses were currently galloping in their direction.

"F-Father!" Gromm hurried to his father’s side, his face very pale. "W-What do we do?!"

"Calm down, son," Brann replied while his hands gripped the reins of his horse tightly. "You are to lead the caravan to Grimjaw Mountain. The warriors and I will stall them here."

"B-But!"

"Gromm! Are you defying my orders?! Go now!"

The young man gritted his teeth hard before urging his horse to lead the caravan.

"Speed up!" Gromm shouted to those who were at the front of the caravan. "Hurry! We need to get away now!"

At his urging, the members of the Stormhorn Tribe finally understood that something bad was going on. But with Gromm’s urging, they increased their pace, making the children scream in panic as their wagons lurched forward.

"Hyah!" The coach riders whipped their horses to make them move faster.

Soon, a long, throaty blast resounded across the surroundings as Brann blew the horn, signaling the warriors of his tribe to rally to his side.

A hundred and sixty warriors soon moved as one to stand behind their chieftain, leaving their caravan defenseless.

Even those who had suffered injuries had chosen to fight alongside their chieftain, making their brother-in-arms look at them with worry.

However, they didn’t plan to go back and lie down while their brethren bled for their sake.

Just like their chieftain, they understood that if they fell here, even if they stayed in the caravan, it would be all for naught.

"Men. Behind us are our family, lovers, children, and friends." Brann glanced at his warriors, who all looked back at him with anxious looks on their faces. "I know all of you are afraid. I am too. However, if we fall here, they will have no future.

"They will become the slaves of whatever tribe is pursuing us right now. Sure, they will live, but they will be treated similar to livestock. Do you want that to happen?!"

""No!""

"Then what should we do right now?!" Brann asked.

""Fight!""

""Fight!""

""Fight!""

Brann unsheathed his sword, then pointed at the black specks of dust that they could now see in the distance.

"We will hold them off here!" Brann declared. "Swear upon our ancestors that you will fight till the bitter end!"

""Yes!""

"All hail the Stormhorn Tribe!" Brann roared.

""All hail the Stormhorn Tribe!""

"Battle formation!" Brann ordered. "Here, we will make our last stand!"

"""Yes!"""

Immediately, the warriors behind him formed ranks, spanning out like the head of an arrow with Brann at its tip.

They could now hear the thundering noise of hundreds of horses galloping in their direction. And for a brief moment, Brann and his warriors thought that the ground was trembling under them.

Still, they held their ground, vigilantly watching their enemies charge in their direction like a raging tide.

War horns from the Grimfang Tribe’s riders reverberated in the surroundings, as if to declare they would show no mercy!

Since they were at a higher elevation than their pursuers, they were able to see them even though they were still three kilometers away.

However, that distance would be covered in just a few minutes.

It was very obvious that the number of their pursuers was far greater than the number of warriors in their ranks.

Brann even estimated that there were at least seven hundred of them, which meant that this pursuing tribe meant serious business.

But just as the Chieftain of the Stormhorn Tribe was about to give the order to charge, something unexpected happened.

The horse leading the enemy’s advance suddenly tripped, its legs buckling as it crashed violently onto the ground.

The riders behind it had no time to react, causing their horses to trip over the lead horse. This broke their momentum and turned their charge into a chaotic mess.

A heartbeat later, more of the frontline horses collapsed in the same manner, as if struck down by an unseen force.

The tightly packed formation unraveled almost instantly. The once-coordinated charge devolved into a tangled mess of panicked mounts and shouting riders.

A sharp whistling sound reached Brann’s ears as it cut through the air.

More whistling sounds followed, and he soon understood what was happening.

Brann and his warriors were quite familiar with this sound since it was the sound a feathered arrow made when it flew across the air.

From afar, beyond a point from which most archers could manage to shoot, a winged horse flew toward the charging army with determination.

On its back was Otto, shooting one arrow after the other with deadly accuracy. He didn’t target any of the warriors.

Instead, he targeted the horses, which led to the sudden commotion that caused panic and confusion among the Grimfang Tribe’s ranks.

Otto was still far away from the actual battlefield, but since he could see their enemies, he could shoot them without fail!

Brann didn’t know who was helping them. But he was certain that whoever it was, they belonged to the Aslan Tribe!

"Archers! Aim!" Brann ordered.

He originally planned to charge at the enemy’s ranks in order to break their formation. But now that the enemy army was in disarray thanks to their unseen helper, he decided to take this opportunity to stall for more time.

The warriors who were all carrying bows and arrows took aim, waiting for their chieftain’s signal to fire.

"Fire!" Brann shouted, his spittle flying as his warriors also let loose the arrows that would rain down on their enemies.

Brann wasn’t the only one that was feeling anger right now.

His warriors also felt the same.

They had traveled far in order to find salvation. But if their enemies still wished to end their lives despite everything they did to avoid conflict, then so be it!

Even if they were at a disadvantage, even if they were weaker, they still had no plans to back down.

Behind them were their loved ones. People whom they held sacred. They would not allow these scumbags to get what they wanted!

With a roar filled with anger and desperation, Brann pointed his sword at the enemies, leading his men into battle.

"Charge!"

The Stormhorn Tribe moved as one.

And as their cavalry surged like an arrow in flight, a loud screech tore through the sky as a Gryphon descended from the heavens.

It flew above Brann and his warriors, its wings spread wide like a Guardian Deity that was about to go for the kill.

Flying beside Astravor was Blitz. Tendrils of electricity snaked around its body, ready to unleash it to its foes.

Brann and his warriors all shouted their warcries, charging into the ranks of their enemies as they went for the kill!