Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke-Chapter 97 - A Battle on the Brink

97 A Battle on the Brink

Blasker coughed violently, his entire body shuddering from the aftermath of the spell.

A sharp, metallic taste filled his mouth, and when he spat, droplets of blood mixed with his saliva.

"Master!"

The panicked voices of his disciples rang in his ears, but he cut them off with a sharp bark.

"Silence! Do not cause a commotion!"

A leader’s fear was contagious—if he showed weakness, the soldiers would fall further into disarray. Even if it took every ounce of his strength, he had to maintain his composure.

"Report!" he demanded. "What are the casualties? What of His Highness? What of the commanders?"

"His Highness is unharmed," one of his students answered hastily. "The commanders, too, have mostly avoided direct hits. But the soldiers..."

The young mage hesitated, his voice trailing off.

Blasker’s heart clenched. He forced his blurred vision to focus and swept his gaze over the battlefield.

His jaw tightened.

Damn it.

There are barely any men left who can fight.

His response had been swift—he had conjured a barrier to redirect the worst of the spell, preventing a direct hit from annihilating the army.

But it wasn’t enough.

Most of the soldiers had been standing near the stream. Even those who had avoided a direct strike had been caught by the residual charge through the water.

Lightning had coursed through their bodies, leaving them writhing, their muscles locked in painful spasms.

"Ugh! Lord Blasker—what the hell happened!?"

Marquis Bernhardt was the first of the noble commanders to recover.

Though his ears still rang and his vision swam, he forced himself upright, his face twisted in pain and rage.

Blasker wasted no time in explaining.

"The enemy struck us with a spell," he said quickly. "They manipulated the weather, summoning a storm to bring down lightning upon us. I deflected most of it, but the residual charge passed through the water, affecting the troops—"

"Drop the magic jargon and explain it properly!" the marquis snapped. "What does this mean for the army?"

Blasker exhaled sharply.

"The dead are few, but the damage is severe. The majority of our men are incapacitated. If they do not rest for at least five or six hours, they won’t be able to fight at all."

A dangerous silence followed.

Then—

"Damn it all!"

Bernhardt slammed his fist into the ground, his teeth grinding together in frustration.

The battlefield was a mess.

Most of the men lay twitching on the ground, their bodies still recovering from the electric shock.

Even those who had managed to stay conscious struggled to move properly, their limbs sluggish and unresponsive.

Blasker had saved them from instant death, but the army had been effectively crippled.

"Your Highness! Prince Claude!"

A strangled whimper answered him.

The First Prince had collapsed into a heap, his legs trembling so violently that he could not stand. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes darted wildly, unfocused.

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It was clear he had yet to recover from the shock of the attack.

Bernhardt let out a furious snarl.

Without hesitation, he strode forward and ripped the command staff from the prince’s hands.

"Your Highness, you are unfit to lead in this state," he declared. "I will take command in your stead."

The prince could only groan in protest, unable to string together a coherent response.

Some of the other commanders frowned at Bernhardt’s blatant usurpation of power, but no one objected.

Under these circumstances, there was no time for formalities.

"First, assess the full extent of the damage!" Bernhardt ordered. "How many men can still—"

A thunderous roar cut him off.

The sound sent a jolt of dread through his spine.

Bernhardt whirled toward the noise, his eyes widening in horror.

From the forest beyond, a tide of enemy troops came rushing forward.

Krefeld’s forces had been lying in wait—and now, they had chosen the perfect moment to strike.

"This is madness!"

In any other situation, such an attack would have been meaningless.

The distance was still far too great for a proper ambush.

But after the lightning strike?

The coalition forces were barely able to stand.

This was no mere skirmish—this was an execution.

Bernhardt spun on his heel, roaring at the top of his lungs.

"Get up! The enemy is upon us! If you want to live, stand and fight!"

A chorus of groans answered him as the battered soldiers struggled to rise.

Only about half managed to push themselves to their feet, and even then, many wobbled unsteadily.

The number of men ready to fight was even lower.

Bernhardt’s face twisted in frustration.

"Blasker! Can you use magic to drive them back!?"

"Not from this position!"

It wasn’t Blasker who answered, but one of his students.

"This is an open plain! We have no elevation, no advantage! If we try to strike from here, the magic will scatter and miss its mark!"

"Then wait until the enemy gets closer and blast them then!"

"If they get any closer, our own men will be caught in the crossfire!"

Damn it!

Bernhardt bit back a curse.

Was there truly no other option?

A sudden crack split the air.

Bright streaks of color flared into the sky, exploding in a dazzling display of light.

The battlefield fell momentarily still.

It was a spell—one Bernhardt had seen before.

Not an attack.

A signal.

He turned sharply toward Blasker, eyes narrowing.

The old mage coughed violently but still managed a hoarse whisper.

"William Hern," he rasped. "He is coming. With his forces."

Bernhardt stiffened.

"What?"

"A precaution," Blasker admitted. "I made arrangements before we left. If the worst were to happen, he would follow. That flare was the signal to advance."

His knees buckled, and he collapsed, his body trembling from exertion.

There was more Bernhardt wanted to ask, but there was no time.

Instead, he turned toward his troops and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Hold the line! Support is on its way! House Hern’s forces are marching to our aid!*"

The effect was immediate.

Where moments ago the men had been sinking into despair, now their eyes widened with hope.

"Protect His Highness!" Bernhardt roared. "If we can hold out until reinforcements arrive, victory will be ours!"