School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 181 --The Demon’s Elite Troops

The lord looked towards the deceased faceless leader and snorted coldly, "It seems his challenge to duel you was also a ploy to buy time for our reinforcements to arrive, intending to use the poison powder on the corpses to annihilate our forces. Such a malevolent strategy, yet, fortunately, we emerged victorious from this duel."

"But we don’t even know his name," Owen murmured to himself.

Owen couldn’t quite define his feelings at the moment.

Anger, pity, and even respect mingled together.

To the demon army, these fallen faceless must have been heroes, even though they ultimately failed.

If he were one of the demons, would he consider them as models, raising his blade to seize land for survival?

...

Visto’s team was on its way.

The lord’s exact words were "do not hurry on your way," but he was referring to the journey back to the city.

The old boozer understood the lord’s intention clearly.

Thus, as soon as the thousand riders moved out of sight from Ironblade City, the old boozer ordered the troops to quicken their pace.

Regardless, it was paramount to first take Anna away from this land of conflict; they could take as slow a return as desired.

Anna and Visto were initially leading the way, but the old boozer, seizing the opportunity to march faster, and his lieutenants naturally overtook them.

It felt safer for him to have his own troops at the forefront.

After a while, that somewhat annoying doctor managed to catch up.

The old boozer didn’t particularly like these sorts who seemed sage-like on the surface—who knew what schemes lurked beneath?

"General Fikell, let’s rest at the Eighteenth Mile Station ahead. After that, we’ll head southwest, leaving the official road."

"The Eighteenth Mile Station is almost deserted.

Why not continue west to Sunset Station and then turn onto the Southern Peace Route?"

"Oh, if the beasts are migrating inward, they’ll avoid the main roads. The route I suggest is more likely. Moreover, I’ve traveled this way before; retracing our steps will make it easier to locate where the beasts were spotted."

The old boozer thought to himself, "I’ll trust you for now."

The troop arrived at the Eighteenth Mile Station as the sun was about to set.

The old boozer ordered his men to clean up, start fires, and cook.

Meals were quickly served.

In the main hall, the old boozer, Visto, and Anna shared one table, while several lieutenants sat at another.

The common soldiers collected their food from the cookhouse at the entrance, most returning to their tents to eat.

The old boozer glanced at Visto while silently eating his meal.

Visto stared at a jug of wine in the middle of the table, mechanically spooning rice into his mouth.

Anna focused solely on her meal, remaining quiet.

The lieutenants were also very quiet, sneaking glances their way.

Suddenly, a shadow darted across the table.

Anna looked straight at Visto and said, "I’ve finished eating. Take your time," before leaving the table.

The old boozer slammed his chopsticks down on the table with a snap, then deliberately made a loud noise with his sword before standing up to retire to his room.

The lieutenants followed suit, thinking they might intimidate Visto.

Visto, looking at the empty cup before him, seemed to hear nothing.

After a long while, he sighed.

The night passed in tranquility, as if the events unfolding in Ironblade City were worlds away.

Most of the thousand riders’ soldiers secretly rejoiced at having avoided the looming battle.

However, the old boozer found no peace; he was haunted by that nightmare again, waking up drenched in cold sweat.

He reached for the wine jug by his bed and took a large gulp.

"It’s been half a year without dreams," he thought, "It was time for this nightmare to reappear."

With his spirits somewhat lifted, the old boozer rallied his troops to continue their journey.

Guided by Visto, the troop veered off the official road, heading generally southwest.

After half a day’s march, a thin mist appeared ahead.

The old boozer’s left hand instinctively grasped the hilt of his sword.

"This is no ordinary fog, but there’s no danger," Visto said.

"This mist is imbued with spiritual energy, beneficial to people."

The old boozer glanced at Visto and relaxed his grip on the sword.

As they entered the mist, the old boozer took a deep breath.

The air within the mist was exceptionally fresh, tinged with the subtle scent of flowers and herbs.

"This would be perfect to accompany a drink," he mused.

The fog thickened gradually, with Visto eventually leading the way.

When visibility dropped to about five meters, he stopped.

"The fog ahead is denser, and the path narrows," Visto announced.

"It’s about five meters wide, flanked by stone walls on both sides. Let’s stay close and maintain our current pace."

Visto vanished into the thick fog, with Anna following without hesitation.

The old boozer, right behind Anna, ordered the troops to proceed in an orderly fashion.

As they progressed, the fog thickened to the point where visibility was reduced to just two meters ahead, but then it quickly dissipated.

When the mist cleared, they were greeted by a vast forest.

Looking back, the old boozer realized they had just traversed a gorge slashed between two mountains like a sword cut.

"No! I recognize these mountains," the old boozer exclaimed in shock.

"You’ve led us across Myriad Stones Mountain!"

His left hand gripped the sword hilt tightly.

"Indeed," Visto replied, regarding the old boozer with appreciation.

"We have now left the empire’s territory. The beasts are in the forest ahead. If they are not eradicated, they will continue to harm living beings."

Damn it.

The old boozer cursed inwardly.

With the empire already under the threat of the demon army, there was no capacity to concern itself with matters beyond its borders.

Visto had deceived them across Myriad Stones Mountain using a secret path.

The imperial army’s appearance in Bitterness Kingdom could potentially spark a war.

Would slaying you now count as harming a living being?

The old boozer felt his sword nearly unsheathing but then heard a thunderous rumble.

Turning, he saw rocks collapsing from the sides of the gorge they had passed, with the ground trembling so violently that even a top rider like him nearly fell from his horse.

A minute later, the gorge was filled with boulders, rising three hundred meters high.

Their path of return was blocked, and the old boozer’s worries materialized.

"Form defensive positions!" he roared loudly.

...

After spending the night, Owen inquired about the day’s events from the subordinate officers assigned by the lord to protect him before heading towards the command tower where the lord resided.

This command tower, also known as Iron Sword Tower, stood at the very heart of the lord’s estate, which itself was at the center of the inner city.

The Iron Sword Tower soared into the clouds, allowing a panoramic view of the entire Ironblade City from its summit.

During wartime, it provided a clear view of the situation in all directions.

Constructed from a special kind of stone, its sturdiness was unparalleled, making it an ideal location for command.

It wasn’t long before Owen reached the base of the tower.

The guards, having been instructed beforehand, immediately led Owen inside.

After climbing countless steps, they finally reached the top.

"You’re here?" the lord asked gently, with Kistan nodding to Owen from the side.

"Yes."

"How are your injuries?"

"No serious harm."

"Do you understand the current situation?"

"Yes, Ironblade City is surrounded."

The demon army’s movements had been exceptionally swift.

"Hmm."

The lord stood up from his wicker chair, saying, "Take a look."

Owen surveyed the surroundings, only then grasping the gravity of their predicament.

To the south of Ironblade City, just beyond the range of an arrow, a dark mass extended as far as the eye could see.

The number of demon army troops was incalculable, their camps stretching end to end, with cooking smoke merging into a single cloud.

The situation was similar to the east and west of the city, though the numbers were fewer compared to the south.

However, the siege engines were concentrated on these two sides.

To the north, the camps were sparsest, but the formation was orderly, with the troops primarily cavalry, their mounts consisting of various demon beasts.

Owen’s expression turned grave.

"These are elite forces. Why would the demons expend such effort to attack the human race?"

"Which side do you reckon has the strongest enemy force?" the lord broke the silence.

"The north."

"Why?"

"The soldiers are mostly elite cavalry." Owen paused before continuing, "Moreover, the commanding leader has arranged the troops effectively, leveraging the northern terrain to form a robust net. Such an enemy commander should not be underestimated."

"Has the saint heard of the demon army’s Champion Army?" Kistan asked while handing a brewed medicinal soup to the lord.

Owen hadn’t expected such an elite force to be cutting off Ironblade City’s retreat.

Of course, he had heard of this demon force.

The Champion Army is one of the demon army’s three aces, its soldiers selected from various units, each renowned within their original forces for their bravery, hence the name Champion Army.

The Champion Army is commanded by the Champion King, who holds immense prestige among the demons.

The entire force comprises merely a thousand soldiers, but even an ordinary soldier within it has the right to recruit a squad for collaborative combat.

Furthermore, the Champion Army is supported by over ten thousand auxiliary troops, including archers, crossbowmen, and infantry, who are also considered elite forces within the demon army.

With such a formidable force blocking the north, breaking through would be no easy feat.

"You’re thinking about how difficult a breakout would be, aren’t you?" The lord, after drinking his medicinal soup, interrupted Owen’s contemplation.

"Yes." Owen snapped back to reality.

"No need to ponder further." Lord Dawson stated decisively, "I have never considered breaking out."

Owen was momentarily taken aback, then looked directly into Dawson’s eyes, which were filled with wisdom and determination.

"Saint, the north gate is entrusted to you."

"Leave it to me." Owen descended from the Iron Sword Tower to inspect his defensive sector.

Although Dawson appeared to treat Owen with great respect, Owen understood that this was essentially a utilization of his status as the saint of dragons—the only chance to save Ironblade City.

If they could secure reinforcements from the dragons, the hope for survival would be even greater.