When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist-Chapter 766 - 721: The Shepherd and the Sheep Thief
Looking in the direction of the young recruit, Old Laver's once languid body instantly tensed up.
At the edge of the wasteland, dust rose, and the sound of horns and thunderous hooves rang out simultaneously.
Fiery red or white fox tails danced on iron helmets, while deerskin gloves gripped riding bows, and white-feathered arrows in quivers bounced with the long wind and the hooves.
Over fifty agile light cavalrymen advanced in a fan formation.
Their mounts were shorter than the warhorses of the Thousand River Valley, but the colorful ribbons tied to their manes fluttered like snake tongues in the wind.
"Sheep thieves attack! Get into the wagon formation to take cover!" shouted Captain Ten and the other captains with all their might.
Then came whistling arrows from the Shattered Stone Plain bandits, a series of shrill bone whistle sounds echoed through the sky.
The shepherds on the hillside frantically picked up lambs, hiding behind rocks or in bushes.
"The Broken Stone Primordial People are attacking, run!" someone shouted, and the recruits scattered like ants doused in boiling water.
Old Laver sped up to get inside Bear Chomping Castle's gates before they closed.
But before he could get close, the doors slowly shut amidst the officers' irritable shouts.
"Damn it!" he cursed, but instead of crying and banging on the doors like other recruits, he decisively turned back.
Leaping over the scattered rye and sacks, Old Laver took off the wolf hunting bow from his back while ducking behind a wagon.
Unfortunately, just as he hid behind the wagon, the young recruit climbed onto the cart's edge.
"Get down!" he yelled, pulling at the recruit's pants leg.
A crossbow arrow grazed the recruit's hair, embedding with a thud into the oak sideboard nearby.
The young recruit fell to the ground, and as the arrows rained upon the wagon, its entire structure shook.
A recruit who couldn't evade was struck straight in the back, staggering forward a few steps before spitting blood and collapsing.
In the open ground in front of the mountain hollow, seven or eight recruits were hit, lying wounded or dead, screaming in agony.
With his ear pressed against the cartwheel, Old Laver ignored the wounded reaching for help a few steps away, silently placing a hardwood shaft arrow on the bowstring.
The blades of grass before him trembled as a spear pierced the blocking Captain Ten, and a scimitar whirled like a silvery whirlwind slashing through recruits' chests and backs.
On the hard frozen ground, horses neighed, spears and scimitars clashed, sparking fiercely.
Both veteran soldiers on guard and brave recruits picked up weapons and began fighting the sheep thieves.
Seeing horse hooves swiftly approaching under the carriage, Old Laver hunched down, reminiscent of when he feigned death in ice pits to lure forest wolves.
"Dung collector!"
First came the spearhead, then the horse head, and finally the boot tips of the Broken Stone Plain cavalry.
Old Laver's kicking speed shattered the frost, the bowstring twanged, and a shadowed arrow spun and quivered, piercing cleanly into the unprotected thigh of the rider.
The sheep thief from the Broken Stone Plain screamed, losing balance and instinctively pulled the reins, slowing the horse.
Old Laver immediately lunged forward.
With his right hand outstretched, he narrowly grabbed the sheep thief's clothes, pulling the already unstable thief down.
But the thief was vicious, drawing a scimitar with a backhand swing towards Old Laver's skull.
Of course, Old Laver dodged, but with a firm grip on him, he jumped to choke his neck.
Yet the thief grabbed Old Laver's collar with one hand, kneeing him in the chest and abdomen, leveraging to toss him aside.
Landing heavily on his back, Old Laver cried out in pain, clutching his lower back, with his whole waist and abdomen arching, spasming from the agony.
"Ah, damn sheep thief...extraordinary indeed..."
The thief grinned fiendishly, speaking in the Broken Stone Plain dialect Old Laver couldn't understand.
Gasping, Old Laver tried to roll over, but the thief, like a frog, pounced before he could stand, pinning his waist.
They wrestled on the frozen soil and dry grass, their foreheads and arms bouncing against the jagged rocks, leaving blood-red wounds.
Old Laver, clearly quick to strike, found himself suppressed by this thief.
Furious and astonished, Old Laver realized these sheep thieves were unique bandits of the Shattered Stone Plain, living by stealing livestock.
Don't overestimate their prowess; Horn's bandit raid in the cavern forest proved only a few were strong, most weren't even militia caliber.
Yet the thief before him had a fighting prowess unlike any ordinary person, not only extraordinary but possessing skilled extraordinary martial prowess.
Pinned tightly by the thief, no matter how hard Old Laver reddened his face and exerted himself, he couldn't stop the trembling scimitar from inching closer to his neck.
Luckily, the young recruit Old Laver had pulled from the cart top earlier recovered.
The young man from Hotam County leaped out like a Mountain Cat, driving his rusty dagger into the thief's back.
Grinding the blade, the thief shrieked in agony, kicking back and sending the recruit tumbling.
But with less force, the thief couldn't suppress Old Laver's resistance.
Seizing the thief's dagger, in the cramped space filled with the stench of armpit and sheep, Old Laver's scimitar backhand sliced through the thief's throat.
Warm blood splattered on Old Laver's face, as the heavy, lifeless body collapsed onto him.
"Praise the Holy Wind!"
Just as Old Laver exhaled, a roar finally echoed from the watchtower.
The Eagle Falcon Cannon's muzzle slowly turned, and the gears of the spring gun screeched, grating on the nerves.
The leader of the wasteland bandits suddenly reined in, preparing to flee, but the storm of iron shot and led pellets already enveloped them.
Crouching behind the wagon, the hail of lead swept across the taller-than-average sheep thieves, trembling like grass under a hailstorm.
Warm blood sprayed on cold rocks, instantly freezing into dark red crystals, almost merging with the red dragon blood moss.
"Woo aaa (It's a magic crossbow!)"
"Woo hoo (Run!)"
Soon, the retreating hoofbeats and cheers rang out simultaneously.
Slouched amidst the spilled wheat, the dagger still quivering in the corpse, the young recruit sat up dazed, watching Old Laver push the body aside.
"You saved my life, kid." Bending down, Old Laver pulled the dagger from the corpse's back and tossed it onto the grass before the recruit, "What's your name?"
In the army, they respected those with skills; everything else took a back seat, as survival and victory on the battlefield were paramount.
Personal relations, that was for the Ry Court Barracks' noble monks to concern themselves with.
The young recruit seemed to recover from the battle, pulling the dagger from the grass, standing up to shake Old Laver's hand: "I'm Kaler, what about you, sir?"
"Call me Old Laver, I'm probably your parents' age, calling me Uncle Laver isn't wrong."
......
This sudden raid was formidable, but only claimed twenty to thirty lives, over half not slain by the enemy.
Some slipped while fleeing, others accidentally wounded by stray bullets, many were captured as prisoners by the sheep thieves scurrying into the wasteland.
The remaining recruits couldn't rest, sweeping the battlefield, bandaging the wounded, repairing wooden stakes, and conducting a collective funeral.
Those who shared the hometown with the dead either opted for cremation and mail the ashes home or burial on the southern hillside.
Some recruits hadn't even registered in the camp before dying outside Bear Chomping Castle.
Yet, for the commander of Bear Chomping Castle, it was merely a little incident.
After all, at the border of Thorn Garden, Shattered Stone Plain, and Thousand River Valley, such skirmishes were considered inconspicuous minor conflicts. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺
However, for Old Laver, on his first day at Bear Chomping Castle, two familiar recruits from his village would never return home.
