Count Koubili was seething with rage before the walls of Geldos...
Ever since he had sent a small squadron of lancers back to Geldos two days ago to transport food and money, the count had felt increasingly uneasy, as though something terrible was about to happen.
The battle situation before him was far from satisfactory. Over five hundred of the more than two thousand peasant militia mustered by the vassal lords had already fallen in battle—nearly a quarter of their number. In contrast, his own garrison battalion and five lancer squadrons had lost only a dozen or so men over the past two days and still retained their fighting strength.
In two days, they had only captured three camps. Five more still blocked their path. The peasant militia, who served as the main assault force against the camps, were now in a state of near-open defiance. They had suffered heavy losses, seen no sign of the promised silver, and grumbled incessantly. Every time they were ordered to attack a camp, they dragged their feet and stalled, and each time the lancers had to be sent in to forcibly suppress them before they could be coerced into action.
Count Koubili knew this couldn't continue. Even the knights dispatched by those vassal lords to lead the peasant militia were looking at him with strange expressions, as if they believed the rumors that he was trying to use this opportunity to drain the vassal lords' strength.
The great camp had only three days' worth of grain left. What truly unsettled Count Koubili was that he had received no news from Geldos in two days. This was highly unusual! Geldos wasn't far from Mozi Ridge—a messenger on horseback could arrive in seven or eight hours with a fresh mount. Especially since he had also dispatched a lancer squadron to transport supplies, he should have received a reply from Geldos by the second day explaining when the supplies would depart. Now there was complete silence—something must have gone wrong.
Count Koubili could sit still no longer. After much deliberation, he decided to go back himself. He left all the remaining grain with the garrison battalion and called in the knights the vassal lords had sent to lead the peasant militia, encouraging them with kind words and asking them only to help the garrison troops defend the camp. Everything else would wait until his return.
Count Koubili set out for Geldos under cover of night with five and a half lancer squadrons, intending to replenish the two depleted squadrons once he arrived. At the same time,
At the break of dawn, Count Koubili and his lancers arrived before the gates of Geldos. Seeing the banners bearing the Koubili family's bull-head crest still hanging from the walls, he breathed a sigh of relief. He ordered someone forward to demand the gates be opened. They had ridden hard through the entire night—men and horses alike were exhausted, and all desperately needed rest.
But no matter how loudly the lancer sent to hail the gate proclaimed that the count had returned and demanded the drawbridge be lowered and the gates opened in welcome, the handful of garrison soldiers guarding the wall remained utterly unmoved. They even pointed down at the men and horses below, and some nocked arrows to their bows, readying defensive positions.
At first, Count Koubili was delighted, thinking these gate guards showed commendable vigilance worthy of a reward. But after half an hour waiting below the wall, the count began to sense something was wrong. Then he saw a large group of people appear on the walls, led by none other than Farea—the Gold-rank mercenary who had been imprisoned in the penal labor camp and had refused to serve him.
When Farea stood on the battlements and loudly proclaimed to Count Koubili and his lancers that Geldos was now under his control, Count Koubili felt as though he had fallen into a dream. He simply could not imagine how a prisoner like Farea had managed to seize Geldos. The furious count pointed at the bull-head banners still hanging from the walls and demanded to know: if Farea claimed to have taken Geldos, why were the Koubili family's bull-head banners still displayed?
Farea smiled sheepishly at the count and said there had been so many things to attend to that he hadn't had time for everything—he had forgotten to take down the Koubili family's bull-head banners and use them as toilet paper. He was terribly sorry. With that, he ordered the banners taken down and sent to the privies for future use.
Count Koubili was so enraged he nearly spat blood on the spot. One of the Gold-rank bastards beside him began hurling insults at Farea, declaring that the count had treated him with such regard and kindness, yet he had seized Geldos while the count was away—truly an ungrateful, heartless wretch...
Farea flew into a rage. "Killed my foster mother, imprisoned my entire family for over a year—and you call that regard? Kindness? You twist black into white with no shame whatsoever!" Too annoyed to waste more words, he waved his hand and ordered his archers to fire. Under a volley from over a hundred longbows, the bastard who had been spouting off was caught off guard and struck by three arrows. Had the lancers not risked their lives to cover the count's retreat, he might well have lost his life.
A dozen or so lancers and their horses lay dead before the gate. Count Koubili retreated to beyond arrow range, seething with fury, and ordered the lancers to chop down trees on the spot and build siege ladders—they would storm the walls.
Count Koubili had forgotten something vitally important: the lancer squadron that had accompanied him back had only been recently formed. These were not the veteran lancers who had followed him for years, raiding merchant caravans and fighting in civil wars. Having emerged from the penal labor camp less than half a year ago, they discovered that the people standing on the walls were old acquaintances from their time in the camp. Within moments, they were calling out to old friends, and in just a few exchanges they learned the truth—that Geldos had already been occupied.
On one side, Count Koubili was furiously ordering an assault on Geldos. On the other, the lancers were overjoyed to learn that their families were safe and sound, congratulating themselves on their good fortune. As a result, the count's assault orders met with silent resistance. The slow-moving lancers took an entire morning to produce a mere three siege ladders.
Blinded by rage, Count Koubili brutally whipped several men he believed were shirking their duties, then ordered a dozen of the lancers who had defied his commands to serve as the first wave of attackers.
Those dozen lancers carried a freshly built siege ladder toward the wall. To their surprise, no arrows flew from above—they were even allowed to set up the ladder and begin climbing. But when the lancers neared the top of the wall, they threw down their weapons, climbed up unarmed, and embraced the defenders above. They even made faces back toward Count Koubili's position and shouted insults.
In the blink of an eye, those dozen lancers had defected to the enemy in full view of everyone. What was worse, they helped the people on the wall haul up the newly built siege ladder. Seeing this, Count Koubili's eyes bulged, his face flushed crimson, and with one heave he spat blood.
This time, accompanying Count Koubili on his return was another Gold-rank bastard—far more reliable than the previous fellow who had been busy spouting curses and ended up with three arrows in his body. Seeing the count collapse in a faint from spitting blood and sensing the lancer squadron's morale wavering, he quickly gathered his Silver-rank bastard brothers. First, they killed the horses of the dozen defectors and distributed the meat, ordering the men to dig firepits and cook right then and there. Everyone needed to eat something—after an entire night and morning without a single grain of rice, every man was famished and utterly exhausted.
He then conferred with his brothers on how to calm the lancer squadron below. Pathetic as it was, of the more than six hundred lancers under their command, fewer than fifty were truly loyal to Count Koubili—and those were the old veterans who had followed the count for years.
When Count Koubili finally regained consciousness, only two paths lay before him. An assault on the city was out of the question—the lancer squadron might mutiny on the spot, and he dared not take that risk. The first option was to return to the main camp and rejoin the garrison battalion, then bring a larger force back to retake Geldos. The fatal flaw in this plan was that the garrison battalion was nearly out of provisions; by the time he marched back to Geldos, they would have exhausted their food entirely. Forget about a siege—he feared it would trigger a massive mutiny, which would be even worse.
The second option was to make for Williams Mills Castle and use it as a temporary refuge. But this would mean abandoning the garrison battalion still at Mozi Ridge and giving up Geldos for the time being. Still, as long as he could wait for or make contact with the sweep force heading into the western mountain regions, Count Koubili would still have a chance to turn things around.
Just as Count Koubili was wavering between these two choices, the rumble of hoofbeats reached his ears from the distance. A column of riders appeared on the road leading from the direction of Williams Mills Castle. It was Lorist, returning with Terman's knight squad and Jossk, having cornered Count Koubili right beneath the walls of Geldos.
Jossk urged his horse forward and, at a distance of thirty or forty meters from the lancers, hurled three severed heads onto the ground. The heads rolled to a stop at Count Koubili's feet. The count took one look and felt as though struck by lightning—those three heads belonged to his three bastards who had been stationed at Williams Mills Castle. Which meant Williams Mills Castle had also fallen into enemy hands.
Watching the legendary archer Jossk wheel his horse around and take up position behind Lorist, Count Koubili straightened himself, walked forward to within ten meters of Lorist's horse, and stopped. He fixed Jossk with a venomous glare, then turned his gaze to Lorist. "Who are you? Why are you opposing me?"
Lorist sat tall on his horse, looking down at this burly old man of sixty with graying temples—Count Koubili, whose name was feared across the northwestern regions—and spoke coldly: "Should I address you as Count Koubili? Or as Redbeard, the bandit chief who terrorized all of Budoerg Province?"
Count Koubili's entire body jolted, panic flickering in his eyes before he quickly composed himself. He did not deny Lorist's accusation. "Who exactly are you? Was all of this a scheme of yours? You've brought my Koubili family to this state..."
The count gestured toward Geldos, then toward the three severed heads.
"A scheme against you? Who do you think you are? Have you forgotten the sins you've committed? You impersonated Redbeard, posing as a bandit to raid merchant caravans across Budoerg Province. You left no survivors—not women, not children, not the elderly. You committed every evil under the sun. You thought that reclaiming your title as count would let you live out your days in peace? You thought your crimes could stay buried forever? Today I have come, and it means your road has reached its end. I will tear the Koubili family out by the roots—just as you did to other lords. Every man will be put to the sword..."
Lorist's words were laced with deep hatred. He gestured for Terman to ride forward and pointed to the furious bear crest on Terman's chest. "Perhaps the count hasn't forgotten this crest? In your bedchamber sit two rosewood chests engraved with this very emblem. Those were gifts my third uncle intended for the woman he loved—but his family caravan encountered Redbeard, and every last person was killed. For years our family had been searching for the bandit Redbeard. Never did we imagine that while I was leading my family's caravan back to the Northland and passing through your territory, we would be ambushed by your lancers..."
"Surely the count didn't expect this: your sweep force tried to target our family caravan, only to be annihilated by us instead. The prisoners confessed to your activities impersonating the bandit Redbeard in Budoerg Province years ago. Most importantly, he had seen those two chests bearing our family crest in your chamber. So we came looking for you..."
Count Koubili was a straightforward man. Now that the aggrieved party had come knocking, with irrefutable evidence and the perpetrators caught red-handed, there was nothing left to deny. He stared at Lorist and laughed: "So what if it was I? There were plenty of caravans I raided years ago. Since you've come seeking an answer, I'll give you one—let's see whose sword is sharper."
The count turned to leave. Lorist did not stop him, simply watching as Count Koubili rode back to his lancers, donned his armor, mounted his horse, and wheeled around with a lance in hand, facing Lorist's side. Behind him, the Gold-rank and Silver-rank bastards and the old lancers loyal to Count Koubili also mounted up, forming ranks behind their lord, arrayed for a charge.
Lorist raised his hand and gave a calm command: "Everyone below Silver rank, fall back and form up. Everyone Silver rank and above, follow me—prepare to charge."
Jossk and Terman were the first to ride out, taking positions behind Lorist. Terman handed Lorist a long spear. One by one, Silver-rank knights filed in behind Terman and Jossk, equally ready for the charge.
Including Lorist, there were twenty-seven knights in total. They formed a triangular charge formation with Lorist at its tip. Facing them, ready to meet the charge head-on, were fifty-eight lancers including Count Koubili himself.
On the walls and before them, every voice fell silent. All eyes were fixed on this final confrontation. The atmosphere was suffocating—not a single soul dared make a sound.
Almost simultaneously, Lorist and Count Koubili launched their charges, the two forces hurtling toward each other at full speed.
Lorist's spear showed no glow, but behind him Jossk's spear blazed with golden sword light, and the lances of Terman and the other twenty-five Silver-rank knights shone with cold silver radiance...
Count Koubili was overjoyed. Aiming his lance, which flickered with a foot-long blade of golden sword light, at Lorist, he thought: So this brat is just a silver-tipped, wax-shafted spear—all show and no substance. He isn't even Silver-rank! Once I take him down, there's still hope of turning this around...
In the time it took to blink a few times, the two sides crashed together in a storm of men and horses tumbling...
Count Koubili drove his lance, blazing with golden sword light, straight at Lorist's left shoulder, planning to unhorse the brat first and then take his time dealing with him once he was captured...
Lorist raised his spear to meet the blow. The lance was knocked high into the air. Then Lorist's spear darted forward like lightning, thrusting and retreating several times before Count Koubili's body. The count tumbled from his horse with a look of disbelief on his face. Lorist's spear swept again—before the count even hit the ground, he was launched back into the air, flying over the tangled mass of combatants for more than ten meters before crashing to earth. Two holes had been punched clean through both his shoulders, leaving him completely unable to rise—he could only lie there screaming...
Lorist plunged into the midst of the enemy, thrusting and sweeping, and in the blink of an eye more than a dozen lancers fell dead beneath his spear...
After three passes through the enemy ranks, not a single lancer remained mounted on the battlefield. But of the twenty-six who had charged with Lorist, only about ten were still in the saddle.
Terman waved his hand, and the
Thanks to the excellent protection of full plate armor, the casualties were manageable. After a while, Terman reported: eight severely wounded, fourteen lightly wounded, including himself—a gash on his left arm, now bandaged. As for Count Koubili's side, every old lancer who had charged with him was dead. His six Silver-rank bastards had all fallen, and the one Gold-rank bastard who had fought Jossk to the end had been defeated and killed. The only survivor was Count Koubili himself.
Looking at Count Koubili crumpled on the ground, moaning in agony, Lorist said: "Build a cross. I want to nail him to it."