Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 786 - 67 The Twins

Chapter 786: Chapter 67 The Twins Chapter 786: Chapter 67 The Twins The night seemed endless, as if there was no end in sight.

Foam spewed from the mouth of Winters’ black warhorse, its ears pinned tightly back, its long neck thrusting forward, its heart seemingly ready to tear through the ribs and leap out.

Winters, on the horse’s back, struggled to keep his body steady, gasping for breath, his boots planted deep into the stirrups.

With each encampment breached, the number of followers behind him dwindled; each hill crossed resulted in a rider’s body swaying, then falling rigidly from the saddle.

The thunder of hooves by his ears grew sparser, while the rumbling thunder ahead became increasingly deafening.

Perhaps Winters still held a hint of surprise when he burst into the first two campsites.

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But the farther he moved forward, the better prepared the Terdun people were. They knew what had happened from the mouths of those who had fled. Even without informers, the clash of blades would have reached their ears long ago.

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There was no more surprise or unguarded attack, only a series of brutal, head-on clashes.

As he surged over the hill on his horse, a hundred Terdun Cavalry appeared abruptly before Winters’ eyes.

Heinrich closely followed Winters up the crest of the hill. When the enemy riders spotted Winters’ banner, they charged down from the opposing slope, heading straight for him.

The Terdun campsites, not fortified with walls or trenches, made a defense tantamount to sitting ducks. Some Kota immediately fled, but the leader of this cavalry chose to confront Winters directly.

Winters reined in his horse and removed his helmet.

The cotton and silk lining inside the helmet felt as if it had just been fished out of water. The warhorse, too, was drenched; sweat poured unstoppably from the flanks, dripping steadily to the ground.

He surveyed to count his men, only twenty-eight remained, nearly all of them wounded. Xial wasn’t among them, Tamas wasn’t there either; many were missing.

Perhaps some others were lagging behind, but it was unlikely they would catch up.

Representatives from Niutigu Valley, both short and stout, and tall and thin, were there, the only civilians among the twenty-eight riders.

“You two stay,” Winters told the short stout and tall thin representatives.

Having said this, he shook the sweat from the padding, fastened his helmet, and secured the clasps.

The short stout representative glanced over Winters’ shoulder and saw the Terdun Cavalry spreading out, surging up the hillside like a tidal wave.

His parched lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but Winters had already drawn his sabre and spurred his horse down the hill.

The short stout civilian representative stared at Winters’ receding figure, then suddenly raised his sabre high, struck the horse’s hindquarters hard with the back of the blade, gritted his teeth, and galloped down the hill.

The tall thin representative followed blindly all the way, not even knowing where he had dropped his sabre. It was not until he was alone on the hill that he came to his senses, awakened as if from a dream.

A trace of relief surged through him, but was quickly followed by an overwhelming sense of shame.

He stood dumbstruck for a moment, then suddenly started shouting at the top of his lungs, spurring his horse down the hill. But before he had run a hundred paces, he abruptly reined in his mount, unable to move any further. The middle-aged man, who already had a son, broke down in tears.

The distance between the two sides closed swiftly; Winters targeted the enemy leading the charge.

The adversary rode a chestnut warhorse with a high head, brandishing a curved sword with a gold-inlaid scabbard swinging at his side.

Not all Terdun people had swords; those with long spears charged at the forefront were how Winters identified the leaders of the Terdun.

The Terdun leader also recognized Winters as a formidable opponent; he pushed his warhorse to speed up, bearing down on Winters.

The Terdun man lifted off his saddle, his upper body leaning forward, the curved sword held high.

Winters held his sabre at shoulder height, equally poised to strike.

The moment the cavalrymen crossed paths was fleeting. Yet in that instant, the full force of man and horse combined—no longer just their own, but also that of the enemy.

Simply misjudging the angle of the slash could send the sabre flying from one’s grip, and dislocate a wrist.

Winters’ martial skill in mounted combat came not only from his academy training but more so from real combat experience and practice after leaving the Ivory Tower. He had become highly adept at slashing from horseback.

In the moment they passed, Winters and the Terdun man swung their weapons simultaneously.

Winters struck first although he moved after, his sabre cutting with precision at the tip of his opponent’s blade. In a single blow, the Terdun man’s palm and arm went numb.

A chill spread across the Terdun man’s chest; he gripped his curved sword, trying to swing it back in defense while desperately pulling on the reins, hoping to widen the gap.

But it was too late; they had barely missed by half a horse’s length when Winters’ sabre swung in an arc back over his head.

Standing in his stirrups, he lunged his body forward, slashing viciously at the back of his foe while pulling the hilt back hard.

The back of the Terdun man was cleaved open by a hefty wound, and like a sack of lifeless flour, he slid heavily from his saddle.

Winters didn’t look back at the man; after the charge, both sides clashed on the small hillside.

His armor made him particularly conspicuous, and a second, then a third Terdun charged at him, senselessly desperate.

Winters struck the second enemy with a Rending Spell; blood surged instantly from his nostrils, ear canals, and the bottom of his eyes, as he collapsed limply.

The third enemy hadn’t even realized what had occurred and continued to urge his horse forward, thrusting his spear towards Winters.

Putting all his strength into the reins, Winters narrowly avoided the thrust aimed straight at his chest.

Sparks flew as the spearhead grazed his left rib, leaving only a slight dent on his breastplate.