FL - Chapter 67: The Assault

The freezing night wind tore through the valley, cutting faces like a blade.

Louis led his force onto a narrow trail toward Clearfeather Ridge. Sheer rock walls rose on both sides, leaving room for only a single-file column.

The horses could go no farther. Everyone dismounted and led their animals by the reins, advancing one by one.

"How is there a path here?" Jon panted. He glanced into the abyss beside his feet, his scalp prickling. "It isn't marked on any map."

"Perhaps it was once used by smugglers," Louis said. "An old hunter told me about it."

He offered no further explanation and continued at the head of the column.

Bond watched the troops in silence from behind.

The Governor had sent him as a secret envoy. Officially, he provided military advice. In truth, he watched for nobles who defied orders or betrayed the Empire.

He had studied this force throughout the march.

Every soldier carried a backup weapon. Their equipment lacked decoration, but it was clean, practical, and designed for battle.

The column remained orderly. Even the supply soldiers at the rear showed no confusion.

Whenever Louis issued an order, the last man in line responded immediately without being prodded.

*This army was trained with care,* Bond thought. *It isn't a temporary assembly, much less one of those southern forces built only for parades.*

Louis himself was even more surprising.

He was barely more than a boy, yet his soldiers respected him without reservation.

Louis remained at the front without servants crowding around him. He wasted no words, pausing only to inspect the terrain with a hunter's concentration.

"Left. There's a fork ahead."

He personally led the vanguard onto a narrower slope.

Bond looked at him again.

The young noble showed none of a newcomer's uncertainty. He moved with complete control, like a man inspecting his own garden.

The hidden path was absent from every military map. The dense undergrowth suggested almost no one had traveled it.

Yet Louis advanced without hesitation, seemingly familiar with every turn and stone.

*If his command has any weakness...*

Bond frowned at the supply unit trailing behind. Their pace was distinctly slower, almost deliberate.

As soon as the column reached the end of the trail and reformed, two mounted scouts galloped toward them.

"Report!"

They dismounted before Louis and dropped to one knee. "We found a Snowsworn outpost three miles ahead, with approximately two hundred defenders."

Louis nodded. "Two hundred... We can take it. I want the defensive layout, patrol routes, and surrounding terrain."

"Yes, my lord!"

The scouts remounted and disappeared down the trail.

Bond's brow tightened.

*He truly found a Snowsworn stronghold.*

The Snowsworn had controlled this outpost for years, making it a persistent problem for the Northlands Governor.

Its position was vital.

Mountain ranges and difficult terrain separated Snowpeak County from Ice Sea County. Clearfeather Ridge was one of the few usable shortcuts.

Whoever controlled it held the throat of the Snowsworn's northern route for retreat and reinforcement.

The military had tried several times to eliminate the outpost.

Its hidden position and defensible terrain had defeated every attempt.

If Louis captured it, he would earn First-Class Merit at minimum.

But he had requested no reinforcements and paused for no lengthy assessment.

One declaration—"We can take it"—and he intended to swallow the position whole.

His nerve was astonishing.

Then Bond noticed a deeper problem.

How could such an important stronghold have only two hundred defenders?

The number made no sense. Where had the rest of the garrison gone?

Dread settled over him.

...

That night, candles still burned in Snowhawk City's banquet hall. Cups and dishes lay scattered across the tables.

A dust-covered dispatch rider burst through the doors and stumbled toward the head table.

"Report! Scouts have spotted a large force of Snowsworn cavalry advancing on Snowhawk City. More than a thousand!"

Count Firth's wineglass shook, spilling wine across his lap.

"O-one thousand?"

"Approximately one thousand Snowsworn cavalry are advancing on Snowhawk City," the rider repeated.

"Impossible!"

Firth lurched upright. "Aren't we supposed to exterminate them? How are they attacking us instead?"

A second messenger rushed through the doors before he finished.

"My lord, Viscount Webster is on the wall. He asks you to come at once!"

Night pressed low over Snowhawk City, where scattered torchlight flickered along the walls.

Viscount Webster stood atop the ramparts in a thick cloak, staring across the distant snowfields.

A dark tide approached through the rolling white expanse.

These weren't ordinary cavalry. They were Snowsworn wolf riders.

Snow wolves raced across the ground like shadows, their footfalls silent beneath the vast clouds of snow they stirred.

The riders wore hides and scale armor that gleamed silver in the darkness. Their powerful mounts had ghostly blue eyes and exposed fangs, ready to tear into prey.

Their savage momentum made breathing difficult.

"Snowsworn wolf riders," Webster said.

A young knight beside him tightened his grip on his weapon. "Only a few hundred..."

Webster shook his head. "This is the vanguard. Many more will follow."

His hand closed around his sword hilt.

"They mean to take the city."

Footsteps sounded as more nobles crowded onto the ramparts.

Count Firth wheezed his way up the stairs. When he saw the black shapes on the snowfields, all color left his face.

"Wh-what is happening?"

The nobles descended into chaos.

"How did they end up attacking us?"

"Why did we receive no warning?"

"Can this city hold?"

Several went pale and babbled over one another.

Firth clutched the parapet, his voice trembling. "What... What are we supposed to do?"

Viscount Webster remained steady in the wind and snow.

"Concentrate the archers and spearmen on the northern wall," he ordered. "Bring several hundred more knights. We hold the first assault."