FL - Chapter 69: An End and a Beginning

Night still covered Clearfeather Ridge. Dying fires danced across the mountainside and lit the bloodstained snow.

The battle was over.

Crimson Tide's divide-and-conquer tactics had succeeded completely.

The Snowsworn force had been torn into isolated groups, deprived of coordination, and annihilated one by one.

This had been slaughter, not battle.

Jon's knights lacked combat experience, so the Crimson Tide Knights stationed them around the perimeter to eliminate anyone who fled.

They patrolled the battlefield's edge in staggered groups, intercepting and killing every escaping enemy.

But the Snowsworn were no common rabble.

They roared, ignited their Battle Aura, and forced themselves into Boiling Blood Frenzy, inflicting a significant number of casualties.

Several broke through and fled north with news of the slaughter.

It changed nothing.

Clearfeather Ridge had fallen.

Louis's force suffered only eighteen dead knights, while the Snowsworn were nearly annihilated.

The battle had been precise and decisive, a textbook night raid.

Without the hidden path and the cover of darkness, however, even three times as many troops would have been dragged into a grinding struggle.

Bond stood among the ruined tents and stared over the pacified stronghold in disbelief.

He looked at the bloodstained battlefield, then at the Crimson Tide Knights reforming their ranks.

"It's... already over?"

Duke Edmund had spent years trying to eliminate Clearfeather Ridge, which had remained a constant thorn in his side.

Louis had captured it in one night.

No long war of attrition. No clumsy siege. Not even a true head-on battle.

Bond found the young noble on the mountain path.

Louis calmly issued post-battle orders to several knights, like this outcome had always been inevitable.

"A true young hero," Bond murmured.

Jon stood beside Louis, struggling to contain his grin.

"This counts as military merit, right?" Excitement filled his voice. "When the battle report reaches the Governor, my name will be included, won't it?"

He had barely fought. His only contribution had been leading his knights to block several groups of fleeing soldiers.

Victory had fallen into his lap.

Jon rubbed his hands together eagerly.

*Hold tight to Boss, and the rewards will follow.*

Once the battlefield was secured, the soldiers counted the spoils.

They searched several camps and caves packed with grain, hides, dried meat, and arrows.

There was plunder as well: gold and silver objects, Gold Coins, bolts of wool, and old currency from the Snow Kingdom.

They even found several thick tactical manuals preserved in waterproof oilcloth.

The Snowsworn truly weren't ordinary bandits. They understood the value of study.

The strangest prize was a mirror hauled from behind the command tent.

Its shattered surface sat within an obsidian frame. Webs of cracks crossed the glass, yet it reflected an eerie blue light.

"The Mirror of Veiled Mist," Bond said, recognizing it. "No wonder our previous campaigns always found nothing. They had this."

Louis touched the edge of the frame. "What does it do?"

"At a distance, it creates an illusion. The deception becomes clear once you come within a few dozen yards.

"It lasts only a little over ten minutes and can't conceal a large area."

Louis studied the cracked surface.

*Something like a mirage?*

"An unexpected prize."

Bond listened as danger entered Louis's gaze.

"They'll discover Clearfeather Ridge has fallen soon," Louis continued. "Then they'll send scouts or try to retake it."

He looked over the valley where the battle fires had just faded.

"If we use the mirror to disguise this place as a ruin and hide an ambush here..."

A slight smile touched his lips.

"We'll wait for them to enter the trap."

The soldiers wrapped the Mirror of Veiled Mist and sealed it inside an iron chest.

...

The snowy night deepened while the campfire burned low.

Bond sat inside his tent, drew his cloak around him, and spread parchment across the desk.

He began a formal battle report to Duke Edmund concerning the capture of Clearfeather Ridge, the destruction of the Snowsworn force, and the performance of one young noble.

Bond described how Louis had guided his troops along a flanking route, divided the enemy with precision, and coordinated the Crimson Tide Knights.

He also recorded the Mirror of Veiled Mist, the magical artifact that had concealed the stronghold.

Bond warned that the Snowsworn would respond to the loss of Clearfeather Ridge and might already be gathering a counterattack.

The position was vital to destroying them, and he urged the Duke to send reinforcements to secure the victory.

At the end, Bond broke protocol and added a personal assessment.

*"This battle demonstrates that Baron Calvin's command ability and strategic insight far exceed his age and experience. With proper cultivation, he may become a pillar of the Northlands."*

Bond sighed, stepped outside, and fastened the letter to a Swiftwind Bird.

This messenger beast was widely used by Imperial nobles and the military. Small but extraordinarily fast, it could evade conventional pursuit and magical interference in flight.

The bird gave a quiet cry, folded its wings, and launched into the sky. It vanished into the darkness within a breath.

...

Viscount Webster had found little peace of late.

On the first day of the siege, the Snowsworn used fog and darkness to launch a probing attack.

They didn't seem eager to take the city. Their purpose appeared to be fraying the defenders' nerves.

Webster spent the entire night on the wall, every nerve tense.

But his own side troubled him more than the enemy.

The noble troops had no sense of coordination. They ignored orders, and reinforcements arrived late.

Webster had lost his temper several times without effect.

The old northern nobles still followed his commands, for the most part.

The southern colonization lords agreed readily in conversation, then hesitated or made token efforts when ordered to move their troops.

Webster knew he had never been suited to command.

When the old Count Firth ruled, Webster's task had been simple: charge the enemy and break their line.

In those days, swinging his blade was enough to earn merit. He hadn't needed to consider anything else.

Now the old Count's heir was too weak to carry the burden.

Webster had been forced into a role that didn't suit him, and he couldn't step away.

He stood on the wall and stared into the gray distance, his heart just as bleak.