Chapter 282: Beheading - Halair
The setting sun was as red as blood, the evening clouds like fire.
A cool breeze blew gently, creating ripples on the river's surface.
Red blood pooled into a crimson stream, gurgling downwards.
The Silvermoon River was dyed red on one side, shimmering with a vivid scarlet under the lingering light of the setting sun.
Piles of corpses were swept aside by a powerful hand.
Occasionally, a few bodies would fall into the river, causing splashes.
The piled-up bodies were doused in alchemical fuel by Beelzebub and set ablaze.
Whoosh!
Fierce flames roared up, roaring wildly in the air.
The thick stench drifted with the wind, crossing the river and reaching the opposite bank.
"The second thousand-man squad is completely annihilated…"
There was no hint of sorrow in his eyes, only endless ruthlessness and cruelty. His voice was deep and indifferent.
The speaker was a tall, slender figure seated atop a high horse.
At first glance, his body wasn't particularly strong; his limbs were long, with tight, well-defined muscles exuding explosive power.
What left an even deeper impression was his slightly sunken cheeks, cold and sharp like an eagle.
His forehead, slightly furrowed with wrinkles, didn't make him look old but instead exuded an unspeakable dominance.
His light gold fur robe was stained with oil, grime, and indelible bloodstains.
Beneath the robe was a dark brown leather armor, its meticulously arranged scales gleaming faintly, adding to his mysterious majesty.
Two long curved blades hung at his waist, their edges chipped and nicked, emitting a cold glint under the sunset.
His calloused hands slowly caressed the hilt, radiating a sense of battle-worn experience.
If Matthew saw him, he would instantly recognize his identity, armor, and weapons.
Death's Witherer - Beheading - Halair!
Upon hearing his words, the surrounding minor tribe chiefs lowered their heads, not daring to meet his gaze.
When Halair's gaze swept over them, everyone felt a chill at their necks, as if their heads might roll off at any moment.
Halair glanced at the distant sunset, sighing inwardly.
He had escaped the pursuit of the eastern general but couldn't evade the poison and arrows of treacherous men.
Weakness and pain gnawed greedily at his life force, dragging him inch by inch into the abyss of death.
Halair couldn't resist, nor could he refuse. He glanced at the bridge connecting the two banks and let out a low grunt:
"The three tribes that arrived last will go first tomorrow. The rest, prepare to rest."
"Tomorrow morning, we must seize the bridgehead fort!"
"Once we break into the Silvermoon River plains, we'll survive!"
Most around him sighed in relief, except for a few tribal leaders hiding in the corner, their faces pale.
They didn't dare defy Halair's orders, nodding repeatedly, their eyes filled with helplessness and fear.
Watching their fearful retreat, Halair sighed inwardly:
"Once the overlord of the north, now struggling to survive."
"Where is our future? Is it truly in this distant west as the prophecy foretold?"
"But now, we've reached the west!"
Rustle!
A light drizzle began to fall.
Washing over the reddish-brown bloodstains.
The faint red slowly flowed away.
Soldiers cleaning the fort glanced at the red sky, then focused back on their tasks.
Beelzebub, standing in the drizzle, patrolled the entire fort, ensuring no corpses were left behind.
Though the current Scarlet Moon was less terrifying, maintaining such habits was essential.
Matthew gazed into the distance, seeing the dense array of tents stretching over half the shore.
The salty sea breeze brushed against Yaya's cheeks as she joyfully frolicked in the rain, tracing arcs of flight.
In the past, Matthew would have taken Yaya to raid the camp below.
But now, he had no such thoughts.
Faced with the massive barbarian encampment, Matthew had a peculiar feeling:
"It's dangerous!"
Going down was dangerous, staying put was safer.
This stark feeling made Matthew choose not to stir the hornet's nest.
Such a large barbarian camp surely housed extraordinary beings.
If they decided to strike immediately, Matthew would abandon the bridgehead fort.
Then, he would blow up the bridge.
Followed by mobilizing the entire army to trap and slaughter them here!
Only by demonstrating power could he fully subjugate these barbarians!
If they didn't attack, then the battle would proceed as planned.
Matthew had only two objectives.
The first was to acquire more barbarian population.
The second was to better train his soldiers.
The next day.
At dawn.
The light rain that had fallen all night gradually ceased.
A blaring horn announced the arrival of the enemy.
"Ah…!"
Amid the roaring shouts, tattered barbarian soldiers charged across the wooden bridge.
With his height advantage, Beelzebub immediately noticed there were about 2,000 of them.
A small tribe!
However, what puzzled Beelzebub was that the attackers were not just soldiers; behind them were terrified old, weak, women, and children.
Such a desperate battle style proved this was a fight to the death.
But why? The situation didn't call for it.
"Our side is just a 500-man bridgehead fort."
"Charging all in from the start doesn't make sense."
Beelzebub recalled Matthew's teachings, quickly clearing his mind of distractions and focusing on the enemy.
"Crossbows, fire!"
The continuous sound of bowstrings echoed, and a barrage of bolts rained down.
The barbarian soldiers had no place to hide, and many fell instantly, collapsing in heaps on the bridge.
Especially the heavy crossbows, whose powerful bolts could easily pierce through multiple enemies.
Those at the front were the lucky ones who made it to the fort.
But before they could attack, a row of gleaming spears thrust forward.
The barbarians, with no room to dodge, were instantly pierced and fell to the ground, unable even to raise their weapons.
Eyes widening slightly, Beelzebub shouted loudly:
"Form ranks, advance!"
The volley of arrows above thinned out.
More soldiers formed battle lines, pushing back the attacking barbarians.
Shield-bearers stepped forward, holding their shields with both hands to block attacks.
Even the powerful barbarian soldiers couldn't break through the heavy steel shields!
Spearmen lunged forward, their spears darting like serpents.
Thud!
The unarmored barbarian soldiers were no match for the sharp spearheads and fell in droves.
Wielding twin axes, Beelzebub silently watched the charging barbarians, recalling Matthew's words:
"Let them crash headlong and bleed; then capture the wounded soldiers—they're very important!"