A grand melee ensued.
In the days that followed, a chaotic struggle erupted between the two factions, each vying for complete control over the future of the coal mine—though by modern standards, their leaders were scarcely more influential than village chiefs.
This undignified, entangled conflict could only be described as a "free-for-all." There was no coordination to speak of, let alone any sophisticated tactics. The moment the two groups clashed, they quickly became a tangled mass of combatants. In the ensuing chaos, the only rule was to swing clubs and staves at the heads and bodies of their opponents.
The Miridian faction, clad in uniform camouflage outfits, were easily distinguishable in the fray, making it nearly impossible to strike the wrong person amid the confusion. Caught in this widespread disorder, Miguel found himself unavoidably drawn into the fight. His conspicuous white shirt collar, peeking out from beneath his camouflage jacket, attracted the attention of an enemy aura master.
This half-werewolf, his combat aura flaring, knocked down one of Miguel's allies before turning to charge at Miguel. Closing the distance in just a step or two, the creature brought his weapon down toward Miguel's head. In that critical instant, Miguel could only manage to jerk his head aside while hastily summoning his own aura for protection.
The next moment, a steel pipe stained with blotches of blood landed a heavy blow on his left shoulder. Despite his protective aura, the immense force behind the impact sent searing pain through his shoulder, twisting his mouth into a grimace. An acute pain followed, accompanied by a numb stiffness that rendered his left arm nearly immobile.
But Miguel was not one to endure a strike without retaliation. Even as he was hit, he swung the galvanized pipe in his own hand, catching the werewolf squarely on the temple—a vital point. The effect was immediate: the foe staggered as if intoxicated, his steps growing unsteady. Showing no mercy, Miguel pressed his advantage, delivering several more brutal blows to the opponent's head until the man collapsed, clutching his skull. By then, the pipe in Miguel's grasp was already bent out of shape.
Having vanquished this formidable adversary, Miguel swiftly scanned his surroundings. Assured that no immediate threats from Solu Town remained near him, the young mayor took a moment to assess the broader skirmish. A wave of exhilaration washed over him as he observed his forces gradually gaining the upper hand.
This emerging advantage could not be attributed solely to their protective gear. One factor, which even Miguel had initially overlooked, was the improved physical condition of his followers. Since his leadership began in Meridian, the steady supply of rice and flour had ensured that his people no longer went hungry. Their once-underfed frames had filled out remarkably, like balloons being inflated. Nutritious meals like babaofan, despite its humble origins, provided high nutritional value, granting his men superior stamina and strength in this brutal hand-to-hand combat.
In contrast, although Solu Town was relatively wealthier, its resources only allowed key followers to barely avoid hunger. The idea of consuming nutritious seafood soup regularly was beyond imagination for them. This disparity was so pronounced that even some of the robust women from Meridian, such as the wife of the kobold Ony, proved capable of overpowering male cannon fodder from Solu in one-on-one confrontations.
Furthermore, Miguel's subordinates performed exceptionally well throughout the engagement. To his relief and pride, he witnessed the wolf-girl Linda—one of his "two little treasures" he often worried about—execute a high kick that reached head-level. Her leg swept down like a whip, and with crushing force capable of cracking walnuts, it instantly knocked out a male opponent. Meanwhile, the petite fox maiden moved with the fluid grace of a butterfly flitting among flowers. She evaded her opponent's attacks with ease until she saw an opening to deliver a crippling low blow, which promptly incapacitated the unfortunate man.
Better nutrition and consequent physical superiority also allowed aura masters from Meridian, such as the minotaur John, to quickly gain clear advantages over their counterparts of similar level from Solu. Nonetheless, the most dominant presence on the battlefield remained Zach, the elite enforcer. Even Chakura, a fighter renowned across hundreds of kilometers for his ferocious strength and rumored to possess formidable fourth-level aura, was thoroughly dominated by the ogre war-chief. Despite his short legs, Zach moved with surprising agility, leaving Chakura no opportunity to escape. Unwilling to be sent flying again like a tiny potato by Zach's gate-bar-like club, Chakura could only muster all his aura to meet each blow head-on. After every exchange, his body trembled violently as if afflicted with a severe chill, and he repeatedly spat blood, staining his proudly kept beard crimson.
Barring unforeseen circumstances, Miguel saw the battle trending decisively in their favor. This realization spurred him to roar at the top of his lungs, "Victory is near! Finish them off!"
His rallying cry further bolstered the morale of the Meridian fighters. Just then, however, several sharp bangs of gunfire erupted abruptly. The source was the diminutive Chakura, who, after being struck hard and stumbling back to land seated on the ground, had drawn a pistol from his thigh holster and fired shots into the air.
The sudden gunfire instantly heightened tensions. Both sides disengaged from close combat, and those armed with firearms quickly aimed at their adversaries, poised to open fire. Given the intermingled positions of the combatants, such an escalation would have led to catastrophic casualties—a disaster for both sides.
Fortunately, Chakura shouted out, "Enough! Harry Potter Miguel, consider this a victory for Meridian. This wretched place is yours from now on. Allow my men to tend to our wounded, and we will withdraw shortly."
It was evident that Chakura, recognizing the untenable situation, had finally conceded defeat, abandoning his earlier ambitions. At these words, elation spread across the faces of the Meridian fighters, while the Solu contingent displayed complex expressions mingling resentment with relief.
Although Chakura was ready to leave, Miguel was not entirely willing to let the matter rest so simply. If I allow you to come and go as you please, I'd be failing not only myself but also my young friend Li Hao, who hasn't even passed the critical period yet.
Drawing his own firearm, Miguel responded, "You may leave, but not before handing over thirty of your men as compensation for your ambush here."
"Harry Potter, do not push too far!" Chakura cried out, his voice filled with indignation.
Yet despite his protests, faced with Miguel's unyielding stance, Chakura ultimately capitulated once more. Primarily, he rationalized that sacrificing thirty injured cannon fodder, while humiliating, would not critically damage his core strength.
Thus, under the tense standoff with weapons raised, both sides began attending to their casualties. The process starkly highlighted the vast differences between the two towns. The Solu side had almost no proper medical aid to offer; their wounded were merely carried aside and haphazardly wrapped with torn cloth. Their survival was left largely to chance.
In contrast, the Meridian group, led by the barmaid, had teams of women efficiently performing systematic cleaning, staunching bleeding, and bandaging injuries. They went through substantial medical supplies in a short time, and the ground soon became littered with what appeared to be brand-new medical packaging.
As the saying goes, comparison reveals the truth. Watching his own men gaze wistfully at the opposing side's organized efforts, their eyes filled with envy and longing, Chakura felt a profound bitterness. He knew all too well: when loyalty falters, leadership becomes precarious.