Tonight, the full moon hung high overhead, casting down a cold, austere light. The Erdtree already carried an air of mystery, but under the moon it gleamed with an even more resplendent brilliance.
Bathed in that radiance, dozens of small boats could be clearly seen cutting slowly across the lake, each one packed with soldiers clad in armor.
To ordinary people, Liurnia of the Lakes might look like nothing more than a modest pond. Yet for the battle about to unfold, it carried decisive strategic weight. The people of the Lands Between had always kept their eyes fixed on the soil beneath their feet. Few cared about the world beyond the seas, and the notion of a proper navy scarcely existed at all.
These boats had set out from one of the lake's islands. They were meant to be a surprise force, to plunge into the heart of the fighting at its most critical moment, descending like warriors sent by the gods.
This was no mere ambush. The hundreds of Cuckoo soldiers made no effort to hide their intentions. They were advancing openly, brazenly, to assault royal territory.
"If they manage to break into the fortress from the rear," Nolan said, "then this battle is all but lost."
Nolan had never personally commanded troops on a battlefield, but he understood well how vital morale was to an army. Not every war was fought down to the last surviving soldier. More often than not, once losses mounted past a certain point, rout would begin to spread.
At its core, it was fear. When soldiers witnessed their comrades falling one after another, the sense that the enemy was unbeatable took root in their hearts. Once the first man turned and ran, it set off a chain reaction. A second followed, then a third.
In an instant, morale collapsed, leaving the soldiers with only a single thought: escape the battlefield. When a fight was already at its fiercest and enemies suddenly appeared from behind, how many could truly keep fighting?
Only a force with unshakable conviction could endure something like that.
In such dire circumstances, the most effective response was to reinforce the front lines with overwhelming strength and reverse the momentum. But if the Carian side had possessed sufficient forces, they would never have been stalled here by nothing more than the Cuckoos.
"Captain, someone's coming," William said.
His expression was grave as he gripped his longbow and loosed an arrow toward the lake. Nolan drew back his gaze at the sound. He had already sensed the disturbance around them.
There was more than one patrol along the shoreline, of course. But even if several patrols were brought together, their total numbers still fell short.
When Nolan looked back toward the restless surface of the lake, the small, nimble boats were already less than three hundred meters from shore.
The mounted archers drew heavy bows, while the rest of the soldiers clutched their crossbows and poured fire toward the shore without pause. Bolts fell like a driving rain, striking the raised shields and bursting into showers of bright sparks.
No orders needed to be spoken. As a hero, Nolan naturally became the backbone of this hastily assembled force.
If Nolan had been a true master of magic, a single Soul Stream would have sent every last Cuckoo plunging into the lake to feed the fish. But reality was reality. He had not reached such transcendent heights.
Given the situation, battlefield sorcery was simply the more practical and efficient choice.
He raised his staff, and magical power spread through the Glintstone embedded within it. In the next instant, a massive Cannon of Haima thundered from the tip of the staff.
Its enormous form carried terrifying force as it slammed straight into the shields ahead. A violent explosion erupted, the shockwave so fierce it seemed to rip the air itself apart.
The boats, which had seemed sturdy moments before, were utterly fragile in the face of that power. They shattered instantly and sank into the dark depths of the lake.
The barrage did not stop. Shot after shot followed. Even though some of the smaller shields were reinforced with magical barriers, they were ultimately unable to withstand an assault as relentless as a storm.
The agonized screams of soldiers being blown apart rang out like a dirge of death, yet the fleet continued to push forward without slowing. Fighting back from the violently rocking boats only became more difficult by the moment. Compared to that, the most urgent priority was clear: get ashore as quickly as possible and secure a safe foothold.
Nolan stood quietly in place, his ears filled with nothing but a chaotic jumble of shouted orders.
"There's a Carian Knight on shore! Mages, put up magic shields! Use whatever sorcery you have—suppress him with firepower, now!"
At the commander's shout, several massive shields immediately flared with brilliant azure light, radiating a seemingly miraculous protective force. Ordinary bolts struck them like they were slamming into solid stone, shattering instantly without leaving so much as a scratch. Only the devastating Cannon of Haima could still punch through that defense and continue to unleash its terrifying power.
As the small boats closed the distance, a trace of gravity flickered through Nolan's eyes. Without the slightest hesitation, he swiftly stowed the staff still glowing with Glintstone light and then roared at the top of his lungs:
"Retreat! Cavalry, prepare!"
The command rolled like thunder, echoing endlessly in the knights' ears. The mounted archers heard it and, without a moment's pause, turned and fled to the rear with the soldiers around them.
Nolan quickly raised his left hand and blew into the elegant golden ring he wore. As the sound rang out, Torrent appeared at his side.
Turning his head slightly, Nolan saw a dense swarm of glittering stones hurtling toward them like falling meteors.
Cuckoo Glintstone!
The stones struck the ground and instantly burst apart, spraying countless shards of magic in every direction. The crisp clatter of those fragments striking the earth sounded like the footsteps of death echoing right beside them.
This was a magical grenade.
Nolan mounted Torrent and surged forward, racing across the ground like a gale. He could clearly feel the trees behind him erupting with sharp cracks as terrifying force slammed into them, thick trunks snapping and collapsing under the relentless assault of magic shards. When he looked ahead again, the once lush riverbank had been wiped clean in the blink of an eye.
Dulled Glintstone fragments lay scattered everywhere. The scene looked like the aftermath of a brutal war, a desolate ruin where life itself had been buried.
The mounted archers barely had time to catch their breath before coming to a stop not far ahead. The soldiers quickly found suitable cover and, taking advantage of the higher ground, pulled their triggers without pause. The sharp whistle of arrows filled the air, falling in a dense rain.
Each powerful bolt carried tremendous force, striking the shields of the Cuckoo soldiers who had made landfall with flawless accuracy. Not everyone was afforded the protection of metal shields or magic barriers. Ordinary foot soldiers could only struggle forward behind battered wooden shields, yet the mounted archers' arrows punched straight through them.
Under such ferocious fire, the Cuckoo soldiers began to panic. They tried desperately to find cover, but with their movements constrained on all sides, they could only endure the merciless assault raining down from above.