Rebel Assault

As time ticked by, the Grey-robed Elder's expression grew increasingly grim. Their stomachs rumbled with hunger as they lay in ambush for most of the day, nerves stretched taut, only to discover that the enemy had reached their doorstep and simply refused to come over.

Glancing at the soldiers whose faces had turned red from holding themselves back, the Grey-robed Elder felt like weeping without tears. He had only ordered the soldiers to take the Courage Potion after receiving the signal, yet no matter how long they waited, the enemy would not come.

There was no taking back spilled water. The potion had already begun to take effect; if the enemy still did not come, its effects would soon wear off.

How could a potion that forcibly heightened soldiers' desire to fight possibly have no side effects?

No matter how robust a person was, after being stimulated so frantically, they would have to languish for a while.

If the potion wore off and the soldiers entered a weakened state just as the enemy attacked, they would be utterly finished.

Whether to launch a direct assault was a question worth considering. Though he habitually mocked the nobles' incompetence, as an old loser, how could he not harbor apprehension deep down?

Since its birth, throughout the Skull Society's two hundred years of glorious history, its greatest strength had always been human-wave tactics. Defeating the many with the few and the strong with the weak existed only in legends.

Leading two thousand "elites" in a forced assault on the camp of over four thousand Noble Allied Forces was a high-risk undertaking no matter how one looked at it.

"High Priest, the enemy has yet to come. Could they have exposed us?"

The middle-aged man's words made the Grey-robed Elder's face darken. Then he shook his head. "No! I can sense that they are perfectly alive. If we had been exposed, they could not possibly be unharmed.

"The enemy commander's life must be too extravagant and decadent. After eating and drinking his fill, he simply does not want to travel any farther."

At that thought, the Grey-robed Elder felt thoroughly depressed. He had never imagined that the nobles' extravagant lifestyle could become the reason their plan failed.

"High Priest, more than half the potion's duration has already passed. Since the ambush has failed, let us launch a direct assault!

"We prepared Hellfire. As long as we can rush in and burn the enemy's provisions, we will win this war."

The middle-aged man urged.

They had finally found the enemy's grain convoy. Giving up so easily would be far too wasteful; they might as well take a gamble.

The Grey-robed Elder was a ruthless man. He had been able to decisively abandon the army of tens of thousands at Ethel Fortress, so what were a mere "two thousand" elites?

"A direct assault is not the act of a wise man. Make it look like we are retreating. Deliberately expose flaws and lure them into attacking."

Under everyone's admiring gazes, the Rebel Army withdrew from the woods and brazenly appeared within the grain convoy's sight.

In the camp, Hudson rushed up to the watchtower the moment he received news of the Rebel Army's appearance.

Looking at the Rebel Army, riddled with openings everywhere, Hudson was certain that if he had an elite force under his command, he would seize this opportunity and claim the military merit delivered right to his door.

But now, seeing the tense soldiers, he decisively abandoned that tempting thought.

Opportunities belonged to those with the strength to seize them. If he sent out this motley crew under his command, who knew what might happen?

"Bind the two traitors, Geddy and George, at the camp gate. The entire army is to prepare for battle. Archers and javelin throwers, form five ranks each. Attack the moment I give the order."

In the end, he had softened up a little and had not directly chopped off the two unlucky men's heads. But for the camp's safety, he still had no choice but to keep them under his watchful eye.

Watching the enemy move slowly, Hudson did not know whether to laugh or cry. They were actually trying to lure him out? They thought far too highly of him.

Even defending the camp left him feeling uneasy. As for taking the initiative to attack, he would not dare entertain the thought without downing seven or eight bottles first.

After giving it some thought, Hudson decided to add a little more spice to the situation. He immediately ordered, "Seal the camp gates! Sound the charge!"

The two orders did not conflict. If regular troops were put through this, there would be concerns about hurting their own morale. But the Fifth Army in the camp had no need for such worries.

It was not that Hudson was undermining his own side. Among the soldiers under his command, those who could distinguish the meanings of bugle calls could be counted on one hand.

Orders had to be passed by shouting. Every other method was useless. If not for appearances, they would not even have assigned buglers.

An awkward scene unfolded. When the charge sounded, not only were the soldiers on his own side bewildered, but the enemy soldiers opposite them were equally confused. They were all serfs who had only recently put down their hoes; neither side knew any more than the other.

It would have been one thing if the soldiers were confused, but even the enemy officers wore blank expressions and failed to react at all.

At the sight of this, Hudson was dumbfounded. This was just too much. Recognizing bugle calls was basic military common sense.

Unfortunately, the Rebel Army had no common sense. Hudson had intended to use the charge to scare the enemy, only to stage a real-life performance for cows.

It was certain that if the army charged out now, they could catch the enemy completely off guard and achieve considerable results.

After hesitating for a moment, Hudson still decided to play it safe. As a pacifist, he figured fighting and killing could be skipped.

Watching the Rebel Army leave without anyone coming out to pursue them, the Grey-robed Elder, who was observing from the woods, wore an alarmingly gloomy expression. His prediction had failed once again.

Since deciding to ambush the grain convoy, this was already his third consecutive miscalculation, completely at odds with his status as the Skull Society's strategist.

There was no helping it. He had run into an opponent who was a master at lying low. No matter how many schemes he employed, the other side remained as immovable as a mountain.

"Pass down the order. The entire army will launch a direct assault on the enemy camp. Rick, once the battle begins, take men and quietly infiltrate from the flank. Use Hellfire to burn as much of the enemy's grain as possible."

The Grey-robed Elder spoke coldly.

They could not delay any longer. Once the potion expired and the backlash erupted, they would be finished. He did not believe the enemy would pass up the chance to kick them while they were down.

Rather than lose eight hundred elites for nothing, they might as well take a gamble. Gritting his teeth, the Grey-robed Elder picked up his mage staff and walked out of the woods with several trusted guards.

His choice to act personally was also made out of necessity. What had allowed him to become the Skull Society's High Priest was his unmatched cunning.

The annihilation at Ethel Fortress last time had already stirred criticism within the society, though he had suppressed it with his past prestige.

There could not be a second time. If he failed again, those short-sighted brutes in the society would surely use the opportunity to make trouble for him.

A cult organization had never been an easy place to survive. The brutality of its internal struggles far exceeded ordinary people's imagination. In the Skull Society, losers had no right to live.

"Charge!"

Under the effects of the Courage Potion, the Rebel Army soldiers displayed an exceptionally moving spirit of fearless self-sacrifice, shouting slogans as they launched a charge at the camp.