"Kill!"
At the phantom's command, countless Beastfolk cavalry charged toward the town.
"Enemy attack!"
The warning shouted by the night patrol startled the sleeping residents awake.
On the border, every civilian being a soldier was standard practice.
Everyone scrambled out of bed as quickly as possible, grabbed their weapons, and rushed out the door.
As the lord of the territory, Baron Sherman appeared atop the castle walls immediately, skillfully directing the troops into defensive positions.
It was clear this was not the first time he had encountered such a scene.
The kingdom and the Beastfolk were hereditary enemies. Conflict along the border was inevitable.
Given the disparity in strength between the two sides, the Beastfolk rulers did not wish to provoke a war. However, the tribes below were a mixed lot, and the Beastfolk upper ranks could not control every Beastfolk's thoughts.
Every so often, there would always be some idiots whose brains had flooded, coming over to cause trouble.
The human side did the same sort of thing.
Every year, nobles blinded by hatred led their private armies out for revenge. If they succeeded, everyone was happy. If they died in an accident, they died for nothing.
"Something's wrong. Captain of the Guard, send out a signal immediately and request aid from the nearby garrisons!"
Baron Sherman ordered in terror.
The attacks they had encountered in the past had all been scattered Beastfolk, no more than bandit-level rabble.
The enemies before them were clearly different. They were actually wearing armor.
In the poorly productive Orc Empire, elite troops might not necessarily be equipped with armor, but any unit wearing armor was certainly elite.
Stragglers and elite troops were absolutely not the same thing. Reason told him that if he did not call for help immediately, this would be where