The warhorses beneath the Stag Legion whinnied loudly, and the knights on their backs hunched over, drawing their bowstrings taut.
"Loose!"
At Brandt's command, sharp arrows shot out one after another, nimbly crossing several hundred meters without a single shaft grazing the towering trees of the forest.
The Stag Attendants' archery had long since become exceptional. Every one of them was a marksman. But the enemies they faced now... were the elves, who held the most absolute authority over archery in the extraordinary world.
Within [The Woodlands], three thousand elven warriors and the Stag Legion charged and fought in a frenzy. Their battlefield had moved from the outer edge at the start to ten miles into the forest by now, yet the surroundings had hardly changed. This was another terrifying aspect of [The Woodlands].
Brandt did not care about that. No matter how complex the forest was, it could not block the eagle eyes of the Blood Hawks. Their eyes were not on their own bodies, but ten thousand meters up in the sky. Arrows crisscrossed, and dozens of Stag Attendants fell from their horses, soaked in blood. The spirited Northern Warhorses slowed down and hung at the rear, waiting for the army to sweep past before returning to their masters' sides—provided they had not been unlucky enough to have their vitals pierced by elven arrows and die on the spot.
And as long as they did not die immediately, it was not easy for a Stag Attendant to die. For one thing, they cultivated the Stag Knight Breathing Technique, which made their blood and vitality far richer than other knights', and they still carried the final blessing once bestowed by the stag. With their blood energy surging, simple wounds could not prove fatal. For another, Ryan had never lowered