Victory in Battle

The battle—or rather, the one-sided purge—did not last long.

When the last Kobold attempting to scramble up the steep slope and flee was struck in the back of the heart by Brendan's precisely thrown axe, screaming as it tumbled down, Riftstone Canyon finally fell silent. Only the thick stench of blood and the suppressed groans of the wounded lingered in the air.

The surviving soldiers silently began clearing the battlefield, finishing off the Kobolds that still clung to life and collecting their crude weapons. Though they were worthless, they could at least be smelted down for iron. At the same time, they carefully searched for the bodies of their companions.

Karl kicked aside a snarling Kobold corpse. The Family Fine Steel Longsword in his hand was coated in sticky blood.

He remembered the old knight's warning: at times like this, one must never shove a dirty sword straight back into its scabbard, or it would soon rust and be damaged. It had to be carefully cleaned and maintained with water and oil.

He let out a long breath of foul air tinged with blood, feeling his taut nerves finally relax. In their wake came intense exhaustion and a deep ache in his arms, but he forced himself to stand straight and swept his gaze across the battlefield.

Brendan and Richter strode quickly toward him, complicated expressions on the faces of both battle-hardened officers.

Brendan was the first to drop to one knee, his heavy armor clanging loudly.

Lowering his head, he said with deep guilt, "Lord Karl, I'm sorry! I arrived too late to rescue you and let you and the brothers fall into danger, nearly causing a terrible disaster! Please punish me!"

Captain Richter almost simultaneously dropped to one knee as well, his tone equally grave. "My lord, I... I also failed to understand your tactical intentions in time. I acted too slowly. Please punish me!"

At this moment, they truly felt both lingering fear and admiration.

They were afraid because if they had arrived even a few minutes later, Karl's small force might have been completely swallowed by the Kobolds. The consequences would have been unimaginable.

They admired him because Karl had truly used himself as bait—and had accurately predicted both the location of the ambush and the way the enemy would appear!

Such courage, decisiveness, and grasp of battle timing had far exceeded their expectations. This was absolutely not a decision some "useless" noble's son could have made.

Looking at the two men kneeling before him, Karl hurried forward and helped them up one by one with his left hand, the one not holding his sword.

"Get up, Brendan, Captain Richter." His voice was tired, but held no trace of blame. "You arrived at exactly the right time. Any earlier, and the Kobolds might have become alert and fled. Any later, and we truly might not have been able to hold on."

"The result is good. We won, and we destroyed the enemy to the greatest extent possible. That is enough."

He patted Brendan's heavy armor, then smiled at Richter. "Tactics require adapting to the situation. What matters most is that you quickly understood and carried out my orders, launching the attack at the first opportunity. What crime is there in that?"

These comforting and affirming words moved Brendan and Richter even more deeply.

This young lord was not only capable, but also magnanimous—and he seemed to understand very well how to win people's hearts.

Richter rose to his feet and said sincerely, "My lord, I understand now. You used the most classic, yet also most dangerous, tactic of luring the enemy deep in. Though it is written in every military manual, daring to personally lead a weak force as bait—and having the composure to wait for the best moment to counterattack... You are the first noble officer I have ever seen who could do it."

His words came from the heart. Most noble officers in the Northern Territory were cowardly and arrogant.

"It was merely a choice forced upon me by circumstance." Karl shook his head, claiming no credit.

He knew that without the absolute information advantage brought by the system intelligence, he would never have dared take such a risk.

At that moment, the preliminary casualty and battle results report arrived.

Karl's side had lost four men, all guards from the transport convoy. Two were seriously wounded—one auxiliary soldier and one guard—and more than ten had suffered light injuries.

The Kobolds were estimated to number between seventy and eighty. All had been eliminated; not a single one escaped.

The convoy's goods were largely intact. Only one cartload of leather had been overturned in the chaos and was slightly soiled.

This was a brilliant victory!

At minimal cost, they had annihilated a sizable enemy force that had successfully laid an ambush.

Once the news spread, all the surviving soldiers—whether Karl's auxiliary soldiers, the convoy guards, or the City Defense Army men Richter had brought—burst into cheers of relief at having survived!

The way they looked at Karl had changed completely. Their initial suspicion and disdain had turned into heartfelt admiration, trust, and even a hint of fervor.

Following a lord who could make plans, dare to personally face danger, and lead them to victory, perhaps... the future was no longer quite so bleak?

Listening to the cheers around him and seeing the hope kindled in the soldiers' eyes, Karl felt an indescribable sense of accomplishment and responsibility rise within him.

This was his first true victory since coming to this world.

Just then, Knight Roland hurried over and said, "My lord, of those two seriously wounded men, one is in very bad condition. I'm afraid he won't make it..."

Following Roland's gesture, Karl quickly made his way to where the wounded had been gathered. The air was filled with the smells of blood and powdered wound medicine.

The two severely wounded men lay on straw-covered ground. One had a horrifying gash across his abdomen. Though he had received emergency bandaging, the gauze was already soaked through with blood. Yet he was still conscious, and when he saw Karl approach, he even tried to struggle up and salute.

A medic with some knowledge of bandaging whispered to Karl, "He lost too much blood, but he was lucky—the internal organs were not injured. With a period of rest, he can survive."

Karl nodded and turned his gaze to the other man.

This soldier's condition was far worse. A crude Kobold stone axe had nearly split open half his shoulder. The wound was deep enough to expose bone, and even his shattered collarbone could be seen.

His breathing was extremely weak, his face ashen, and his lips utterly bloodless. His eyes had already begun to lose focus. The medic beside him whispered helplessly, "My lord... he won't make it. His injuries are too severe. There's nothing we can do..."

The soldiers still able to move silently gathered around, looking at their dying comrade. Their faces were filled with grief and the desolation of knowing the same fate could befall them.

In the Northern Territory, such grave wounds were practically a death sentence.

Karl crouched down and carefully examined the wound, his brows tightly furrowed.

He fell silent for a moment, as though making a difficult decision.

Then, beneath everyone's astonished gazes, he abruptly removed his battered Butterfly Helmet. With effort, he undid the clasps of his Chain Mail and took off the heavy armor as well.

From inside his close-fitting clothes, he carefully took out a small packet meticulously wrapped in oil paper.

Opening the oil paper revealed white crystalline powder that gave off a faint glow and an unusual, delicate fragrance.