Blood-Soaked Forest

"Josen!"

"How could you—"

The young militiamen glared at their companion. The young man, held in the Wight's grasp, was deathly pale, trembling, his head bowed low in shame and fear.

But he didn't want to die, did he?

Freya felt her heart stop. She instinctively drew her sword, but the Wight immediately dispelled her intention. The green light in its eye sockets flared, and the young man's arm exploded like a balloon, blood splattering everywhere. He let out a scream and curled into a ball on the ground.

"Waaah, Big Sis, please save me—!"

Josen writhed on the ground like a bloodied mess, wailing incessantly.

This horrifying scene made several people turn away and vomit. The ponytailed girl's face turned deathly pale, and she swayed, almost collapsing.

"Little human girl, you'd best not make any rash moves," the Wight hissed, its sinister gaze sweeping over everyone present.

However, it quickly realized they were just a bunch of militiamen, insignificant insects.

The green light in the Wight's eye sockets dimmed, a hint of disappointment. It was ordered to hunt down the human scout who had escaped earlier, not to get entangled with these bugs.

Freya's mind was blank, but she forced herself to think of a way out of this situation, fighting off waves of dizziness. She at least remembered she was the leader of this group and couldn't show weakness.

As for the girl beside Romane, she had fainted at the first sign of trouble, only to be caught by the Merchant's Daughter.

Sophie felt Romane's hand tightly gripping her sleeve, a gesture of reliance and trust. He had also helped the long-haired, ponytailed militia captain earlier to prevent her from collapsing, though her resilience had surprised him.

Regardless, he knew she needed some comfort at this moment, or she might break down psychologically first.

It was difficult for a girl raised in a peaceful era to accept such a brutal scene. Fortunately, Eluin was a land steeped in war, and most of its young people had come to terms with such realities.

"Freya," Sophie said weakly, her voice barely audible.

The girl flinched slightly and immediately snapped back to attention. She took a breath and, with Sophie's help, gradually calmed down. Sophie noticed her fingers, which had been gripping the sword hilt, relax and couldn't help but nod in admiration.

Such composure was exceptional; few people could remain calm on the brink of death. Though he didn't understand why he himself felt no tension—it was as if his mindset had become as calm as still water after his transmigration and subsequent trials of life and death.

But in any case, it was a good thing.

He continued in a barely audible voice, "Do you remember what I said before, about preparing for the worst?"

Freya paused, then nodded slightly.

"Do you still have the strength to fight?"

"En—"

A barely perceptible response.

Sophie felt relieved. He rubbed the cool Wind Queen Ring with his thumb—the feedback told him the charging was only half complete.

Three hours was incredibly slow compared to the ten-minute recharge in the game. However, half the energy was enough. While it couldn't unleash a full Wind Bullet, it was sufficient to create a strong gust of wind.

After all, he had already prepared for the worst; there was no worse scenario.

Meanwhile, the Wight had finally confirmed there were no other ambushes. It paid no attention to the whimpering wretch at its feet and raised its skeletal arm:

"Soldiers, kill them all—"

As the sharp, dry voice rang out, four Skeleton Soldiers, wielding swords and clad in dark chainmail, emerged from the mist. They appeared with creaking sounds and advanced step by step towards Freya and her group.

Perhaps earlier, Freya's team members might have considered fighting back against these cold monsters, but not now. The youths, once full of confidence, were now chilled to the bone by the enemy's ruthlessness. Their remaining courage was crushed by the approaching aura of death, leaving them powerless to resist.

They could only retreat step by step with pale faces until they reached a dead end. Perhaps driven by the instinct for self-preservation, they fumbled to draw the swords at their waists—but looking at their timid movements, no one could guarantee how much fighting strength they truly had left.

The forest was filled only with the sound of gasps.

Seeing these pale-faced youths, the Wight couldn't help but let out a sneer from its gaping jaw.

The green light flickered in its eye sockets, as if savoring the pleasure derived from their fear.

Indeed, human fear was their greatest enemy—weak, fleeting, easily exploited by useless emotions. In contrast, the undead were born without these flaws. Each of them could be an excellent soldier, especially the lower-ranking undead—they didn't even need to think, only obey.

Compared to these humans, even the well-trained militiamen acted like helpless children on the battlefield. Such weak beings shouldn't exist in this world.

A deep-seated disgust welled up within it: Yes, Madara would prevail—

But just then, the Wight heard an extraneous voice: "...it's yours." It was a young man's voice, calm, steady, and full of confidence.

The Wight felt its Soul Fire flicker—an ominous sign. It immediately turned its head, on alert.

What met its hollow gaze was a shining ring.

The ring was on the index finger of the severely injured militiaman. It hadn't paid much attention to that fellow before—a half-dead human, what was there to notice?

Pretending to be severely injured could deceive others, but it couldn't deceive the undead. These cold-blooded monsters, risen from the grave, could see the Life Fire of a living being directly. And the faint, dim Life Fire emanating from Sophie could absolutely not be faked.

He was truly a severely injured patient.

It seemed so.

But the real threat came from the ring on his hand—a magic ring. The green fire in the Wight's eyes dimmed little by little. It could almost smell a deadly aura gathering in the air.

It recognized this scent. One of its masters had exposed it to some imitations while teaching it Black Magic. Judging by the aura emanating from it, it was at least a magic ring of Energy Level 20.

How could an item belonging to a formal Wizard appear in the hands of an ordinary person?

The Wight's expression shifted to one of mingled terror and greed.

"Undead soldiers, go fetch that thing for me—" it shrieked, raising its bone staff.

"Oss—"

But Sophie raised his right hand and spat out the word with all his might—or rather, squeezed out the last bit of air from his lungs. The young man broke out in a cold sweat as he slumped back down.

Space expanded for a moment, then violently contracted—

As the contraction burst back to its original state once more, the scattering, chaotic air currents let out a shriek piercing enough to rupture eardrums.

The wind shot towards the Wight and its Skeleton Soldiers like straight arrows. Even as they raised their withered arms to shield themselves, the turbulent currents tore through their empty ribcages, forming vortexes of air that yanked them askew.

There was no damage, but the restraining effect was obvious enough.

"Freya!" Sophie shouted.

The young woman drew her longsword in response, a crisp metallic hum echoing as her long ponytail danced in the wind—

However, to Sophie's surprise, the inexperienced militia captain didn't charge in impulsively. Instead, she immediately turned back and barked at the others, "Macmi, Essen! What are you waiting for, Bucci's militia! Third squad, with me!"

Inspiring courage was sometimes like a signal. In the face of life and death, a single sentence or hint could unleash boundless power.

But there was a condition: calmness.

One person's calmness could influence many others, just like now. Under Freya's reminder, the young militiamen paused slightly, but ultimately reacted—this was the best chance, the only chance to survive.

The sudden gale had forced the Skeleton Soldiers and the Wight to retreat step by step, leaving them no time to attend to anything else.

This realization rekindled the young men's courage. Amidst the clanging of swords being drawn, the tactical discipline honed through daily training seemed to return to their bodies.

"Macmi, cover me."

"Damn monsters, now it's your turn..."

"Take down that dark wizard first—!"

"That's a Wight."

"Little Finis, get behind me."

They began to attempt a counterattack.

But Sophie watched the chaotic scene with some worry, fearing that these guys might ruin the situation with an impulsive move. He couldn't help but remind them steadily from behind, "Remember to stay calm, everyone! Only by calming down can you fight—!"

In The Amber Sword, he had seen many greenhorns, just like these young men.

Passion was a good thing, but it couldn't cloud one's mind.

He had to solemnly recite the militia's combat orders, something everyone present had memorized. Yet, few could recall this dry but precious experience during combat.

Brando, it had to be said, was an anomaly.

Sophie retained all the memories of that young man's final battle. For a recruit, his performance had been as good as it could possibly be. Even from the perspective of a veteran warrior, he had to admit that Brando was a young man with extraordinary talent in swordsmanship—the only pity was that he had encountered the wrong battle at the wrong time.

On the other hand, under Sophie's reminder, the young men indeed calmed down. But it wasn't enough. Sophie knew these guys still needed a slight advantage to solidify their confidence, otherwise, the morale boosted in a short time would easily collapse.

The wind weakened slightly.

The Skeleton Soldiers, their chainmail rattling, prepared to counterattack, trying to regain their balance. But Sophie's voice from the side had already instructed Bucci's militia to change tactics:

"Listen up, these low-level soldiers of Madara lack intelligence and are slow to turn. They are slowest to turn, which is their greatest weakness. Try to move left along the direction they hold their swords; there's a blind spot there where you can attack safely..."

"Macmi, you and Essen attack from the left and right. Do you know how to cover? Yes, attract that bone frame's attention, just like that."

Sophie lay half-reclined on a rock, closely watching the battlefield situation, pointing out what the opponent should do next. His words seemed to possess a special magic that made people instinctively believe him—this was the power we call confidence, steady and calm, making people instinctively rely on him when they were at a loss.

And Bucci's militia quickly tasted the benefits. First, with Ike's reminder, he severed a Skeleton Soldier's tibia with one sword strike, at the cost of a stab to his thigh. Then, his partner, Little Finis, rushed forward and pierced the bone frame's skull with a sword.

The moment the longsword pierced the skull, the cold monster collapsed with a clatter. The Soul Fire in its eye sockets flickered slightly before quickly dimming.

A golden light flew out from the scattered bone fragments and then entered Sophie's chest not far away.

Sophie froze for a moment. Unlike the last time, this time he clearly felt something unusual—Experience Points, he suddenly realized. But before he could verify this, he heard the young militiamen who had defeated the enemy excitedly shouting.

"God, I did it!" Ike could hardly believe it. He pressed his profusely bleeding wound and shouted, "Brando, how did you know this?"

Sophie smiled faintly. This knowledge was all accumulated from his past experiences playing games with his companions. Even the seemingly most trivial piece of advice was filled with profound lessons, as they were all valuable insights forged through countless battles and deaths.

While Brando had also learned some similar knowledge during militia training, in Sophie's opinion, it was too superficial, too shallow. If that knowledge could increase his combat power by 10% when facing Skeleton Soldiers, then his own knowledge should increase it by half or even more.

From 375 years to the Second Era, his years of fighting against Madara had made Sophie intimately familiar with everything from their lowest-level Skeleton Soldiers to their highest-level Liches, Bone Dragons, and even Vampire Lords.

In terms of understanding this dark kingdom, few in Eluin could probably match him now. After all, before the First Black Rose War, Madara's relationship with the world of light hadn't escalated to the tension it would later reach.

The friction and conflicts weren't as frequent—

Of course, this experience was also one of Sophie's most prideful possessions in this world. Relying on his familiarity with this world, he had the confidence to continue moving forward, step by step, back to his former height.

But for now, he had to finish the task at hand. He didn't know if the gust of wind he had caused had attracted any other attention. For safety's sake, he had to end this quickly.

With that thought, his gaze fell upon the Wight.

This was a tricky enemy.

(PS. Some friends don't quite understand what chart this book is aiming for and the conditions for getting on it. I'll explain it here for everyone. The chart this book is aiming for is the New Book Potential Weekly Chart. The selection criteria for the New Book Chart are: a second or later published work after becoming a Qidian writer, total word count under 200,000 characters, added to the Qidian library within 30 days, and updated at least once every three days. The formula for calculating the potential value for the Newcomer and New Book Chart is: Clicks that week * 5 + Recommendations that week * 10 + Total Collections / 2. Then, only member clicks are counted. Clicks are only counted if the member is logged in and has clicked. Clicks are counted only once every 6 hours. Today, this book's ranking has climbed 2 places with difficulty to 22nd. I hope it can advance more tomorrow. Finally, I continue to wish for a three-chapter burst if it reaches the top 12.)