First Battle

It went surprisingly smoothly.

Suleiman watched as the Burned Men warriors of the Mountain Clans, who had been charging toward the village entrance, finally understood the situation.

They all froze in place.

One couldn't help but sigh: "A savage who doesn't use his brain will be a savage for life!"

He had already prepared for the worst: a night battle at close quarters. But he hadn't expected these savages to stay put all night!

It wasn't that Suleiman hadn't wanted to launch a night raid. The main reason was that he wasn't confident his soldiers could handle close-quarters combat.

He had an impression of the Mountain Clans. Tyrion had given them a high rating.

The Burned Men in particular were feared by every tribe among the Mountain Clans. It was said that they proved their courage through self-mutilation.

They would burn off a nipple, a finger, or even an ear. In short, to declare themselves adults, they had to burn off one of their own body parts.

Tyrion had heard that the current war leader, Timett "Red Hand," had gouged out his left eye with a red-hot knife.

When Suleiman learned from the refugees last night that their opponents were the Burned Men, he had been rather alarmed.

But he hadn't expected them to choose neither to break through nor to attack before his numerically superior force had settled in.

Suleiman hurriedly ordered his troops to dig trenches and erect barricades overnight at the village's only exit to the outside world.

This was no complicated military engineering. They simply used the nearby timber, farm tools, and soil to put together a basic defensive line in a short time.

This was Suleiman's first time commanding a battle, and he was still a little nervous.

But with three hundred against forty, the advantage was ours!

"Enemy attack!" "Archers, get ready!" "Infantry, form ranks!" Lushen and Roslyn rode back and forth, shouting.

But the scene he had expected never came to pass.

He had imagined the Burned Men warriors charging at the makeshift fortifications through a hail of arrows, roaring as they tried to leap across the trench and hack at the wood with their weapons.

His soldiers would attack from behind the defenses with spears, while axemen and swordsmen dealt with any Burned Men who made it over.

But nothing happened.

The Burned Men warriors, who had been charging as if nothing could stop them, suddenly came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the trench and barricade.

The bodies of the few warriors at the very front pitched forward from their momentum, but their feet stayed planted firmly in place.

The warriors behind them stopped as well, and their tightly packed formation instantly became scattered and disorderly.

They remained poised to charge, yet stood frozen at the village entrance like statues, weapons still in hand.

The savage grins had not yet fully faded from their faces when they were replaced by obvious, disbelieving confusion.

They stared wide-eyed at the scene before them: the shallow trench, the crooked row of wooden barricades,

and the Riverlands soldiers behind them, who should have been fleeing in all directions, crying and begging for mercy, but were now calmly waiting with weapons in hand.

After an awkward, eerie silence, someone finally broke the stalemate.

A tall Burned Men warrior with especially prominent burn scars on his cheeks pushed past his companions and strode proudly toward Suleiman and the others.

The archers took aim at him, awaiting the order to fire!

With defiance rooted deep in his bones and contempt for the Flatlanders, he acted as though the trench, the barricade, and the archers aiming at him didn't exist.

He reached the edge of the trench, gripping a spiked club, and glared defiantly at the Riverlands soldiers behind the barricade.

He made no attempt to cross or destroy the defenses. Instead, he shouted,

"Hey! You Flatlanders hiding behind the wood! Who's your leader? Step forward!"

His voice rang through the still morning air, carrying the raw demand for a fair fight.

In his eyes, they already had an absolute numerical advantage: three hundred against forty. Hiding behind defenses as well was downright cowardly.

Suleiman stood on a rise behind the crowd, watching as a Burned Men warrior simply walked up to them and demanded they form ranks for a fair fight.

He just walked right over. How presumptuous.

Suleiman: ...

At the sight, Suleiman's tense body relaxed completely.

"Archers!" Suleiman's voice rang out, clear and firm, brooking no disobedience. "Loose!"

The archers immediately obeyed. They had already nocked their arrows and kept them trained on the target in front, waiting for Lord Suleiman's order.

At Lord Suleiman's command, more than ten bowstrings were released almost simultaneously, and the arrows flew!

"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"

The volley of arrows whistled over the barricade, flying toward the Burned Men warrior at the edge of the trench, who was still shouting for them to form ranks and fight fairly.

Perhaps the warrior was still expecting the Flatlanders' leader to step forward, or at least respond to his provocation.

Or perhaps he thought they would ignore him, giving him a chance to mock their leader for being a coward.

But he had never imagined he would get such a direct and merciless response.

A trace of disdain still lingered on his face.

He had no time to dodge.

More than ten arrows struck him almost at once.

Some hit his hide armor with dull thuds, while many more mercilessly pierced his body, sinking into his chest, stomach, and limbs.

At such close range, his front was bristling with arrows.

His shout cut off abruptly, and his body twisted from the pain.

The spiked club in his hand clattered to the ground.

He stared wide-eyed in disbelief at the arrows embedded in his body.

It seemed that even as he died, he couldn't understand why these Flatlanders had acted so contrary to expectations.

The Flatlanders he had met had all been devoted to that nebulous thing called chivalry.

So why had this group so despicably shot arrows at a warrior from a distance while he was calling for a fair fight?

Then his body went limp. He toppled backward at the edge of the trench with a thud and fell silent.

The Burned Men warriors were furious. They had encountered other Flatlander forces before, but never such shameless leaders!

They had actually ambushed a warrior.

They had encountered other Iron-skins in the Vale before, even Iron-skin knights, and they had all believed in that so-called chivalry.

Yet these people had built fortifications and ambushed a warrior despite having an overwhelming numerical advantage!

"Archers, nock your arrows and get ready!" Suleiman ordered again.

Lushen and Roslyn also seemed a little confused.

Suleiman didn't explain. Why should there be rules in war? Why demand that they form ranks and fight fairly?

It was an utterly ridiculous notion. He had never heard such a foolish and unreasonable demand!

War was never fair. One side was always stronger, and the other weaker.