Under cover of night, Bond and Louis crouched behind a high slope screened by dense forest. Below lay a stretch of hastily constructed ruins.
The knights hid along both sides of the slope, and the archers were already in position.
Yet Bond felt uneasy.
He gazed at the silent mountain road and lowered his voice. "Baron, I urge you to call this off."
Louis did not respond. He continued studying the terrain and confirming the reports from several scouts.
Bond frowned and continued, "We don't even know whether the enemy will take this mountain road, let alone when they'll arrive.
Even if they do, can your hundred-odd knights stop eight hundred elite Snow Oath troops, even with a successful ambush?
If we lose this battle, our entire force will be wiped out, and we'll hand over Clearfeather Ridge, our most vital choke point."
His voice was low, but urgency had crept into his tone. "We should fall back to the fortifications, hold the passage, and wait for the reinforcements the duke is sending."
"Enough." Louis finally spoke. His tone was firm, yet utterly steady. "I am the commander."
Bond froze.
There was no anger in that tone, not even an attempt to assert authority. Louis was simply stating a fact.
Yet it left no room for argument.
"You..." Bond wanted to say something, but in the end, he clenched his teeth and fell silent.
He silently watched this young man, so much younger than himself, as anger and helplessness welled up inside him.
He's let it go to his head. A young noble wins a few battles and thinks he can take on eight hundred elite troops?
He'll get this entire force killed out here in the wilderness.
For a moment, Bond even entertained a mad idea: kill him and