Chapter 1138 - 176: Interesting Mercenaries and the Count’s True Domain (Part 3)

Chapter 1138: Chapter 176: Interesting Mercenaries and the Count’s True Domain (Part 3)

"The hunter corps from Flanders fought fiercely throughout the Old World, selling their lives for money, which they mostly spent during seasons of debauchery on wine. At certain times, they traveled east to the Border Prince’s Territory, and there they were hired by some hopeless pioneers, to fiercely defend small kingdoms in the wilderness where green skins roamed. For entertainment, these hunters would compete in martial arts, and their companions would bet on them. In such contests, and the subsequent drunken brawls, severe injuries and death were quite common."

"Alongside this corps was a long baggage train, filled with servants, grooms, and noisy camp followers sitting on carts loaded with spoils, trudging slowly forward. Once, Flanders and his brethren had just finished a battle in Kislev, with blood and mud-stained armor not yet cleaned, when they rushed to attend the Empire’s knight tournament. Their boldness and shamelessness shocked the empire’s nobles. Despite the lingering effects of alcohol, they won the competition, defeating the noble champion and their best knight. Consequently, the local noble was furious and vowed that unless shackled, Flanders would never again enter his kingdom. Despite being hated by nobles and avoided by Imperial Knights, the hunter corps members didn’t mind. After all, they had repeatedly fought much more sinister enemies, sights the higher and calmer knights had never seen."

Su Li’s eyes lit up, he said, "They’d be exactly the kind of talents we need for this battle. Their harassment of the Swamp Territory would surely pose considerable trouble for Count Litaner."

"How many mercenaries have we gathered in total?"

"Lord, the number far exceeds expectations. More than thirty groups have registered and obtained licenses, with over fifteen hundred people, and the number is still growing," Hilude stood by his side, with a hint of worry in her tone, "Among them are notoriously heinous criminals. We’re facing great pressure on law and order; several deadly brawls and theft cases have already occurred."

Su Li nodded and said, "Then there’s no time to lose, start executing the strategy."

Su Li’s order was like igniting a fuse. Those mercenaries, raiders, and rogue knights, long restless with greed and impatience, immediately swarmed like flies rushing toward the putrid Green Moss Swamp.

The first groups to rush in were mostly small factions with few members, crude equipment, and lax discipline. Their eyes were turned red by the dream of fifty thousand Golden Crowns, ignoring Su Li’s suggested "safe route," routes hypothesized from limited intelligence as relatively solid ground, as they plunged headlong into seemingly flat but dangerously deceiving muddy and watery swamps.

"Ah—! Help me!" A piercing scream soon echoed at the silent swamp’s edge. A raider carrying a heavy pack stepped onto floating mud that seemed like grass and instantly sank to his chest. He desperately waved his arms, and his struggles only accelerated his descent. His comrade tried to pull him with a long lance, but the shaft broke, and he nearly got pulled down too, left only to watch in horror as the mud engulfed the man’s head, leaving nothing but a few desperate bubbles.

"Watch out! There’s something in the water!" Another team approached a murky puddle cautiously. Suddenly, the surface exploded as a monster resembling a gigantic mudfish, with sharp teeth, lunged out and bit the leading mercenary’s leg, dragging him instantly into the depths, leaving only a rapidly spreading circle of blood and a few abruptly cut-off cries.

More lethal were the ubiquitous poisonous insects and miasma. Tiny mosquitoes swarmed like black clouds towards exposed skin, with bites quickly turning red and festering. Inhaling the rotting vegetation mixed with an oily stench made even strong men dizzy and unsteady. Ill-prepared teams soon experienced non-combat losses, and morale swiftly crumbled under fear and discomfort.

As these chaotic invaders advanced slightly deeper, the true "masters" of the swamp territory started to appear.

Crossbow bolts coated with neurotoxins or septic bacteria fired from dense reeds, vine-hung dead tree crowns, and even seemingly peaceful mudpool edges. The attackers were human scouts adept in camouflage, familiar with every inch of the mire. They wore gray-green, mud-brown cloaks that blended with the swamp environment, with faces smeared with mud and charcoal, moving as nimbly as otters. Upon a successful strike, regardless of whether they killed, they immediately withdrew like specters, disappearing into the untraceable complex terrain.

"It’s the swamp hunters! Scatter! Find cover!" An experienced old mercenary shouted, but in this perilous, forsaken mire, the so-called "cover" was often the next death trap.

A more terrifying encounter occurred as a group tried to approach a site that looked like an abandoned watchtower. A team of about thirty led by rogue knights had just stepped onto a relatively solid path when suddenly the ground collapsed beneath them; a specially designed trapdoor concealed a bottomless mud pit, instantly consuming the front row. Amid screams, dozens of swamp infantry emerged from both sides of seemingly peaceful marsh, clad in crude patchwork armor, wielding long hooks and poisoned short lances. They were the lowest soldiers under the Count, adapted to the foul air and mud from years of survival in the harsh environment, with eyes expressively empty of anything but ruthless ferocity and hatred for invaders. Meanwhile, under the rolling mud, several swamp giant crocodiles, driven by hunger or special training, lunged out with massive bite forces tearing limbs apart.

The battle was brief and brutal. The rogue knights’ angry roars drowned by mud and screams, their mounts struggling in the mire becoming prime targets. This team of over thirty, within minutes, was divided, surrounded, slaughtered, and devoured, with only a handful managing to escape back to Hesse Territory covered in mud and fear.

Not all teams were so inept. Flanders’ hunter corps, an elite mercenary unit renowned for their cavalry, exhibited a completely different demeanor.

They did not blindly delve deep but patiently operated in the relatively dry outskirts of the swamp. They sent out lightly equipped scouts, cautiously exploring terrain, marking potential solid grounds and traps. They moved swiftly as the wind, riding well-trained horses (though mud limited speed but far better than infantry), maneuvering as small units, slicing the outer areas of the swamp territory like razors.

Facing small patrols of a dozen poorly equipped swamp militiamen and some swamp scouts, the hunter corps decisively launched classic cavalry assaults. Horse hooves thundered on relatively solid ground. Though terrain limited impact force, their exceptional riding skills and coordination still resulted in remarkable raid outcomes.

Using this approach, in several successful raids, they did achieve some gains, significantly agitating the swamp territory’s nerves. However, the swamp’s counterattack came swiftly and fiercely.

As the hunter corps prepared to retreat after a success, the "solid ground" under their feet suddenly turned soft and sticky! It was as if the whole land came alive, intending to devour them! It was swamp witchcraft! Subsequently, a dense, pungent odor miasma surged from all directions, instantly blinding visibility, even causing warhorses to neigh in terror. Amidst the fog, shadowy figures approached like specters, arrows and blow darts fired from unexpected angles. Moreover, massive creatures like rotting trees animated came forth; swamp tree demons, walking with ponderous steps, waving branches full of moss and spikes emerged from the mist.

Though Flanders resolutely sounded the retreat horn, the hunters relied on their superb riding skills and initial familiarity with the terrain to forcibly escape the poison fog and ambush circle, but at the cost of leaving behind dozens of elite cavalry corpses and a similar number of wounded, plus several horses trapped irretrievably in the mud.

When the war commenced, the brutality exceeded expectations on both sides. Severed heads and limbs hung on border dead trees swayed in the cold wind, exuding the scent of death, marking the unparalleled danger and fortitude of this swamp territory.