Chapter 1460: The Two Anglers

Chapter 1460 -1369: The Two Anglers

December 26, four o’clock in the morning.

Chunan Mountain Pass.

Among the rugged rocks, tents representing the Holy Alliance are pitched one after another.

Under the largest and broadest tent, a messenger from the southern army is being helped away.

Horn, however, says nothing, retracts his gaze, and continues to pull out his telescope to peer at the battlefield.

“Head south, Your Holiness!”

Watching the blood-soaked back of the messenger, Meng Sai on one side can’t help but plead: “If we don’t head south, our southern army will be wiped out.”

“Indeed.” Battle commanders and senior pastors nearby chime in, “The northern tribal army is on the brink of collapse, and unleashing a battalion against them could easily crush them.”

Following the previous battles, as well as several bombings by the airborne fleet and raids by Shadow Crow soldiers, the northern tribal army is now as fragile as a paper tiger.

Yet Horn voluntarily restrained his soldiers and did not shatter this weak defense.

Otherwise, how could he lure Serafe to send out reinforcements?

“How many troops are left at present?” Ignoring Meng Sai and the officers beside him, Horn still keeps a stoic face.

“It’s impossible to calculate, heavy casualties and deaths near 7,500.”

This is already close to one-third of the casualties. One must know that Holy Alliance casualties are calculated by the number who cannot participate further in the campaign.

Even those with broken bones or gunshot wounds, having their bones reset or bullets extracted, they must continue fighting with Divine Art.

7,500 casualties roughly mean the entire army carries wounds.

If it wasn’t for the breathing techniques and blessings granted by numerous monks, Dass’s southern army would have fled long ago.

It can only last another hour, with more than two hours until dawn.

At this point, Jeanne on the side could hardly hold back: “Brother… Your Holiness, should we send part of Dass’s side to support, perhaps dispatch around three thousand from Jia Li’s side…”

“No.” Horn and Hilov simultaneously.

Hilov speaks first: “I’ve already sent all the Holy Council’s technical units over there, and some of the Defensive Army have joined the fight, for victory, they must persevere.”

If the southern line’s campaign decides the battle victory, then the northern line’s offense decides the war’s outcome.

But campaign victory cannot replace war victory. For a better tomorrow, to eliminate the risk of apocalypse, risks must be taken.

Horn takes a deep breath: “Jia Li’s western army is useful, I can’t order her, besides, because the enemy on Holy Grail Mountain doesn’t move, central troops won’t move!”

The messenger left with Horn’s determined order, and Horn seemed to stand dazedly before the battlefield map.

Grand Duke Saranto couldn’t help but glance at Horn, finding him unlike what he imagined, this His Holiness wasn’t so blood-boiling and hectic when commanding wars.

He’s intensely busy when busy, yet ordinarily, he seems like a person with leisure, surrounded by commanders and aides busier than him.

If not for him standing up every so often with a telescope to observe the battlefield, Saranto would think he’s asleep.

Saranto couldn’t judge whether His Holiness was dazed or overly gambling.

Now the northern enemy nears collapse, the southern enemy withstands attacks, heading south at this moment ensures victory.

But for some reason, His Holiness seems to insist on holding on, perhaps aware that without a matching victory, massive casualties are hard to justify.

Or, His Holiness is actually right, or perhaps, he’s already muddled by chaotic battle conditions and has become somewhat slow and dazed.

Such things aren’t impossible, after all, Saranto had this happen to him once.

Saranto’s thoughts, naturally, Horn didn’t know.

He indeed felt a bit dazed.

Directing over seventy thousand soldiers against nearly ten thousand soldiers for so long, made him feel like a spring machine.

Emotions are far away, only rationality is in control.

He numbly acts according to the inherent mechanism, dispatching orders, checking resources.

The only moment distinguishing him from a spring machine is probably the heartbeat sound in his ears each time the solar flare detonates.

It’s his heartbeat, thumping harder and harder, eventually echoing like a bell.

Under a fiery heartbeat, he suddenly walks out of cover, gazing at the battlefield.

“Your Holiness, be careful.”

“Brother, what are you doing?!”

“Quick, cover His Holiness back.”

A group of loyal descendants hurriedly pulls him back, but Horn’s face shows no sign of fear.

He turns, looks at everyone, his hair blown by the night wind, his previously dazed eyes now agile.

Like a frozen person suddenly thawed, Horn’s eyes are astonishingly bright: “Fire another solar flare, southeast, now!”

“Ah?” Though confused, Horn’s command is immediately executed.

This time, senior staff and officers all raise their telescopes.

“What’s that?” Saranto’s pupils shrink sharply, he clearly sees shadows of movement.

That’s an advancing army, moving south. Unless Serafe can conjure soldiers from blood, it must be the northern palace troops heading south for support.

Serafe couldn’t hold back in the last two hours before dawn, she acted.

“Launch…” Horn’s clear command comes out blurry to everyone’s ears.

“I say, launch now.” Horn turns to look at the slightly pale wolf woman, “Bring out our war beast.”

“Yes.”

“Southward, we will seize victory!”

…

Clatter clatter clatter…

Urgent hoofbeats scare off sparrows on branches, riding amidst hoofbeats is Cataloni’s distant call: “Konyaz, Konyaz!”

Unlike previous elegance, Cataloni’s left arm is severed at the elbow, simply bandaged.

Konyaz knows it was an electric spear shooting directly towards Cataloni.

Though Cataloni deflected the spear’s trajectory at a key moment, the remaining force blasted off half his arm.

Yet Cataloni shows no sadness for the lost arm, and near-frantically shouts: “Sir, there’s trouble, we’ve just received His Majesty’s order that the ninth and eleventh delegations are coming to support, we must enter the west coast within an hour…”

“I knew it, His Majesty’s first order relayed to me.” Konyaz calmly responds.

Cataloni’s initial shock and panic catch in his throat, taking a while to ask: “So what do we do now? Shouldn’t we advise His Majesty to retract the order?”

“Why advise His Majesty to retract the order?”

“But His Majesty’s safety…”

“Isn’t this just right?” Konyaz points to the river island, “Both sides are spent, precisely the time to use the reserves.”

Cataloni suddenly becomes enlightened, asking urgently: “You knew earlier?”

“Indeed.” Konyaz gazes towards the Holy Grail Heights, he knows Serafe too well.

Maybe Lilith behind her calculates without mistakes, yet she herself remains flesh and blood.

Moreover, those in the know understand execution determines a plan’s success.

Konyaz anticipated Serafe’s rashness and simply used it to bait Horn.

“What about His Majesty’s safety?”

“Without His Majesty in crisis, how would Horn descend the mountain?”

“You’re using His Majesty as bait?!”

“Correct.”

“If His Majesty dies, we apostle imbibing heart’s blood shall also perish!”

“I know, but this is the only way to victory, I must risk it.”

Cataloni swallows: “Both sides tired, how to block the enemy?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, the Second Palace Army never showed?” Konyaz gazes behind, “Camila should’ve contacted the two Envoys, just waiting for the Saint’s Grandson to move…”

Clatter clatter clatter, urgency once more, a messenger.

“Konyaz, Camila has engaged the Holy Alliance vanguard, the ninth envoy Manger redirected for support, the eleventh envoy Kamu Khan remains on course.”

A slight smile forms, Konyaz pats Cataloni’s shoulder: “I’ll leave the southern line to you.”

Then, he raises his whip, rides into the darkness.

He too heads towards his personal duel.