Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 70 (Patreon)

Lys watched in horror as her prediction came true.

The sergeants couldn’t get Group Two or Group Five to fall back properly, leaving them stuck in the enemy line, fighting as the new enemy reinforcements charged down the hill without bothering to form a shield wall.

The ragged lines slammed into the recruits’ rear with devastating effect.

“Fall back!” one of the sergeants shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos of battle. “Regroup!”

But it was too late. The pinched off sections of men went down fast, only a few on the edge returning to form on the flanks of the company’s new line.

They had just lost a third of their men in an instant, undoing all the gains or progress they had made in the battle so far. It wasn’t possible to understand the loss so quickly. It was more than they had lost in the entire battle with the Irongians.

She glanced at the recruits around her, their faces twisted with determination as they fought on, oblivious to the disaster that had just unfolded. They were too busy fighting, or they’d be frantic.

“Keep it up!” Lys shouted. She grabbed a fallen recruit’s spear and jabbed a man in the face with it, sending him reeling. Swift suddenly appeared behind her.

He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Fall back, by steps, in unison, get them to do it!” He disappeared to another section of the line, like a ghost.

Lys repeated the command, which went down Group One’s line.

“Step... BACK!” Lys called out the cadence. “Stab-stab-stab... Step... BACK!”

The recruits moved in unison, taking single steps backward during the chant. She couldn’t see the right flank, but she assumed they were employing the same tactic. But..

Where the fuck were they falling back to? She risked a glance behind her. The wagons were still sitting alone on the road.

The space between the lines widened, providing much-needed breathing room. The enemy’s front line was as exhausted, bloodied, and ruined. There was no energy left to pursue them.

Swift reappeared, his hand pulling her shoulder back. “Get ten men back to the wagons and take up bows!”

She nodded, scanning the faces of her fellow recruits. “Stormwell, Plainfield, Woodrow!” she called out. “With me, now!”

They disengaged from the line and fell in behind her as she moved toward the wagons. Lys grabbed six more recruits from the third rank. “You six, with us! We need bows!”

They sprinted to the wagons where a cache of weapons awaited them. Lys grabbed a bow and quiver, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she stringed the weapon. The others followed suit, their movements urgent but precise.

“Spread out along in a line!” Lys ordered. “Pick your targets and make every shot count!”

The archers fanned out, finding positions with a clear line of sight to the enemy. Lys drew back her bowstring, her breath steady as she aimed at a Black Tortoise soldier who had broken through the recruits’ line.

She released the arrow. It found its mark in the man’s chest. As simple as that. He crumpled to the ground, his sword falling from his grasp.

Lys nocked another arrow, drawing the bowstring back to her full draw as she took aim at the enemy line.

The recruits had fallen back into a depression, giving her and the other archers a clear shot at the Black Tortoise soldiers.

She took a deep breath, focusing her mind and body.

Yasir’s warnings were discarded. This was the moment to unleash her ability. As she exhaled, Lys released the arrow, watching it sail through the air and find its mark in the neck of an enemy soldier.

Without hesitation, she reached for another arrow, then another, firing as quickly as she could. Each shot found a gap in the enemy’s armor, piercing exposed flesh or slipping through the spaces between their shields.

The other archers followed her lead, raining arrows down upon the Black Tortoise line. The enemy soldiers stumbled and fell, their formation crumbling faster than when they had been in the crush.

“Keep firing!” Lys shouted, her voice carrying over the chaos of battle. “Don’t let up!”

She grabbed five arrows at once, nocking and releasing them one after another in rapid succession.

Her fingers moved with a speed and precision that seemed almost inhuman. The mysterious power that flowed through her core thrummed excitedly.

A new enemy formation appeared at the top of the hill. She squinted, her eyes discerning the distinct silhouettes of archers, not infantry. Her heart raced as she realized the imminent danger.

“Fall back! Take cover!” Lys shouted to the other archers in her group, her voice cutting through the chaos of battle.

The recruits reacted swiftly, diving back behind the wagons just as a volley of arrows rained down upon their position. The projectiles thudded into the wood and canvas, sending splinters flying.

Another volley followed, pinning them down. Lys gritted her teeth, her mind racing as she timed the interval between volleys.

In a flash of movement, she popped up from behind the wagon; her bow drawn taut. She released a rapid succession of arrows, each one finding its mark among the enemy archers. Several of them crumpled to the ground.

Another recruit tried to mimic her timing. He rose from cover, his bow at the ready. An arrow struck him in the chest, and he fell back with a cry of agony.

“Damn it!” Lys cursed. She popped out again, her movements a blur as she fired arrow after arrow.

The enemy formation scattered to make themselves harder to hit. That worked a little, as it took longer to switch aim between them. Worse, they retreated behind the hill—she couldn’t see them directly anymore.

But they could still shoot at her and the others indirectly. Fucking hill and high-ground allowed that. The enemy archers switched targets and arrows rained down on the recruits’ shield wall as they fell back toward the wagons.

Lys and the other archers fired back, targeting the enemy infantry formation. The damage on both sides was slowing as the formations tightened up into tortoises.

The enemy infantry slowly began to march after the retreating recruits, their pace slow but steady. The stream of arrows slowed to a trickle.

Lys let out a breath, the air feeling like cold fingers as she inhaled again. Not bad enough to send her into a coughing fit or as debilitating as the time on the cliff, but she had pushed close. The formation reached her and the wagons.

Everyone who still had their shield looked like a porcupine with dozens of fletchings embedded in the wood. A dozen recruits had stabs in their arms where the piercing heads had punched through the center.

“Pass out new shields!” Swift shouted.

Lys started to go order her group to follow Swift’s orders, but Plainfield was already there, jumping up on the wagon and directing the efforts.

Good. She could continue to focus on shooting. She reached up and grabbed another quiver of arrows from the wagon for herself.

Other recruits pulled out fresh weapons along with fresh shields. Other began to pull out lengths of wood and hack them into makeshift barricades interlaced with the wagons themselves.

“Get the breastworks up behind those spike traps,” Stormwell shouted as he drove a stake into the ground. “Hurry!”

Lys nodded. That was a good plan.

She took aim at an enemy archer poking his head out. Her arrow found its mark, sending the man tumbling forward down the hill. She reached for another arrow, her fingers moving with practiced efficiency.

“Keep firing!” Swift ordered. “Don’t let them get any closer!”

Lys grit her teeth. That was impossible. The enemy formation had grown in size while they had lost a major chunk of men.

The enemy’s slow advance brought them to the wagons, their shield wall protecting them except when a lucky gap appeared. The defenses, hastily constructed as they were, proved more formidable than she had expected, though.

The Black Tortoise soldiers struggled to navigate the spike-laden ground, their progress impeded by the treacherous obstacles. Those who attempted to destroy the stakes found themselves vulnerable to the precise aim of Lys and her fellow archers.

Even if they made it over the barriers, there was a wall of flesh, wood, and steel waiting for them.

“Hold the line!” Sergeant Swift shouted, his voice rising above the clash of metal against wood. “Don’t let them through!”

Swords and spears flashed in the sunlight, finding their marks in the sides of those who dared to attempt to climb or crawl past the wagons.

Lys nocked another arrow, scanning for potential targets. A group of enemy soldiers were attempting to breach the rear where the barricades were thinnest.

“Rear guard, form up!” she called out, her voice carrying over the din of battle. “Shield wall, now!”

The recruits at the back of the formation reacted swiftly, locking their shields together to create a barrier. Lys and the other archers moved into the center of the circle, their bows at the ready.

The enemy closed in on all sides.

They were surrounded.