Bear School Astartes

Darkley was not the kind of person who feared death.

If he were someone afraid of death, he wouldn’t be doing this kind of work; instead, he should be settling down to farm or learn a craft, or engage in commerce.

The accurate description for someone like him is: he weighs the threats of death against the benefits of enduring those threats. Once it reaches a limit he can accept, the threat of death becomes tolerable.

Initially, Lann’s performance undoubtedly exceeded the maximum risk Darkley could accept.

So he immediately wanted to turn and bolt.

But then, when he discovered ’certain’ facts, he suddenly felt... this risk might not be as great as it appeared on the surface.

”I’m taking over temporary command now! Everyone obey my orders!”

In the midst of the chaotic Niflgaardian phalanx, Darkley suddenly shouted from the back.

Given the rank in the Niflgaard army, he indeed had the authority to command.

This shout, amidst the chaos caused by Lann, was quite attention-grabbing.

However, Darkley was very cautious, or rather sly, only speaking without giving away his position.

Normally in military command, it is crucial for the commander to make themselves visible so subordinates can ascertain their position and orders.

And around Darkley, his four skilled men looked at him as if he were insane.

”Are you out of your mind?!”

”Son of a bitch! If you’re going against him, go yourself! Hear me?! Go yourself!!”

While cursing, they were preparing to ride away from their commander.

Even the usually composed Spiritual Master Joanna was the same.

This group was originally a band of desperados, their respect for Darkley stemmed from his rank and authority.

But now, to them, Darkley might as well be a dead man.

Yet Darkley himself was visibly excited, a state he often entered when engaged in some thrilling gamble.

Excited yet tense.

He lay low on the horse’s back, trying not to make himself conspicuous.

But the orders coming from his mouth never stopped.

”Disperse! Abandon formation! Abandon the line! Everyone scatter!”

Darkley issued an order baffling enough to confuse any commander or anyone with a bit of battlefield knowledge.

In cold weapon warfare, formations were something commanders would maintain at the cost of many lives.

”Stay away from that man! Go kill those refugees! Those refugees can’t match you without a formation! Scatter! Charge at them!”

Actually, regardless of whether Darkley gave the ’abandon formation’ order or not, the organization of the Niflgaard army was already close to breaking.

With the command from a superior officer, the Niflgaard soldiers instantly scattered in chaos!

From the moment Darkley issued the order, Lann immediately realized something was wrong.

Because this order directly hit his weakness—he couldn’t cover long distances or many people!

Lann, crashing through the crowd, wanted to take out Darkley before he could finish giving orders.

But now everything was chaotic, surrounded by the roars, wails, and clashing steel of the Niflgaard people, making it impossible to discern anything.

Thus, the situation unfolded as Lann expected.

The Niflgaard, terrified by him and unable to maintain even basic formation and discipline, began to flee in all directions.

A small number of people who had close contact with him were almost scared witless and fled aimlessly.

Stripping off their armor to lighten their load, fleeing in directions that made no sense.

But the majority instinctively followed the officer’s orders.

They scattered like birds... towards the direction of the refugee group.

Stuart’s cavalry unit, leveraging their numerical advantage, had already defeated the enemy’s cavalry.

Seeing this situation, he too changed his expression drastically.

Waving his longsword on horseback, he shouted to the surrounding knights: ”Return! Go back to protect the refugees!”

But ultimately, facing a disorganized army, it’s too late.

Because they were too scattered.

If it were any regular Sintra army! Even one so frightened on the battlefield by the Niflgaard people.

With their organization intact and the others almost fleeing chaotically, they wouldn’t fear these Niflgaard people.

The Niflgaard army is unstoppable, but it doesn’t mean every individual in their army can take on ten men single-handedly.

But now, opposite this disorganized Niflgaard bunch aren’t any troops... just armed refugees.

Geralt firmly grabbed a stumbled, retreating refugee, holding him in line.

”Don’t be afraid! These are just a defeated army! Losers! We’ve got the numbers!”

The White Wolf never thought he would ever utter such words resembling the threats of a small-time gangster before a fight.

But there was no other choice, these were the only words he could think of to boost the refugees’ morale.

Yet even so, the refugees still had no courage.

When the chaotic Niflgaard army charged, the refugees in the front row, although holding their shields in front, retreated and fell at one push.

Holding a shield sounds simple, but it requires skill too.

Those holding shields to resist must be brave, their entire weight leaning forward, pushing against the front!

Only then can they have enough resistance power to maintain their position.

But these refugees?

Before the disorganized Niflgaard army even charged, they had already raised their shields to their chests, shrinking backward uncontrollably.

They’d topple at even a push, let alone a charge!

So the refugee’s line was incredibly vulnerable against the rampant soldiers’ assault.

The screams of the refugees pierced the air once again, echoing since the arrow storm.

And beside them, Ged had drawn the Bear School Valerian Steel Sword from his back, charging into the chaotic crowd.

He was letting his emotions get the better of him.

Geralt immediately realized this.

Because finding and fighting Niflgaard people amidst the chaos was incredibly inefficient!

There was something else he should be doing now.

And at this moment, in the center of the refugee group, a powerful voice shouted as if announcing names in a court.

”Now’s the time! Everyone, every refugee, homeless Sintra people! Charge!”

It was Hacksaw’s voice.

The voice was passionate and grand, nothing like his usual affable demeanor.

”In the chaos, break through the blockade! Charge towards the border!”

The crowd moved.

They had been on the verge of collapse and fleeing. Just in mindless panic, they would likely flee back the way they came.

Because familiar routes bring comfort.

But now Hacksaw’s shout gave them a sliver of reason.

Gave them a path to survival.