A Murderous Dream

The pack was growing by the day. New bandits joined every once in a while, and it soon had more than 4000 men. A lot of the new enemies were horse bandits that were unafraid of death, easily mobilised to serve other functions. And while there weren’t as many slavers, they all were far more powerful individually. Everyone who managed to survive in the Bloodstained Lands had their own set of skills.

A strong killing intent permeated the serene night. However, everyone was still sleeping very soundly. After countless battles of life and death, they had come to trust their comrades. A good rest was key to survival, so they let their worries go and caught up on much needed rest.

The chilly weather left Richard snuggling into his blanket more and more. He furrowed his brows, looking to be in the midst of a tumultuous dream.

And dreaming he was. For a mage that had a considerable foundation in meditation, this was a very rare event. Inside the dream he saw himself riding a warhorse, gazing into the vast mountains and rivers ahead of him.

He was in the Schumpeter Family’s lands, with that of the Josephs across the river bank. One could see a chaotic scene in the distance, with men and troops running all over. They were fleeing from a city, forming streams of humans that were trying to escape.

One could see groups of knights emerging from the villages and towns nearby, merging into a steady stream of soldiers that assembled in front of him. This stream seemed to be endless, new knights appearing every once in a while to join the enemy formation. Their origin was unknown.

He could sense that more knights would gather as he waited. He thus raised his arm, ordering the attack. Two battalions suddenly split off from the army behind him, hurrying to flank around the opponent. They formed a large arc that converged on the enemies, cutting off their path of retreat.

He was giving out command after command. Two more troops charged towards the opponents’ flanks, following which the infantry behind him inched forward and crushed the enemy in. The archers had already nocked their arrows, letting go at his command to launch a rain of arrows that hit the enemy formations with complete accuracy.

However, the archers were actually kilometres away from the enemy. How even did the shower of arrows reach his opponent? Even Olar did not possess such skill, the ability reserved for elven great archers over rank 15.

Richard looked inquisitively behind him, seeing rows of elven archers of huge status on the plains behind him. These elves were an entire third larger than normal. It was said that elves grew in size when they became archers, their strength and endurance increasing greatly. This was quite similar to demons; one only needed to look at a demon’s physique and stature to judge their power.

However, Richard didn’t understand what was going on. Since when had he acquired so many elven archers?

Despite his inhibitions, his subconscious mind linked to them just like he was to the broodmother. Richard continued to set their targets, thousands of arrows penetrating into a small portion of the enemy’s left flank. Another volley rained forth, travelling over a thousand metres and blanketing an area. Every enemy there was instantly wiped out; hundreds of knights collapsed to the ground, creating a hole in the enemy formation.

A split second later, he saw thousands more arrows pierce through the skies. He took a glimpse behind him, realising that each archer had three arrows nocked instead of one. He had no time to marvel at the technique, however; his subconscious mind had already contacted the soldiers on the left flank, adjusting their directions to have them spear into the hole in the enemy formation.

However, the moment he issued the command he realised the warhorses of the enemy knights had warped into enormous earth dragons. He looked at the infantry that was inching towards the opponents, realising they were growing inch by inch with every step they took. By the time they were close enough to engage in the melee, they had become huge, malevolent demons. Roars echoed in the sky as giant dragons flew out, hovering in mid-air as they awaited his commands.

Across the field, the escaping commoners transformed into giant knights that charged towards his troops in an attempt to outflank them. He was stunned, immediately ordering a change in formation as he reinforced the offensive. However, it was too late. Both parties had already charged into each other, creating a strange scene. When the opposing troops were attacked, the knights transformed back into commoners that collapsed in a bloodbath.

Richard felt nothing for this, his conscious mind in a whirl as he sent out new commands every few milliseconds. However, both armies now had more than a hundred battalions in the fight, and he began losing sight of the whole picture. His head was throbbing so much he felt like it would explode at any minute, but Richard could only grit his teeth and continue.

Just as the battle entered an impasse, the sky began to darken as colour seeped out of the entire world. Eventually the dream was in black and white, the soldiers halting their movements as everything blurred into everything else. Countless shadows formed numerous nightmare creatures, so many that they were impossible to count. All these creatures started hurling themselves towards Richard, leaving his vision full of talons and tusks.

*Whoosh!* The sound of wind parting was audible as Richard flipped through the air, sitting up. It was only then that he realised everything was just a dream. However, the dream had thoroughly exhausted him, as if he really had commanded an entire army in an endless battle.

A gush of cold wind flew past the area, the piercing cold causing him to shiver. This made him realise he had broken out in cold sweat during the course of his dream. His clothes were completely soaked, and the endless gusts of wind grew extremely unbearable.

It took him a few deep breaths to regain his composure, but just at that moment he suddenly felt faint tremors in the ground. He sprawled down immediately, putting his ears to the ground. His senses were heightened at that moment, and he realised that the ground was shaking harder and harder by the second.

He instantly leapt up like a flying fish, shouting at the top of his lungs, “INCOMING! EVERYONE, GET UP!”

Olar also got up from the formation at the same time, starting to scream, “Enemies coming from the northeast! There’s about five hundred of them, with at least ten powerful members! They’re a kilometre away!”

The enemies could cover the kilometre of distance within a few minutes at their fastest charge. The soldiers who were lying on the ground instantly got up, grabbing their weapons which were within arm’s reach.

As the campsite was embroiled in chaos, the elven bard sent out three arrows that were augmented by magic. They flew out more than five hundred metres, sending three of the knights at the lead off their horses. However, with the hundreds of soldiers charging towards this place, these were like small ripples in a raging river. They wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

The surviving wind wolves charged off the rocks, plunging into the frontlines of the enemy to engage in close combat. Six or seven more knights fell off their horses with blood-curdling shrieks, crushed by the oncoming stampede.