Chapter 497: Did we Get Betrayed Again?
In an instant, all her hesitation vanished like mist under the sun.
"It’s okay," Veylara whispered back to the anxious elders, her voice holding an iron-hard finality that brooked no argument. "He must have planned for this exact moment too. Didn’t you see how outrageous his plans were during the dawn raid?"
She turned her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over the group of old warriors and shamans crouched beside her.
"He told our warriors to cut the Zeriths’ leg tendons instead of going for their chests or throats. And what happened? They slaughtered countless Zerith stalkers and Gray Marauders without losing a single drop of human blood. Not one. Tell me... you guys who have lived for countless springs, have you ever thought of something like that?"
There was complete silence.
The elders kept their heads low, eyes fixed on the ground or on Sol’s distant figure. No one spoke. Some shifted uncomfortably, their wrinkled faces flushing with a mix of shame and reluctant acknowledgment.
Veylara’s voice grew even firmer, carrying the weight of decades of command.
"No? Right. In fact, even I hadn’t thought about using such tactics. All we had ever been taught was to fight fair and squarely like true warriors... meet the enemy head-on, trade blow for blow, die with honor if we must. But Sol... he doesn’t fight like us. He fights like something that was never meant to lose."
She paused, letting her words sink in.
"So trust him. He succeeded then, and he will succeed now too."
The elders remained silent for a long moment. Finally, one of the oldest among them... a white-hairedelder with deep scars across his face... let out a long, weary sigh.
"...You’re right, Warchief," he admitted grudgingly. "That boy’s mind works in ways ours never have. If anyone can turn this suicidal-looking plan into victory, it’s him."
Another elder, gripping his bone staff tightly, nodded slowly.
"I still think it’s madness... but I’ve seen enough madness from him turn into miracles. We’ll hold our tongues and trust the plan."
Veylara gave a sharp nod, her expression softening just a fraction as she looked back down at Sol’s relaxed figure sitting on the rock below.
"He carries the weight of our future on his shoulders," she said quietly, almost to herself. "The least we can do is not doubt him while he does it."
The group of hidden elders fell into a tense but respectful silence once more, their eyes fixed on the young green recruits and the solitary black-armored figure leading them.
Far below, Sol remained seated on the flat boulder, looking completely at ease under the blazing sun, as if he were simply enjoying a quiet afternoon rather than waiting for thousands of enemies to come and try to kill him.
The trap was set.
And the Veynar elders could only watch... and pray that this young monster’s outrageous plan would work once again.
...
They waited for one hour. Then two.
The harsh, unforgiving sun climbed higher into the pale sky, beating down on the barren flats until the white limestone dust began to shimmer with a heavy, dry heat.
The recruits remained huddled in their lines, their skin streaked with sweat that washed away lines of the charcoal paint, their eyes fixed on the empty horizon where the dead clay met the blue sky.
The silence of the wasteland was heavy, broken only by the occasional clatter of a weapon against the gravel as a tired teenager shifted his weight.
Then, right as the sun hit the three-quarter mark before noon, Sol suddenly raised his brow.
He stood up slowly from the flat boulder he had been sitting on, his silver-crimson eyes narrowing as he looked toward the mountains. He didn’t see anything with his eyes yet, but he could feel it... the distant, heavy vibration of an organized army marching in formation.
Hundred of footsteps. The low rumble of weapons and armor. It was still far away, but it was unmistakable.
The moment Sol rose, the young recruits around him tensed up instantly.
"What is it?" one of them whispered, gripping his spear tighter.
"Did they come early?" another asked, voice shaking.
The entire group of three hundred recruits shifted nervously, their earlier calm evaporating in seconds.
Some stood up halfway, eyes darting toward the horizon. Others clutched their weapons, ready to fight or run.
Hidden among the cliffs and boulders, the elders and Veylara also noticed the sudden movement. Their expressions tightened with alarm.
But instead of looking straight ahead toward the expected direction of the Coalition’s main force, Sol turned his body slightly and stared toward the mountain pass and the grassland beyond it.
The confusion spread like wildfire.
"Why is he looking that way?" a young recruit muttered. "The enemy is supposed to come from the north, right?"
Even Veylara, watching from her hidden position, frowned deeply.
"What is he sensing...?" she whispered.
They didn’t have to wait for long, the answer came moments later.
The ground suddenly started vibrating.
At first it was faint... a low, distant rumble like faraway thunder. Then it grew stronger. The pebbles and loose gravel on the barren wasteland began to tremble. High-layer warriors like Veylara and the elders sensed it first.
Their faces paled as they turned toward the direction Sol was staring at.
From a completely different direction... cutting across the lush grassland and through the barren filed... a massive force was approaching.
At least a thousand warriors moved in rough but organized columns, kicking up a long trail of dust behind them as they marched with purpose.
Immediately, panic rippled through the Veynar ranks like wildfire.
"What is this?!" one elder hissed in horror. "Who are they? Did the Coalition know about our plan? Are they ambushing us from the side?!"
Murmurs and chaos erupted among the hidden warriors.
"They’re coming from the wrong direction! This wasn’t part of the plan!"
"Did we get betrayed again?!"
"By the ancestors... we’re finished. They knew. They knew everything!"