NOVEL NEXT Chapter 102: Redcoat
Dozens upon dozens of myriads were enslaved. However, one is unique among them all. He was what is called a writer, a bard, or whatever they were called at the time.
In all his life, this was his most unfortunate moment, just as when he was about to leave the frontier city after gathering information about the status quo on the frontline, it was also the time when the frontier fell into the hands of the ghouls. Thereby, shrinking further the space that the myriads are able to live comfortably, and the sea of darkness expands further into their domain.
He was just that unfortunate, and so he could only plead to the gods for mercy after his death. Right now, he is nothing more than livestock; any form of redemption or freedom is already out of reach.
His eyes darted around, contemplating the state of the frontier: burned houses, collapsed streets, and the night sky setting in. It was a normal day for normal livestock like him until a thunderous explosion reverberated through the surroundings.
Bestial roars and flashes of light lit up the surroundings; his ears perked up, trying to find the cause of the sound. The other livestock, like him, scurried in fear around the surroundings, yet he did not. Instead, he glanced from street to street, trying to pinpoint locations.
Then there it was: a man whose kind he had not seen at any point in time or in any point of history, having a distinguished feature not present in myriads like him. Upon taking a closer look, the man holds a stick of some sort, and from it came a flash of light that took out multiple ghouls.
He was fascinated, unbelievably so, until inspiration took over him. His heartbeat quickened its pace, his eyes dilated in excitement as his breath became ragged. A flash of inspiration is not a joke, as it could serve to drive the making of a legendary writer. He could feel it; this is the one and only.
The mysterious individual sports a flashy red coat with gold trim and buttons. His pants are sleek black with lines of crimson red highlighting their edges. Then lastly, its assortment of different kinds of sacks strapped around him and on his back, and what seemed to be an iron white hat on his head.
A peculiar design, which even he does not know the uses of. However, a sudden thought once again penetrated deep into his mind.
"Perhaps there are living beings beyond the eternal dark forest?" He pondered for a long time, but that did not last as he had no proof or anything of that sort; it is all just a theory after all.
He was fascinated by the battle transpiring before him. The individual seamlessly dodges the arms thrown against him, and before they were even able to attack once again, he had already counterattacked, which left them laying on the ground lifelessly, without a single resistance.
The thought of the individual's prowess is terrifying, which struck a chord in his very heart. Confusion and jealousy reigned supreme above all.
"If we just had this kind of power, we would not be subjected to continuous retreat over the centuries!" he contemplated.
Flashes of light flickered all around as the dawn of night came, and soon the fighting was now out of their range. He glanced from left to right and saw that there were no ghoulish guards guarding them. With a flash of desperation, he looked over his bewildered comrades and signaled to them using his hand movements and a few whispers to organize themselves and get out of this hellhole.
He silently placed down his utensils that he was holding and started organizing people. He moved from street to street to warn other myriads that there is a chance to get out of the place. Once done, he began formulating his own squad so that he could protect the soon-to-become caravan out of this city.
He gathered former guards, bowmen, and magicians who wielded mana onto his side, and began constructing barriers all around the place he designated as his base.
This was his first time leading, and due to it, his heartbeat quickened as time passed by. He was scared witless, but he did not let it show, as he was inspired by the mysterious man. He may be a writer or a scholar, or a bard in some places, but he has had his fair share of study of warfare when he used to study at the academy.
Fortunately, his studies that he thought were once useless are now bearing fruit for him to harvest and enjoy. He knew that the ghouls were no fools, as was proven throughout the thousands of years of history of war against them. They were cunning, adaptable, and highly intelligent.
True to his thoughts, dozens of bestial roars spread throughout their surroundings, and now ghouls were coming for them, standing on the house porches and onto the rooftops of houses. They were there, observing and silently stalking.
Not wanting to give them an opportunity, he ordered for the formation of shields, with spearmen in the back and bowmen at the very back. On the side, he asked for the civilian myriads to quicken their pace and take as much as they only needed with them.
As if trying to taunt them, the disfigured faces of the ghouls smiled and maniacally laughed at them, which they then followed with an even more explosive roar that vibrated through the air, raising their hair on their skins and furs. They were intimidated, but with encouragement from him, the organizer, they were able to temporarily hold their ground.
To resist intimidation and to bring morale and unity back up, he stomped his feet and told the soldiers to follow him in unison. To which they did, and with a stomp of their feet and a roar of their own, the seemingly heated air seemed to cool down temporarily, as tension dropped a bit as confidence gained a way back up.