Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 36: The Battle to Reclaim Maple Leaf Manor (Part Two)

First, let me begin by expressing my gratitude to Sinian A. In chapters 17 to 19, there were errors regarding the characters, and thanks to Sinian A’s correction, these have been revised and approved. Going forward, I will be diligent in checking my work to ensure such mistakes are not repeated.

Berion and his companions arrived near Maple Leaf Manor by dusk the following day. Their encampment was set up on a gently sloping hill with sparse trees, three leagues east of the manor’s gates. After arranging for sentries, the group began constructing their camp and preparing dinner.

Having traveled all day, both people and beasts were exhausted. On the first night at the battlefield, aside from the soldiers posted as sentries, everyone else quickly retired, knowing that the likelihood of the enemy surrendering tomorrow was slim and that battle was imminent.

The next morning, after breakfast, all forces except for Berion, another knight commander, and their soldiers—who remained to guard the camp—set out to their designated attack positions as previously planned, taking their places and preparing for combat.

On the rebel side, soldiers were already stationed atop the manor’s walls, well-equipped, the lowest among them clad in iron-plated armor, nearly all wearing steel helmets. Only as Viscount Merry and Sir Pippin drew nearer did they realize their opponents were formidable adversaries. They suspected that these rebels who had seized Maple Leaf Manor were not mere vagrants—otherwise, how could they possess such good equipment?

Sir Pippin felt troubled. Originally, he had been slated for frontier duty as punishment for the death of Sir Sack, but thanks to Viscount Merry’s protection, he was allowed to remain within the county troops, seeking redemption through military merit.

He had hoped to regain trust by reclaiming Maple Leaf Manor, but now found himself facing a tough opponent.

Viscount Merry was unaware of Sir Pippin’s thoughts, instead pondering whether they should attempt to persuade the enemy to surrender. Despite his doubts, Viscount Merry dispatched someone to negotiate. One of his knight attendants, bearing a white flag, rode to the manor gates and called up: “Let your leader come forth to parley!”

Ham, leaning on the parapet, replied in broken Imperial Common, “I am the leader. If you have something to say, spit it out!”

The attendant was momentarily taken aback, but quickly recovered, believing Ham’s odd speech was due to a strong accent. “Greetings, leader. I am the envoy of Viscount Merry, direct steward of the Brick Principality and noble of the court, here to urge your surrender.

You have occupied Maple Leaf Manor for some time. We are willing to overlook your past misdeeds; if you lay down your arms and surrender to the esteemed county steward, we pledge, upon our honor as nobles, to guarantee your safety.

If you refuse, our five hundred elite Brick soldiers will storm the manor and slaughter every last one of you.”

Ham burst into laughter at the Brick envoy’s words, utterly indifferent to the terms and threats. “You Brick dogs, we, the Newgale Wanderers, will never surrender! If you have the guts, come attack the walls. Let’s see how many of you must die to take Maple Leaf Manor!”

Upon hearing “Newgale Wanderers,” the attendant’s eyes widened in alarm; he knew that in their era, only the Toba pirates referred to themselves as “Newgale Wanderers.”

These pirates were mostly descendants of nobles who lost in the Newgale Kingdom’s succession wars fifty years prior, now calling themselves Newgale Wanderers and occupying islands, living by raiding merchant ships and pillaging ashore.

Being of noble blood, Toba pirates were not only wealthy from their plunder but also well-armed and highly skilled in combat. Many had exceptional martial prowess, and it was not unheard of for five Toba pirates to wipe out a squad of ten Brick light infantry.

Thus, when the attendant realized the enemy holding Maple Leaf Manor were Toba pirates, he grew even more anxious about the uncertain prospects of the campaign.

He did not bother to bid the pirate leader Ham farewell, but hastily rode back to report to Viscount Merry, who upon hearing the news flew into a rage, cursing the hunters who had failed him, leaving him in a difficult position.

He resolved to arrest these hunters upon his return, sending them to the Snow Realm mines as slave labor. Yet cursing aside, he had brought so many troops—how could he retreat without fighting? Besides, his own forces outnumbered the enemy five to one; victory still seemed likely.

With negotiations broken off, only a direct assault remained. Viscount Merry gave Sir Pippin the order to commence the attack. Sir Pippin drew his sword, seized his horse’s reins, and galloped before the ranks.

As he rode, he shouted, “Brave sons of Brick, now is the time to fulfill your oaths! For your monarch, for the steward, draw your swords, grip your shields, charge forth, and slay these filthy Toba mongrels!”

“Kill them all!” the soldiers roared, brandishing their weapons.

With Sir Pippin’s shout, the buglers sounded the charge. Over four hundred men, divided into four groups, rushed forward, carrying ladders and a battering ram, heralding the start of the campaign to retake the manor.

The camp was close to the battlefield; Berion brought Eomé on horseback to a nearby hill to observe the fighting.

Nearly half of the Toba pirates wielded bows, their marksmanship extraordinary—almost every shot found its mark. Moreover, their bows were powerful; ordinary armor and leather were no defense.

At less than one league’s distance, dozens of attacking soldiers had already fallen, struck by arrows as the battle opened. Two apprentice knights led the assault on the gate—one commanding well-equipped city militia, the other using county troops for cover.

The county troops’ weak hunting bows could not threaten the pirates on the walls, while several county archers hiding behind shields were killed by the pirates’ skilled marksmen.

With ineffective ranged support and lackluster infantry, the city militia pushing the ram reached the gate only to stumble into traps.

First, a militiaman stepped into a pit, impaled by sharpened stakes. Though not killed outright, he struggled to rise, but only worsened his wounds, quickly bleeding to death amid agonized cries.

Often, wounded soldiers inspire more terror in an army than those killed outright—pitiful wails, helpless suffering, pain left untreated.

The despairing cries of those slowly dying in futile struggle struck the hearts of their comrades like hammer blows, dampening the militia’s momentum. One soldier, unable to bear his friend’s torment, dashed from the shield wall to rescue him.

He never reached the pit, as a flurry of pirate arrows struck him down—three heavy shafts pierced his chest, throat, and left shoulder. The arrows to his chest and throat were fatal, and he died instantly, collapsing before the manor gates.

The apprentice knight leading the militia had fought before and knew time could not be wasted. He drew his sword and urged the militia to push the ram quickly to the gate.

On their advance, three more militiamen fell into pits—one dead, two wounded. Despite these losses, the ram reached the gate, twenty paces away, ready to batter it down. The militia’s spirits lifted, eager to breach the gate and avenge their fallen brothers.

As half crouched under the ram and the rest advanced with shields, they heard the shattering of clay jars upon the ram and shields, followed by a strange odor.

Soon, an oily liquid began dripping from the ram’s cover and shield edges. Veteran soldiers shouted, “Beware, the enemy will fire flaming arrows! That’s oil—get away from the ram, fall back!”

The warning came too late. As the oil jars were thrown, flaming arrows followed, setting the ram ablaze. The twenty militiamen beneath it were caught in the inferno.

Those with flaming shields suffered less—placing their shields on the ground and stamping out the flames, they were fortunate enough to retreat behind their shields.

But those under the ram, doused with oil, had no such luck. Their leather armor made them highly flammable. Engulfed in flames, they rolled on the ground, desperate to extinguish the fire. The pirates above gave them no quarter, raining arrows on the burning men. Without shields, many were pinned to the earth.

Those killed outright were spared further agony. The wounded had to endure both arrow wounds and the searing flames—a pain beyond imagination. Several militiamen, unable to bear it, drew their swords and slit their own throats to avoid dying by fire or at the pirates’ hands.

After witnessing the fate of those who tried to save the wounded, the rest dared not attempt rescue, forced to watch their comrades perish before their eyes.

Many wept helplessly, but their tears could not save their suffering friends. Such is the cruelty of war—real, bloody sacrifice. Someone joking with you one moment may be dead from arrows or fire the next. There is no reason, no mercy, regardless of kinship; if you are careless, you die.

By the end of the battle, more than half the militia was lost. They hung their heads, refusing to speak of leading another assault. The apprentice knight who led them died under the ram, believing it the safest shelter; it proved the quickest path to the grave. He, his chainmail, and sword were reduced to a charred corpse before the manor gate.

The frontal assault failed; attacks on the three flanks fared even worse. Six knight commanders on the south, west, and north sides could not even reach the walls, leaving only peasant corpses before retreating out of arrow range.

All six commanders suffered heavy casualties, inflicting not a single wound upon the pirates. That day nearly fifty men were lost, and aside from a handful of wounded, they had nothing to show for it—never even touching the enemy.

Seeing the attack fail, Viscount Merry angrily ordered Sir Pippin to withdraw. Crestfallen soldiers dragged their weapons back to camp. Berion and Eomé witnessed the entire battle, unsurprised by the outcome.

Eomé said to Berion, “My lord, it seems our retreat is imminent. A pity this chance for military merit.”

“Yes, I suppose another two failed assaults and Viscount Merry will surely withdraw. But perhaps there’s still a chance for glory—maybe we’ll seize a great opportunity yet.” Berion replied with a mysterious smile, piquing Eomé’s curiosity, but seeing Berion had nothing more to say, he held his tongue.

Berion and Eomé then returned to fulfill their duties as cooks, serving dinner to their defeated comrades. Not long after, Berion received notice—Viscount Merry summoned him to the command tent for a war council.

Though reluctant to listen to the noblemen’s endless prattle, he had little choice—his position depended on them.

Entering the command tent, Berion immediately sensed a tense atmosphere, quite unlike the previous meeting’s relaxed mood.

Now, knight commanders and officers sat in dejection, silent. Berion found a corner and sat quietly, trying not to disturb the others.

He had not waited long in the oppressive silence before Viscount Merry entered. As leader, Merry felt discomfited but put on a nonchalant facade.

He looked at the dispirited gathering and said, “What is this? All of you drooping like wilted eggplants—lift your heads! Today was merely a trial of the pirates’ strength. Though we suffered losses, it does not affect the overall situation. Let’s discuss our plans—tomorrow we will break into Maple Leaf Manor, kill every Toba mongrel, and avenge our fallen warriors!”

Berion had always thought Viscount Merry was lacking in military and administrative skill, but he could not deny the viscount’s political acumen. His words revived the spirits of the tent; heads lifted, gloom dispersed, and some young commanders and apprentice knights clenched their fists with renewed vigor—their fighting spirit had been rekindled.

“Sir Pippin, summarize today’s battle,” Viscount Merry prompted.

Sir Pippin promptly rose. “My lord, brothers, I won’t repeat the casualty numbers—you all know them. Let me address the reasons for today’s defeat.

The foremost cause was poor reconnaissance. Those useless hunters took their reward but did nothing, leaving us unaware that our enemy was the Toba pirates. We fought unprepared and paid dearly.

Also, our forces were too dispersed—we attacked from all four sides instead of concentrating at the gate. If we had focused our strength there, we could have brought our full power to bear. Spread thin, we lacked superiority on any front.”

Viscount Merry briefly analyzed the day’s failures and sat down. His reasoning was accepted by most present—he shifted blame while encouraging joint action tomorrow, minimizing risk. Why not?