Bear School Astartes-Chapter 649 - 652. Battle of Sodden Mountain

This small hill known locally as Mushroom Mountain had never before seen so many people step foot upon it.

More than thirty thousand defeated Niflgaard troops were driven here like cattle by the Northern Alliance Army.

If it were merely herding, then these soldiers who had lost heart from last night’s battle wouldn’t even have the ability to react; they would just follow the main force aimlessly.

However, once the Northerners took up a formation to encircle them, the defeated Niflgaard soldiers became suddenly excited, like a powder keg ignited!

After all, they were well-trained professional soldiers, and within the invincible Niflgaard army, their soldier quality far exceeded the average of other nations’ soldiers.

So they immediately realized: the Northerners didn’t want to let them leave!

"We still have weapons! We still have armor, warhorses! Charge out! We need to return to Sintra!"

Initially, it was just a shout amidst the chaotic retreat, but quickly, this cry spread wide and far.

Thus, on this tiny hilltop and its base, a bloody massacre reignited.

People all wished to live, to live safely.

The Niflgaardians thus wanted to return to their occupied territories, and at this moment, even though the battle and defeat from last night had left them mentally deranged, they still pulled out their weapons with hysterical shouts.

Without structure or command, they were still forced to unleash their last drops of courage when driven to the brink.

Although the Northerners had structure, support, organization, and command, the sheer number of the enemy was overwhelming.

In a radius of merely three kilometers, it was actually the Niflgaardian soldiers who had the numerical advantage.

Since the Northern Alliance Army were the victors of the pitched battle, they had to ensure the smooth and safe access of their supply lines, take care of the wounded, and clean the battlefield.

These manpower resources were spread across the entire battlefield, whereas the Niflgaardians, seeking only to flee, didn’t need to worry about anything else.

The crimson charge and blockage commenced.

On this little hilltop, countless people clashed, blood streaming down the hill, almost forming a stream.

Warhorses neighed as they tried to break through the front line, but were pierced through the chest by the long halberd soldiers’ pike arrangement, crying out miserably as they fell.

Due to their dire need to escape, the Niflgaardians pushed the breakout and blockade to the highest level of intensity in a flash!

The Niflgaard army had never experienced such a rout, so they had no experience.

Even in routine training, this subject wasn’t included, and in the long-standing military ethos, any Niflgaard noncommissioned officer wanting to train troops to regroup after a rout was mocked as a "coward."

This army had become overly proud.

At the topmost point of the hill, chants that sounded like thunder echoed, filled with secrets, piercing even the screams and wails of humans facing death.

"Alzur Thunder Strike Technique!"

A female voice, echoing due to chaotic magic power, thundered into the sky.

Golden lightning danced erratically among the unusually low clouds, then descended from the sky, linking like death’s chains among the crowd clad in black armor, illuminating, generating heat, and drawing painful screams.

The gathered crowd was indeed well-suited for the warlocks to unleash their power; this one spell directly cleared a piece of mountain terrain!

No less than three hundred people!

If in another scenario, three hundred fully armed, battle-hardened veterans faced a warlock who could cast the "Alzur Thunder Strike Technique," they could likely take the warlock’s head with less than a sacrifice of forty men.

And this was only from a single warlock’s spell.

"Triss, don’t just use powerful spells! You’re going to exhaust your magic power!"

Yennefer of Wenger Castle was Triss’s friend since their academy days, with large black waves of hair and violet eyes, the characteristic exquisite features and sensitive skin of female warlocks.

Only her black and white attire might make one mistake her for someone from Niflgaard at first glance.

"But we must reduce their numbers quickly! Otherwise, the line won’t hold!"

Triss responded loudly to Yennefer, her originally olive-red hair now loosened due to fatigue and anxiety.

As she spoke, Triss began a new round of chanting.

Intense flames started to manifest on her hands.

Yennefer cursed: "Damn it! Damn! Be careful! Watch out for magic power going out of control!"

Saying this, she too began her own casting, white luminescent energy gathering in front of her chest, reflecting off a star pendant hanging from a collar around her neck.

A powerful shockwave swept through a vast area, sending the Niflgaardians rolling down the slope in their sturdy armor.

Considering their own weight, once they stopped rolling, the bodies within the armor would likely be reduced to mush.

"Tishaya, help Triss! She’s overdoing it!"

Yennefer used telepathy to call out to ’Tishaya’ on the other side of the hill. Although the actual distance between them was not close, thankfully the spell’s control range allowed for coverage.

"Stop yelling! I’m on it!"

’Tishaya’s’ response was frantic and irritated, unlike Yennefer’s recollection of her usual demeanor.

But now, amid the tense and terrifying battlefield, Yennefer failed to notice this anomaly.

The warlocks summoned by Viggo Fortez numbered twenty-three in total.

They usually mingled amidst the radiant colors of royal banquets or were engrossed in their laboratory research.

Each one was an exemplar of what a warlock should be.

Rational, logically clear, noble, wealthy, and powerful in magic.

Yet now, at this moment, the murderous atmosphere of the battlefield was clouding every mind in this Asura Battlefield.

On the field, the pre-conceived plans and scenarios contemplated by these casters’ intelligent minds turned into mere blanks.

The fierceness of the battle, the brutality of the slaughter, were far beyond what these ’precious individuals,’ ’researchers,’ could imagine.

So, as soon as they engaged, the one performing the fastest and best was surprisingly Triss.

The sweet-voiced, red-haired beauty, who inside, was stronger and more resolute than anyone else.

"These warlocks are doing brilliantly!"

In the command post, Veltrest put down his monocular excitedly and said.

"The numbers of the Niflgaardians are steadily shrinking, the pressure on our lines is easing!"

But doom loomed like an eagle, circling overhead, descending only when the time was ripe.

The first accident happened to Fanier of Brugge.

This female warlock had an alluring figure and pretty face that Margaret used to tease Lann with.

Yet she was clearly frightened by the Asura Battlefield she found herself in, with fear morphing into hysterical releases of magic power.

When frightened, people always react like this: those without power turn and run.

While those confident in their own strength an overexert themselves amid panic.

The chaotic magic power she wielded grew fiercely out of control, causing her nose and eyes to bleed.

The spell wasn’t fully woven either; instead, it scattered as an unformed sheet of magical flames.

Only due to the large amount of magic power did the flame. wave appear impressive.

However, the flames from this magic flashed by fleetingly, lacking sustainability, thus lacking lethality.

It terrified the ordinary troops guarding her, causing them to disperse and open a large gap in the formation.

Chaotic magic is inherently distressing, a disconcerting energy similar to nuclear radiation, capable of prompting normal creatures to mutate or become deformed.

The general education level among the Northern Army was not high; many had superstitious beliefs, viewing wizards as symbols of impurity and misfortune.

Having them protect a wizard casting spells far away might bearable for their mental fortitude.

But with Fanier’s magical flames skimming over their helmets, panic was inevitable.

And in the instant the formation loosened, an arrow silently came flying through the wind, unnoticed amidst the chaos.

Once the soldiers reformed their ranks, they found the beautiful female warlock beyond rescue.

The cold arrow had pierced the female warlock’s lung; now the blood she coughed up was the bright pink filled with oxygen.

This was the first sacrifice of a Northern warlock on Mushroom Mountain.