While Ernest executed the decoy operation with Anastasia at the forest pass, Prince Edward led a separate contingent, lying in wait near the eastern ridge, where Gube’s convoys were expected to retreat if forced back.
He had chosen this position with precision, trusting that Ernest’s plan would draw out the enemy’s elite unit. If the Gube forces took the bait and fell into disarray, this location would be perfect to cut off their retreat and collapse their lines from behind.
If not, then using Plan B to launch a surprise attack on Gube would also suffice. They were close enough to pursue and support the operation.
They waited in silence, crouched behind thick undergrowth and rocky slopes. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale sheen on Prince Edward’s drawn blade.
Then came the thunder of hooves and the sharp whistle of falcons overhead.
"Hold the line," he murmured to his captains. "Wait for the signal."
A soldier scrambled down the hill, breathless. "Prepare backup! We have the princess. The elite of Nixel is behind."
Edward’s eyes sharpened. "Hold," he said.
The secret signal was known only to three people: the soldier, Ernest, and the Crown Prince.
Hearing Edward’s words, the lieutenant general also instructed his men to stand down. They watched silently as a group of soldiers, running or riding, hurried toward the Gube camp. The Nixel soldiers were anxious, but they obeyed orders and held their ground.
They were confused, watching the elite soldiers retreat without a fight.
"Mount, pursue, do not attack," Ernest commanded, taking the lead as he climbed onto his horse and led the chase.
"Prepare backup! We have the princess. The elite of Nixel is behind," another soldier echoed the message.
The Gube soldiers found the words strange. But seeing the approaching men dressed in their armor, apparently fleeing from pursuers, they hesitated. Confused, they began to form ranks.
Though on alert, they didn’t draw their swords in time; before the front line, clad in Gube armor, suddenly turned on them.
"It’s a trap! Kill them!" a Gube commander shouted, realizing too late that the returning men were Nixel soldiers in disguise.
"Charge!" Ernest commanded. Seeing that the front lines had successfully broken into the Gube camp, he signaled for a full assault.
Now the soldiers understood why the prince had told them to pursue, not attack—it was to create the illusion of Gube men retreating and lower the enemy’s guard.
Steel clashed. Horses reared. Men shouted and fell.
"Cut off their left flank!" the lieutenant general bellowed. "Don’t let them regroup!"
The Gube commander frowned. There weren’t many soldiers guarding this part of the camp. The location of their Sergeant Major General had been deliberately leaked to Nixel spies to lure them into a trap but he hadn’t expected an attack from this direction.
"Send a message for backup to the Sergeant Major General," he said grimly, realizing that their main forces were now under heavy attack.
Soon, the entire camp was ablaze as the fighting intensified.
Sensing that victory was within reach, the Nixel soldiers pressed forward with renewed strength. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on novel⁂fire.net
Meanwhile, on the other side of the camp, Colonel Simon was leading a thousand men toward the headquarters of Gube’s Lieutenant General, the famed strategist.
"Lieutenant General, they’ve taken the bait. A group of about a thousand men is headed this way," a Gube soldier reported.
Upon hearing this, the lieutenant general smiled. He replaced a chess piece on the board before him.
"Get the men ready. Let them in," he said with a smirk, then stood and began putting on his armor.
Colonel Simon led his thousand men through the narrow gorge toward the heart of Gube’s secondary camp. The path was eerily quiet; too quiet. The wind rustled the dry leaves above, and the moonlight filtered through the branches in slivers.
"Stay alert," he muttered, eyes scanning the cliffs rising steeply on either side. "This smells wrong," he added under his breath, his heart skipping a beat.
Just then, a horn blared sharp, shrill, and echoing through the gorge.
Arrows rained down from both sides of the cliffs.
"Shields!" Simon roared, but the warning came too late. Dozens of men cried out as the ambush erupted in full.
Flaming projectiles followed, setting dry foliage ablaze. Panic spread like wildfire.
"Pull back!" one of his captains shouted, but their rear had already been sealed. Gube’s infantry emerged from hidden trenches and outcroppings, surrounding them in a deadly vice.
The trap had been laid with terrifying precision. A wall of spears blocked their front. From the cliffs above, Gube archers continued their merciless volley.
"Form ranks!" Simon ordered, rallying what he could. But his forces were caught in chaos. Every step brought them closer to death or capture.
The battle raged for less than an hour, but it felt like a lifetime. When the dust began to settle, only a third of Colonel Simon’s original force remained alive. The ground was littered with the dead and dying.
Bleeding from a gash at his side, Simon knelt, his sword buried point-first in the ground beside him. Around him, his surviving men bloodied, exhausted, and overwhelmed—began laying down their weapons.
"We surrender!" a captain cried out hoarsely, raising his hands as more Gube soldiers poured in to secure the field.
This captain felt bitter. They were never supposed to attack.
According to the plan, Ernest had led four thousand men to secretly follow the princess. There were two contingencies:
If news of the princess lured out Gube’s elite, the four thousand would engage and defend.
If not, after dealing with the enemy reinforcements, two thousand five hundred men were to be held back near the Gube camp. Two hundred would disguise themselves as Gube soldiers, and the remaining two thousand plus were to join Nixel’s main forces and attack.
Meanwhile, the last fifteen hundred men were to wait at the forest pass—either as backup or to monitor Gube’s movements.
But Colonel Simon had made his own decision; leaving only five hundred men on standby and leading a thousand into an ambush.
The captain had objected, suggesting it was wiser to stick to the plan and send scouts to find the princess and Ernest, who had fallen off the slope. But Simon insisted leading to this disaster.
Now, seeing how they had walked like sheep into the slaughter, the captain lost his will to fight. At his words, more soldiers dropped their weapons.
The Gube Lieutenant General stepped forward, calm and composed in polished armor. He surveyed the broken Nixel force with a cold eye.
"Bind the colonel," he ordered. "Treat the wounded. Take every man alive—we’ll make sure Nixel remembers this loss."
Simon was roughly seized and shackled. Though defeated, he glared up at the general.
"This isn’t the end," he growled. He despised the captain who had dropped his sword. To him, it was better to fight to the death.
The Gube commander offered only a faint smile. "No. But it’s a fine beginning."