Chương 64: 64：New Blood and a Rare Talent

The incident happened so suddenly that they didn't even have the time to strip off their Slave Army surcoats. For the past few days, they had lived like startled birds. Head south, and they had to dodge the sniffing noses of the Orc Wolf Rider patrols. Head north, and they risked taking a fatal arrow from the remnants of the human resistance hiding in the Misty Swamp. No way forward, certain death behind. It was a situation of absolute despair.

Buck wiped the mud from his face, using his longsword as a crutch to support his exhausted body.

"Brothers, hold on just a little longer. Even if we have to survive on tree bark, we need to keep breathing. I swear I will help clear your names of this treason..." Before he could finish his sentence— Clang! Through the dead silence of the thick fog, a sudden, sharp cacophony of colliding metal rang out. The unmistakable screech of grinding armor plates! The swamp seemed to come alive in an instant.

From the waist-high shrubs, the mud pits, and piles of rotting logs all around them, mud sloughed off like waterfalls. Buck's pupils shrank violently as a full sixty-four heavy infantrymen, clad in pitch-black iron armor, rose in unison from every direction! Sixty-four armor-piercing heavy halberds, each two and a half meters long, were instantly lowered, their tips aimed dead center at the thirty-odd exhausted rebels. Advancing like an impenetrable wall, they completely sealed off every possible route of escape!

The overwhelming aura of oppression literally choked the breath from Buck and his men.

"Enemy attack!" a panicked, cracking voice shrieked from the group. The thirty routed soldiers instinctively drew their notched and rusted blades, huddling together. The fear of imminent death was written in everyone's eyes. Buck gripped his longsword tightly. One glance was all it took to recognize the insurmountable gap in their combat power. If the other side charged, his men would be mercilessly ground into meat paste by these iron monsters.

He let out a desperate, bitter smile, preparing to roar and launch one final, suicidal counterattack to preserve a shred of their human dignity. But in the very next second, Buck's gaze fell upon the inner lining of the breastplate of the heavy soldier closest to him. Stitched onto the slightly exposed leather lining was a dark red emblem. A crescent moon, as crimson as blood. It was the exclusive insignia of the Silvermoon Kingdom's Crimson Moon Knights! Buck's blood instantly boiled.

"Stop! Put your weapons down! Now!" Buck waved his left hand frantically. Not only was he ordering his men to stand down, but he also tossed the standard-issue longsword that had accompanied him for years into the mud with a loud clang. Raising his empty hands high, he pushed past his men without hesitation and dropped stiffly to one knee.

"Don't attack! We are not the Slave Army! We are humans!" Ahead of them, the impenetrable wall of heavy armor parted, creating a path. Soren stepped out through the mud. Renn followed closely behind him. Soren's expression was as cold as ice as he scrutinized the mud-covered Buck. Soren deeply understood the art of leadership. For a loyal commander who had been pushed to a dead end, you didn't even need to buy their loyalty with favors; you merely needed to offer them an honorable platform to prove themselves.

"I am Soren."

"Captain of the First Vanguard Battalion, Crimson Moon Knights."

"Now, tell me why you are wearing the uniforms of the Slave Army." If the name "Soren" struck like a thunderbolt, the title that followed made Buck's eyes turn red with emotion. He answered hastily yet respectfully:"My Lord! I am Buck! Former Cavalry Captain of the Frontier Defense Force."

"That bastard Viscount Blake sold our defensive line to the Orcs and forced us into these uniforms!"

"The thirty of us refused to be nailed to the pillar of shame as lapdogs for an alien race, so we defected from the camp without hesitation!"

"My Lord, even in the Orc camp, we had long heard of your legendary exploits—slaying the Shaman and killing the Son of Titan at the Sunken Bone Shallows!"

"We came specifically to seek your banner! Hand us swords! As long as we get to fight those greenskin Orcs, we are willing to follow you into the most dangerous hellscapes!" His voice was hoarse, every word weeping with blood. Behind him, the thirty-odd routed soldiers dropped to their knees with a heavy thud. Listening to Buck's account, Soren's face remained impassive, but inwardly, he confirmed the crucial details. He knew better than anyone about Viscount Blake's collusion with the Orcs.

Back when he had raided Warchief Blackstone's command platform, he had acquired the [Secret Treason Map], and the signature on it belonged to House Blake. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work! Furthermore, the wrongful hanging of Fina's entire family was also Blake's doing, a scheme to monopolize a smuggling route. All the intelligence aligned perfectly, seamlessly connecting their backgrounds.

This erased any shadow of a doubt regarding the loyalty of Buck and his men. Just as the fugitives were trembling with anxiety, terrified that this lord wouldn't believe them and would order their execution, Soren stepped forward. In the dead silence, he extended a hand toward Buck. A gesture of unhesitating acceptance, magnanimity, and grace.

"I will settle the score with Blake sooner or later, and I'll do it by holding his severed head."

"Starting today, strip off those disgraceful uniforms and throw them away."

"I accept you into my ranks."

"From now on, all you need to do is charge alongside me." Buck looked up. In the eyes of this cavalry commander, the Soren standing before him was no longer just a rumor shrouded in a halo of legends. In this treacherous world, such unreserved trust and unhesitating acceptance pierced the heart deeper than the highest-tier healing magic scroll. A hot tear slipped from the corner of his eye as Buck slammed his right fist heavily over his heart:"My Lord! Buck's life, from this day forth, belongs to you!"

Satisfied, Soren turned around and swept his hand through the air:"All forces, back to camp! After tonight, Greywater Village will immediately establish its very own Wolf Rider division!" Just as Soren issued the order to return to Greywater Village... BOOM! A fiery explosion violently tore through the thick mist to the east. Accompanied by the muffled blast came the faint, rapid sound of clashing metal, followed by the sickening thud of heavy blades hacking into bone.

Immediately after, a faint cluster of arcane lightning danced like a serpent against the dreary skyline for a brief second. In that exact same second. Ding! Within Soren's mind, his newly upgraded Tier 2 [Talent Insight] chimed crisply! [Talent Detection Triggered!] [Direction: Due East. Linear Distance: 1 Kilometer] [Identity Projection: Magic-oriented Talent] Soren's pupils constricted. A Mage? He felt his heart skip a beat.

If Buck, a high-level cavalry commander he had just recruited, was a rare tactical asset on a conventional battlefield... Then in this low-magic world, a Mage was an incredibly scarce strategic resource! A legion could survive without heavy cavalry, but it absolutely could not function without a spellcaster capable of deploying anti-magic shields or providing magical artillery. What was Greywater Village's biggest weakness at the moment? Anti-magic capabilities!

If he had a Mage anchoring his forces, he would no longer be at a disadvantage, whether defending his territory or clashing with high-tier Orc Shamans. Soren drew in a deep breath of cold air. The massive gains from this impromptu sortie had already far exceeded his expectations. A magic-oriented talent... he absolutely could not let them slip away. Soren spun around abruptly.

"Situation changed. There's a battle to the east." His sharp gaze swept over the newly surrendered Buck and his men. These thirty-odd men had no armor, and their stamina was on the brink of absolute exhaustion after days of relentless fleeing. Soren's tone was steady:"Buck, your stamina has bottomed out, and you only have a few chipped, broken swords in your hands."

"I can dispatch a small squad of my brothers to escort you on a detour back to Greywater Village to avoid the heat."

"You don't have to fight this next battle." Buck froze for half a second. A flush of offended anger instantly surged across his rugged face. The man, standing nearly one point nine meters tall, didn't utter a single word of complaint. He simply bent down, fished the standard-issue longsword he had just thrown into the mud pit back out, wiped the grime off the blade with his bare hand, and strode right up to Soren.

"My Lord! We brothers turned against our camp entirely so we wouldn't be lapdogs to the Orcs. We came here to kill greenskins!" Buck pointed to the remnant troops behind him, all wielding equally battered weapons, his voice booming like a great bell:"We might not have much strength left, but if it's against those greenskin beasts, even if we have to use our teeth, we'll bite a chunk of flesh off them! We will never be deserters!"

"Please give the order, My Lord! Take us to draw blood!" The thirty-odd routed soldiers took a synchronized step forward, slamming their swords and blades against their chests. The rhythmic thud-thud echoed their commander's resolve. Looking at this remnant army that stubbornly refused to back down. A gleam of deep, satisfied appreciation flashed through Soren's eyes. These men have iron in their blood. They are worth cultivating.