The Frost Howl soldiers, who had just been in chaotic disarray amidst the fear of the fire, had not yet had time to reform their ranks.
In an instant, blood splattered everywhere!
The ambush succeeded, and a gap was instantly torn in the enemy formation.
The Paladins had already penetrated deep behind enemy lines, the five of them becoming a spear of disruption, weaving through the enemy's core.
Divine-blessed slashes carved scorched marks through leather armor and flesh, and even their war cries sounded like oppressive bell tolls.
On the other side, two Proto-Dragons circled at low altitude, their wings beating to stir up howling snow and dust.
They did not breathe fire but used only intimidation, air currents, and claw attacks in conjunction with the ground forces to completely break up the enemy's formation.
This was not a chaotic battle but a slaughter.
Fifty men against fifty, yet like harvesting wheat.
In less than a quarter of an hour, Frost Howl's forces were divided into three sections:
The front line was pushed into a dead end by the ambush squad, the rear officer corps was encircled by the Paladins, and the middle section was tormented by fire and fear, scattering and fleeing.
Gulen scanned the battlefield, determined the situation was stable, and was about to order a further push when he heard intermittent horn blasts from afar.
"Whoo—whoo—whoo—"
That was Frost Howl's war horn.
Immediately, a scout on an ice plain wolf galloped over, reporting to Gulen, "Reinforcements! There are several more enemy groups behind them! Numbers unknown!"
Gulen's expression changed abruptly.
The victory was exhilarating, but he had not forgotten that his greatest mission was "defense."
"Everyone!" He raised his bone blade, his voice exploding in the night, "Prepare to retreat!"
"Paladins cover, Proto-Dragons cover the rear, seriously wounded go first!"
He personally stood at the very back, his gaze no longer lingering on the victory, but fixed on the flickering lights in the distance.
That was another Frost Howl army—they had finally realized they had encountered an ambush and were rapidly approaching.
"Retreat!" He bit out each word, "The victory is enough."
They could not linger in battle.
Winning a battle did not equal winning the entire war.
He knew that they had to stay steady to be qualified to win the next one.
As soon as the order to retreat was given, Italk's forces quickly dispersed.
There was no clamor, no panic.
Each squad had a predetermined retreat route, orderly withdrawing into the depths of the mountain path.
Paladins lined both flanks, holding their swords to cover the rear.
Proto-Dragons flew low, circling and stirring up snow and dust, obscuring the retreat path for the ground forces.
Occasionally, stubborn enemies attempted to pursue, only to be staggered and knocked down by the dragon's wings.
Gulen made a final check to ensure everyone had left the main battlefield before turning and disappearing into the shadows with the last group of Paladins.
At this time, the first Frost Howl reinforcements finally arrived.
What they saw was scorched earth.
Chaos everywhere, dead and wounded strewn about, almost all the bodies of their own warriors.
The vanguard's banner was broken, and the priest had fallen dead before he even had a chance to cast a spell.
"They retreated." The Frost Howl officer leading the squad, riding an ice plain wolf, had a grim expression.
He gazed at the dark path, his eyes flickering uncertainly.
"It wasn't a rout; it was an active withdrawal."
He could tell that it was by no means a panicked retreat, but a rhythmic, organized hit-and-run.
The enemy had executed a beautiful ambush and then voluntarily disengaged.
This courage and composure far exceeded his expectations for "Italk," that small place.
"Should we pursue?" his adjutant asked in a low voice.
He didn't answer immediately but looked up at the chaotic battlefield, where broken spears still stuck in bodies swayed gently in the night wind, as if mocking them.
"Leave a team to search and rescue; the rest continue the pursuit!" He finally gritted his teeth and said, "We absolutely cannot let the enemy get away so easily!"
He waved his hand, "Scouts lead the way! Maintain formation! Be careful!"
Meanwhile, in the camp further back, Hamur, who had just received the battle report, was re-strategizing.
When he heard that the vanguard had set off in pursuit, his face suddenly darkened.
"Pursuit? Whose order?"
The sycophantic deputy general stammered, "It was... it was Bazlo, he said the enemy had routed and should not be let go..."
Hamur suddenly stood up, almost grinding his teeth: "That damned brute—that's a trap!"
He suddenly looked at the winding, snake-like mountain path on the map, and a strong sense of unease seized his heart.
"That's the second trap they prepared for us!"
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