On the road to the south
The thunderous sound of hooves and the billowing dust of a cavalry unit galloped along the main road, led by a young officer in a dark blue uniform.
Derrick Heller, tall and imposing with a resolute face, his sharp grey-blue eyes always fixed ahead. His cloak fluttered in the wind, embroidered with the Heller family crest—a soaring falcon, symbolizing courage and freedom.
Although he now plays for the Northwest Legion, a sense of family honor remains deeply ingrained in his bones.
Amidst the rising dust, the sound of horses' hooves reached his ears in the distance.
Derrick raised his hand, and the procession behind him stopped their horses.
"Scout, any movement ahead?"
The returning scout quickly reported: "Reporting to the battalion commander, the banners of the royal army have been spotted five miles ahead."
Derrick frowned slightly. He was on his way to meet the royal reinforcements and ensure their safe journey north to join the Northwest Legion.
But when they arrived at the agreed location, the other party was nowhere to be found. Derrick hated waiting, so they continued their search south along the main road.
Fortunately, we finally found out about the royal army.
The enemy's slowness made him slightly impatient—the battlefield was ever-changing, and the orcs wouldn't wait for their leisurely march.
"Speed up!" He raised his whip and said in a deep voice to his men behind him, "We must rejoin them as soon as possible."
The cavalrymen responded in unison, and their horses galloped off again.
Derrick's gaze swept over his unit, a surge of pride rising within him. This cavalry company was the elite of the Northwest Legion, well-equipped and highly trained.
As the eldest son of Earl Heller, he had once commanded the family's knights and fought against the Kent Family's cavalry in the Usurper War. Derrick Heller was no stranger to military affairs and war.
But the awe he felt from Alda's army remained —the orderly ranks, the strict discipline, the advanced firearms…all so different from any war he had ever known. In the Usurper War, he had charged into battle with his own bravery, but Alda's army had taught him that true victory came from discipline and teamwork.
"Glory is no longer just an individual achievement..." he told his father, "but the strength of the entire team."
During the first orc invasion, the kingdom's Northwest was in grave danger. Derrick led his family army in response to Marquis Glaeman's call to arms, and participated in the repelling of the orcish westward advance at Blackstone Plain.
When the Northwest Legion announced its intention to form a cavalry, Derrick joined the Northwest Legion without hesitation, contributing his horsemanship and martial skills, honed since childhood, to the army.
After passing the assessment, Derrick was appointed as the commander of a cavalry company.
Following the recent Battle of Stone Bridge Town, his cavalry battalion commander was killed, and Derrick succeeded him as commander based on his meritorious service.
Derrick longed to prove himself in this war, not only for the glory of his family but also to protect this land. However, while other cavalry units were being pursued eastward to cover the orc rearguard, he could only lead a company to meet the royal army.
At this moment, his thigh was still throbbing slightly, and the wound under the bandage was stinging as he rode – this was the reason why he could not participate in combat missions recently – but this did not affect his posture at all; he still stood up straight, his eyes as sharp as a hawk's.
In Derrick's own opinion, he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be performing this almost "idle" reconnaissance mission. He would rather lead his cavalry company to the front lines and continue fighting the orcs. But the orders from the medic and regimental headquarters were clear: "No charging until wounds have healed."
He subconsciously touched the outside of his thigh, where a gruesome knife wound was hidden beneath the fabric.
That day, the sounds of battle on the battlefield were deafening. Derrick's cavalry company clashed violently with the orc heavy cavalry, and amidst the flashing blades, blood and flesh flew everywhere.
His warhorse was struck in the neck by a spear and fell with a mournful cry. Derrick rolled to his feet the instant he fell, but before he could regain his footing, a burly Orc Cavalry was already swinging his sword at him!
The slash was as swift as lightning. Derrick managed to turn to the side, but the sharp curved blade still sliced open his outer thigh, instantly soaking his trouser leg with blood. The excruciating pain made his vision go black, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand firm.
Perhaps venting his anger at the decline of his own army, the orc roared as he charged forward, raising his sword to deliver the final blow.
But Derrick was faster; he swiftly drew the spare carbine from beside the saddle—a short-barreled firearm that could only be loaded with one round and was the last resort for cavalry in close combat.
"Bang!"
The gun was almost pressed against the orc's face when it fired. The lead bullet instantly shattered the hideous skull, splattering brains and bone fragments. The orc's body swayed, then crashed to the ground from his horse.
Derrick, panting heavily, knelt on one knee, blood flowing down his leg into the mud. The fighting around him continued, but he knew he was temporarily incapacitated.
"Commander, are you alright?" His subordinate noticed Derrick's slightly stiff movements and asked in a low voice.
Derrick scoffed, "It's just a minor injury, nothing serious."
He didn't want to admit it, but the regimental headquarters' arrangement was indeed reasonable—given his current condition, he was certainly not suited to leading a charge again. Therefore, he was assigned to carry out this "relatively safe" mission: to support the royal army.
"Speed up!" he ordered in a deep voice, his gaze sweeping forward. "Why is the royal army so slow!"
The cavalrymen silently increased their speed.
Derrick gripped the reins tightly, thinking to himself, "Once I'm healed, the orcs better pray they never run into me on the battlefield again."
When Derrick led his cavalry company to the vanguard of the royal army, Harrison Abbott was already riding up to meet them. The commander of the new royal army had a solemn face, with a hint of weariness and apology in his eyes.
They exchanged names and identities.
"Commander Heller." Harrison gave a crisp, modern salute, his voice deep and sincere. "I apologize for keeping you waiting. On behalf of the Royal New Army, I apologize for the delay in our march."
Derrick returned the greeting, his gaze sweeping over the moving procession behind Harrison.
He could tell that Crystal Radiance had sent two distinctly different teams. The infantry was similar to that of the Northwest Legion, but the other team, mainly composed of cavalry, was clearly inferior in appearance to their comrades. The team was sluggish and disorganized, and many of the men's faces were radiating fatigue and discontent.
" General Abbott, the situation at the front is urgent," Derrick said bluntly. " The Northwest Legion has dealt a heavy blow to the main orc force at Stone Bridge Town, but now is the crucial moment to press their advantage."
Harrison's expression grew even more serious. He glanced back at his troops, especially at the ornately decorated " Guardian Knight Order " in the distance, and his lips twitched slightly.
"I understand," he said in a low voice, "but we've encountered some…obstacles along the way. The Guardian Knight Order's marching speed is simply too difficult to coordinate."