NABC Chapter 150 A Stroke of Luck
Chapter 150 A Stroke of Luck
With roll call completed, Michael scanned the surroundings, his gaze sharp and calculating.
"Marcus, take care of it," he said, his voice calm but firm.
Marcus nodded, stepping forward to unleash a torrent of flames upon the Pamir Empire's camp. The fire roared to life, devouring everything in its path. The bodies of the fallen were consumed, reduced to ashes in the inferno.
The early morning mist thickened, blending seamlessly with the concealment magic Miaomiao had cast earlier. This ensured that their operation remained unnoticed.
"
"Achievements?" he scoffed. "Ambushing a slow-moving rear unit and wiping them out—does that really count as a significant achievement?"
His words carried a hint of derision, prompting Duke Capone to step in diplomatically.
"Your Highness, while it's possible the accomplishment has been somewhat exaggerated, dismissing it entirely would be unwise. The task force comprises distinguished knights and noble scions. Casting doubt on their success could create unnecessary friction among the aristocracy."
Though he had spoken candidly earlier, Randolph knew better than to push further. He composed himself and adopted a more amicable tone.
"My concern isn't with their current accomplishments," he explained. "I simply wish for them to aim higher. This is only the beginning of their potential, don't you agree?"
The tension in the room eased as the nobles laughed, perceiving his words as a sign of encouragement. Randolph smiled faintly, satisfied that he had deflected any suspicion.
Michael, unaware of the prince's veiled scrutiny, remained focused on the battlefield. His only priority was to ensure swift and decisive victories.
Unlike the previous night's ambush, the daytime operation posed new challenges. Under the bright sun, the effects of concealment magic were diminished, and the enemy would likely maintain a higher state of vigilance.
The target this time was a larger force—1,000 cavalry and 4,000 infantry, escorting a convoy of supply wagons.
"What do we know about the tribe ahead?" asked Louis, riding alongside an Elonian knight atop his borrowed chimera.
Though exhilarated by the previous night's success, the daylight engagement filled Louis with unease.
The knight squinted, studying the enemy from a distance.
"It's difficult to identify the tribe from this range," he admitted. "But judging by the convoy and their numbers, they're undoubtedly stronger than the group we faced last night."
The unease was palpable among the task force, prompting Michael to address them directly.
"Stay calm," he said firmly.
His voice carried authority and reassurance.
"The force ahead is larger, but their banners tell the story. Look closely. Those aren't the markings of a single tribe—it's a patchwork of different groups. They lack cohesion and unity."
The knights looked closer, noticing the varied banners fluttering in the wind. Michael was right.
"Our primary concern is their cavalry," he continued. "The infantry is disorganized and uncoordinated. For now, wait here. I'll initiate the attack and signal when it's time for the rest of you to advance. Understood?"