Rakshas: Tales of the Summoned Lord

A light cavalry soldier rushed into the tent, his breath labored from haste. "Milord, Lord Hilter and the rest are approaching. The Styles Family battle standard is visible from afar!"

Armen, who had been waiting anxiously, exhaled in relief. "Finally." He wasted no time and led his knights, along with a few soldiers from the Bale squad, toward the main entrance of the encampment.

Hilter arrived soon after, his arm wrapped in a bandage despite Seraphine's healing. He had to maintain appearances, after all. But before anyone could express relief at their return, he brought yet another grim report.

"The pike infantry company of the convoy vanguard was ambushed," Hilter announced, his voice heavy with frustration. "A squad of pike cavalry struck after Jasper, Serena, and Master Allen had left with the light cavalry scouts to storm the enemy camp."

A murmur of concern spread among the gathered men.

"Luckily, the senior students reacted fast," Hilter continued. "Realizing they couldn't face the enemy head-on, they had the convoy form a defensive perimeter using the carriages. It bought time until Frederick's knights and the Stroud cavalry arrived to reinforce them."

"Casualties?" Allen asked.

"Thirty of the attackers managed to escape, but we lost twenty-two from the pike infantry. Nearly a hundred more are injured," Hilter reported.

The camp buzzed with curses and low chatter. Allen, sensing the growing tension, turned to Hilter. "Handle the other matters. I need to clean up."

Turning to Eman and Patt, he ordered, "Boil me some water. I need a bath."

After dinner, Allen entered the main tent, the largest in the encampment, with Seraphine by his side. The tent was brightly illuminated, and the key figures of the convoy were gathered within.

Seraphine spoke, her voice solemn. "…Forty-seven of our soldiers' family members perished. Another 130 are injured. All twenty-one pikemen who guarded that section of the convoy died as well."

Her voice wavered slightly as she mentioned one more name. "And Douglas…"

Silence fell. Douglas had been one of the academy's senior students, a man Allen respected. He had tried to communicate with the enemy's pike cavalry squad and had been trampled to death in the ambush.

"Including the second assault," Seraphine continued, regaining her composure, "forty-three infantry pikemen have died. Fifty-eight sustained heavy injuries—seven of whom are permanently crippled. Eighty-six suffered minor wounds.

"Jasper reported three casualties from the light cavalry troops, with seven heavily injured and another thirteen lightly wounded. Fortunately, none of them were crippled.

"As for Frederick's knights—only six suffered light injuries. No deaths among them."

Allen sat on his chair, pressing his bow against his lap. Seraphine stepped behind him, placing her pale hands gently on his head and massaging it.

"Casualties are inevitable in war, Milord," she said softly. "Until now, we were fortunate. But as we fight more battles, these reports will only grow worse. You must prepare yourself."

Allen sighed. "I always thought that as long as my loyal summons were alive, I wouldn't care about the deaths of others. But it seems I was wrong."

Seraphine's hands continued their slow, soothing motion. "Lords are like fathers to their people. Losing them will always hurt, Milord. You are brilliant, but you are also human."

Allen's fingers tightened around the edge of his chair. "Yes… I am human." He paused, then reached up and grasped her delicate hands. His voice dropped to a cold whisper.

"But if I lose something truly important—something close to my heart—" His gray eyes gleamed with a chilling light. "I fear that my soul would no longer remain human."

After a moment of silence, Allen straightened up and went to the strategic meeting set up in another tent near by.

After entering, he wasted no time as he addressed the gathered leaders. "Now, let's discuss the prisoners and the matter of Count Cobry."

A tension-filled hush settled over the tent.

"I suspect Count Cobry is responsible for my uncle's death… and the destruction of the Styles Family's merchant convoy," Allen declared.

Everyone looked at him, some in shock, others grim with realization.

"I believe you all understand that our initial plan—to pass through this territory without major conflict—is no longer viable. Count Cobry and his troops are nothing more than butchers. Reasoning with them is futile. The deaths of Douglas, our fallen soldiers, and innocent families demand retribution.

"We will not rest," Allen continued, his voice ringing with conviction, "until we crush the Cobry Family under our boots!"

The room fell silent. Then, murmurs of agreement spread like wildfire. Some were eager for revenge, others hesitant.

According to the prisoners' testimony, Count Cobry's forces far outnumbered their own. Was this truly a battle they could win?

As doubts and discussions unfolded, a light cavalry soldier rushed inside. "Milord! A knight named Josk has arrived! He claims he was invited by the new master of this encampment!"

Allen raised a brow. "Invite him in. No, wait—Elrod, go receive him personally."

A few minutes later, Josk entered.

The man looked to be in his thirties, with golden-blond hair, a well-defined physique, and a ruggedly handsome face. His expression was resolute, yet Allen detected a faint grief lingering in his eyes.

Elrod introduced him to the rest of the knights. Once the formalities were over, Allen gave Josk a quick rundown of the convoy's situation. He also explained how they had taken over the enemy camp in retaliation for the earlier attack.

"And you?" Allen finally asked. "Why have you come?"

Josk was blunt in his response. "I was assessing whether your forces could withstand an attack from Count Cobry's regiment. His garrison troops and a company of pike cavalry are on the move."

The tent fell silent once again.

"My original plan was to sabotage the Count's supplies," Josk continued. "Their security was lax this afternoon, and I was planning to burn them down. If I had succeeded, his army would've been forced to retreat for resupply, buying time for the western mountain insurgents."

Allen's conquest of the camp had, unknowingly, achieved the same goal.

"When I saw your attack earlier," Josk admitted, "I assumed it was a feint. I thought you were trying to lure them into a trap, not actually seize the camp. But then I saw Hilter and the rest returning, and I realized you had already engaged the enemy."

Josk's expression darkened. "I came to warn you. Count Cobry's forces are larger than you think."

He laid out the grim details. "Cobry commands five companies of garrison troops, each containing a bowman squad, an infantry squad, and two pike infantry squads. Each squad has 120 soldiers. That's around 2,400 men.

"On top of that, there's another company of pike infantry patrolling the mountains. In total, his rebel-sweeping forces number close to 2,900."

Hilter interjected, frowning. "Soria's intelligence suggested he only had 1,000 pike infantry and 2,000 garrison troops. How did he expand so quickly?"

A cold, heavy atmosphere settled in the tent. Allen leaned forward, his fingers steepled before him.

As the flickering lanterns illuminated the dimly lit tent, Josk furrowed his brows. "Who's Soria?" he asked.

Hilter glanced at Allen before recounting their encounter with Baron Charles and his son. Josk listened intently, his expression unreadable.

Curling his lips, Josk finally spoke. "I know Baron Charles, and I've met him a couple of times. Knight Soria's information isn't completely off, but it's outdated. That report describes Count Cobry's forces a year ago, when he had just returned to his dominion. Since then, he has waged war against several landed nobles, expanding his forces significantly. Right now, aside from the troops dispatched to eliminate the insurgents in the western mountains, he still has three companies of pike infantry back at his dominion, a regiment of garrison troops, and two newly formed companies of additional garrison troops."

The room fell silent as they absorbed the new information.

Recently, the count's forces had successfully crushed multiple insurgent strongholds in the mountains, seizing substantial supplies of food and equipment. However, for the past two days, they had been focusing their efforts on Hiddenbull Stronghold, the last and largest insurgent base in the area. Despite their advantageous terrain, the insurgents were on the verge of collapse due to mounting casualties.

Josk had originally intended to set fire to the camp's supplies to force the count's forces to halt their assault temporarily. However, with Allen's convoy now occupying the encampment, the enemy would undoubtedly return to reclaim what they had lost.

Josk turned to Allen. "If our forces aren't enough to deal with them, we should burn this place down and retreat. The count's forces are only a day's travel away from here, and they'll return by tomorrow evening once they learn we've taken over."

Allen shook his head. "No, the convoy cannot leave. If we try, they'll catch up to us. The convoy moves far slower than a single military unit. If their pike cavalry stalls us, their regiment of infantry garrison troops will catch up and overwhelm us in open battle." His expression hardened. "Instead of allowing them to dictate the fight, we should fortify the camp and use the terrain to our advantage. That way, we can minimize our losses."

Josk observed him carefully. He could see the flicker of something dangerous in Allen's eyes.

"If we're going to fight," Allen continued, his voice thick with killing intent, "then let's give it our all! I want to use this camp to wipe out all 3,000 of their rebel-sweeping army and teach that damned count a lesson."

A murmur of agreement ran through the tent. Allen laid out his reasoning: though the count's army vastly outnumbered them, its actual combat effectiveness was inferior. According to captured prisoners, the only real threat was the pike cavalry unit, composed of soldiers who had awakened their Battle Force. However, if they were forced into close combat against the heavily armored soldiers of the convoy, they would be cut down easily.

"As for the 2,000 garrison troops," Allen sneered, "they're just a herd of sheep waiting to be slaughtered by Frederick's Battle Force-trained knight brigade."

Stroud and his squad of light cavalry scouts would ensure no enemy soldier escaped. Meanwhile, Serena and her crossbowmen, Bale's pike infantry, and the carroballista unit would provide additional firepower. With such a lineup, Allen couldn't fathom how the convoy could possibly lose.

"As for how we bait them into our trap, that's simple." Allen smirked. "Josk mentioned that even though the sweeping troops have looted some mountain strongholds, their supplies will only last six days. By the time they hear of our takeover, they'll have no choice but to act. They can either retreat to the count's dominion—where they'll be severely punished for the deaths of three of the count's illegitimate sons—or they can try to reclaim the camp and make up for their losses. The officer in charge won't have a choice. He'll have to attack us."

Allen then detailed his plan: they would feign weakness, luring the enemy into a false sense of security. After two days of stalling, they would open the gates, drawing the enemy inside. With well-placed obstacles restricting their movement, the convoy's heavily armored troops would then launch a devastating counterattack, wiping them out completely.

The tent fell into deep silence. Then, as if struck by a wave of enlightenment, everyone nodded. They all understood that there was no avoiding this conflict. Defending the camp was their best chance for victory, and Allen had devised a plan that could potentially eliminate all 3,000 enemy soldiers.

Hilter pulled out a map, spreading it across the table. "Let's discuss how we'll set up the traps and fortifications," he said, and the group immediately fell into a heated discussion.

Josk watched them, feeling a twinge of envy at their unity. These men trusted Allen without hesitation, a loyalty built on shared battles and hardships.

Turning to Allen, Josk offered, "I want in on this fight."

Allen met his gaze, nodding. "We're going all in, sparing no resources. If you can gather some insurgents to ambush their rearguard, you'll be a great help."

A grin spread across Josk's face. "Consider it done." Without wasting another moment, he rushed out of the tent to rally his forces.

The stage was set. The battle for Hiddenbull Stronghold would determine the fate of this war.