Chapter Eighty-Nine: The Runaway Rabbit General

Kevin panted heavily, sweat pouring down his bald head, his helmet askew and armor crooked. His arms were so exhausted they felt numb, and he could barely lift the mace in his hands. Around him were the personal guards responsible for the rear, along with two battalions of cavalry from the Fourth Banner Regiment. Together, they had managed to fend off two waves of Odin's pursuit—the second, especially, had been grueling, and Kevin was so worn out he could hardly keep his back straight atop his horse.

He watched as the Odin men retreated like a tide, leaving behind a field strewn with corpses. "How did these Odin men chase us?" the bald man wondered, his brow furrowed in confusion. But soon, he stopped pondering. The general's orders were to cover the retreat; since the Odin men had stopped pursuing, he'd fulfilled his duty.

A hundred cavalry remained at his side. After two rear-guard battles, his brothers had suffered around two hundred casualties. Though man and horse were weary, Kevin cautiously gathered the remaining troops, formed them into ranks, and began to withdraw from the battlefield, heading south to catch up with the main force.

As Kevin led his men away, the Odin pursuers behind him sounded their horns...

"Are these Odin men mad?" the bald man thought, bewildered.

Three days earlier, General Adrick on the northern line had learned that their rear route had been cut off by Hasting. The early discovery of this news was thanks to General Rabbit, Ruer, the portly commander. When he marched north, Ruer had cautiously left a mixed rear detachment a day's march behind the main force—a decision born purely of his innate sense for escape and his uncanny sixth sense for danger.

This intuition proved invaluable once again. Being infantry, Ruer’s force moved slowly, and the rear detachment lagged even further behind. Soon, the mixed detachment spotted signs of Odin's reindeer cavalry scouting from the south!

This discovery shook General Rabbit to the core. From the south? The Odin men were behind them?! The report was dispatched instantly to Adrick’s army.

Adrick wasted no time. He ordered a southward march. A veteran of countless battles, Adrick knew that if the rear had been encircled, only one Odin commander could orchestrate such a bold move—the old rival he had never defeated: Hasting.

And if Hasting, that formidable enemy, was already at their backs, then... Adrick dared not even imagine the consequences.

Without delay, the Thirteenth Legion turned south. Cavalry could travel rapidly, and Adrick hoped to catch up with Ruer's force to the south; by the distances, they should have met within a day. In reality, the Thirteenth Legion only caught up with Ruer’s troops by the evening of the second day.

What impressed Adrick even more was Ruer’s reputation as the famed escape general. Along the route, he saw abandoned supplies—spare arms, armor, heavy supply wagons, even infantry siege engines and disassembled catapults smashed and discarded by the roadside.

Ruer’s retreat was nothing short of hysterical! The portly general ordered his entire force to carry only three days' rations and basic weapons and armor; everything else was to be abandoned.

In Ruer’s words: “If we can't return to the garrison in three days, we're all as good as dead. As for the rest, throw it away. If we hold onto it, we'll lose everything anyway—what use is it then?”

When the Thirteenth Legion caught up with Ruer, he made another request: for the cavalry to lend spare mounts to his troops.

Every cavalryman of the Thirteenth Legion had at least two warhorses. Under Ruer’s persistent demand, Adrick reluctantly allocated over two thousand horses.

Then Ruer worked his magic, demonstrating why the nickname "Rabbit Run" was no empty boast.

Remember the mixed rear detachment? Once they turned south, it became the vanguard, at the very front! After Ruer and Adrick’s forces reunited, they caught up with this mixed detachment, which included a large number of supply wagons.

At Ruer's command, the Sixth Legion soldiers swiftly and skillfully harnessed the Thirteenth’s warhorses to the wagons, using planks to rapidly modify the grain wagons. In less than two hours, they created over two hundred extended, widened horse-drawn wagons.

The process was so efficient, it seemed the soldiers of the Sixth Legion had long mastered such tasks. With these wagons, the infantry's marching speed was greatly increased! Thousands of infantry climbed aboard, and the wheels rolled, keeping pace with the cavalry.

Two hundred oversized wagons consumed eight hundred horses, carrying nearly three thousand men. The remaining twelve hundred horses, two men per horse, carried another two thousand. In effect, over five thousand infantry were given wheels and legs!

Regrettably, these horses were likely to collapse by journey’s end, spent unto death.

Five thousand rode or sat in wagons; the remaining five thousand of the Sixth Legion marched on foot. Yet soon, the soldiers showcased their extraordinary stamina—running! Like a miracle, these infantry rotated hourly with those on the wagons, so they hardly lagged behind the cavalry.

“This fat man must have spent his whole life devising ways to escape,” Adrick mused with dark amusement.

So three days! After the two legions joined forces, they discarded every possible supply, and in three days they fought their way back from the Albakter Plain. The cavalry vanguard swept aside Hasting’s small blocking detachments, and by the third evening, the vanguard was within ten miles of the garrison.

Most of the horses Ruer had borrowed were nearly dead. To maximize speed, he spared no thought for their welfare—“If we lose our lives, what use are horses? If we survive, we can buy more; but men can’t be replaced.”

Adrick realized this fat man’s calculations were remarkable. On the march, they discarded another batch of supplies, and many soldiers even threw away their armor, shields, and weapons—not in panic, but in an orderly, planned manner.

Ruer had calculated every step, gauging how far they could go, how much could be discarded within endurance limits, balancing stamina, combat strength, and marching speed. By the time they arrived, the army had only enough equipment for three soldiers to share a single set. Their combat strength had dropped to a third, but thanks to Ruer’s rotation system, that third had maintained minimum fighting fitness!

To retain a third of fighting capacity after three days of forced march was impressive for a non-elite army. Adrick had to admire it; he knew if he were in Ruer’s place, leading pure infantry under such conditions, he could never have achieved the same.

Ruer explained: “Do you know what the Sixth Legion’s most common drill is? Armed long-distance cross-country! To join the Sixth, the first requirement isn’t fighting—it’s running.”

Kevin’s detachment caught up as well. Though his six hundred cavalry were visibly exhausted, their eyes remained sharp and their posture upright in the saddle.

But Kevin’s news was less than cheerful. Assigned to cover the retreat, he’d fought two fierce battles with the Odin men, but suddenly they mysteriously withdrew, standing at a distance to watch them go, even sounding their horns… Where on a battlefield does one moment fight to the death, and the next wave farewell?

The Odin men behind, though not attacking, were hardly idle. The ragtag Odin force seemed to have gathered all their cavalry—over three thousand reindeer riders, chasing Kevin day and night. Yet they never truly attacked; every time they got within bowshot, they’d slow down, shouting and waving weapons, making as much racket as possible. Like shepherd dogs, they herded Kevin’s men south.

Several times, Kevin, enraged, tried to turn and fight—Thirteenth Legion warriors had no shortage of courage! But whenever they turned, the Odin men would scatter in panic.

So, for three days, the two sides chased and harried each other from afar, trading insults and threats, but fighting not a single battle.

Kevin tried to turn back several times, but his numbers were too few; he dared not pursue too far, and the Odin cavalry stuck to him like glue, impossible to shake off—stop and go, chase and harass...

“They’re not far from our rear guard—when they see our main force, they retreat, but I think they linger two or three miles behind,” Kevin reported, panting.

General Adrick spat angrily, “Damn it, what are these Odin men up to?!”

Beside him, General Ruer had loosened the sinew on his armor, freeing his round belly and breathing contentedly. Hearing this, he grunted, “What else? Herding us! Driving these sheep to the wolf Hasting’s jaws.”

Adrick pondered, his face darkening, “Rest for fifteen minutes, then prepare for battle! The garrison is still ours—looks like the lads there did well. If we can fight our way back, there’s hope for this war.”

Ruer frowned, patting his belly—a habitual gesture whenever he faced a difficult problem. He slapped his round stomach, making a rhythmic sound, before speaking with a strange expression, as if something still puzzled him.

“I think… fighting back to the city won’t be too hard. Hasting won’t go all out against us! But he might bite off a chunk.”

Adrick looked intently at Ruer. After days of forced march, he realized this famed escape artist was no fool.

“What do you mean, General Ruer?”

Ruer patted his belly, “Hmm. The Odin men behind us never truly pursued. By my calculations, had they chased us in earnest, our return would have been delayed at least a day, maybe more. What does that mean? It means they held back! And at the front—our garrison is still in our hands! Isn’t that surprising? The lads in the garrison are good, but their strength is only a battalion of regulars—the rest are just rabble. Hmm… I don’t doubt miracles, but if another Odin commander were leading, maybe a miracle could hold the garrison. But who’s in front now? Hasting! Do you think the greatest Odin general, with ten thousand elite troops, can’t take a small fortress of less than a thousand? Is that possible? Come on, it’s Hasting!”

The more Ruer spoke, the more agitated he became, sweat beading on his forehead.

Adrick focused, “It makes no sense… the pursuers behind us aren’t trying, and Hasting at the front seems to be holding back too? What are they up to? Logically, the rear pursuers should harry us as much as possible, giving Hasting time to wipe out our base, but now…”

Ruer glanced at Adrick and lowered his voice, “General Adrick, this is your perennial weakness—you see war too simply! When I served under Grand Duke Minas, he told me: War is the extension of politics. That applies not just to enemy forces, but to those within the same camp.”

Adrick furrowed his brow. Grand Duke Minas was a venerable Byzantine military leader; his words surely held wisdom.

Ruer smiled, squinting, “Don’t you see? The pursuers behind us, and Hasting ahead… these two Odin armies—their hearts are not united!”

This fat man, truly remarkable!