第2章 青銅臉上的傷痕 王國軍依照山勢建立了連綿不斷的營寨，在中軍大帳之內，一頂毫不起眼，內部陳設簡陋 的素色軍帳之中，卻在昏黃的油燈火苗映照下照出一個硬朗的身影，而這就是王國軍戰場 老將巴浩然． 巴浩然將軍年紀已經當上了爺爺輩，一輩子軍旅生涯，給予他的是縱橫交錯的風霜紋路與 脫下衣服之後身上無數的光榮勳章，曾經剛毅的下顎也開始臃腫了起來，鬍鬚也不再有光 澤，然而他眼中的光芒依舊閃爍，銳利無比，依然如同年輕的餓狼． 當帝國軍激情高昂的呐喊聲如潮水般湧入上方之時，巴老將軍反而露出了會心的微笑，頭 上還順便搖了兩下． 「老將軍為何發笑？」 佇立在巴浩然老將軍身側的，是王國軍中冉冉升起的新星，年輕將領艾森豪． 艾森豪身著線條流暢、工藝精湛的銀色鎧甲，鎧甲在昏暗的燈光下泛著冷冽的金屬光澤， 更襯托出他英姿颯爽的氣度． 他雙眸如同獵豹般炯炯有神，眼瞳深處閃爍著金屬般冷硬的青銅色光澤，銳利而充滿攻擊 性． 然而此刻，這位年輕氣盛、銳意進取的青年將領，卻緊鎖眉頭，神色凝重而困惑，微微側 著頭，目光中充滿了不解與疑惑． 「帝國軍處於絕地死地，但是士氣卻未減，我們不是要更加小心嗎？說不定寒煜公有奇兵 未出？」 帝國軍置之死地而後生悲壯氣勢，似乎完全超乎了他理解範疇．他無法參透，在如此絕境 之下，帝國士兵究竟是憑藉著怎樣的信念，才能爆發出如此驚天動地的歡呼？ 年輕的艾森豪，擁有過人的勇氣、精湛的武藝、以及滿腔報效王國的熱忱. 「哼，帝國軍這些愚蠢的傢伙，簡直是天真得可笑！他們莫非真以為，區區幾聲大喊主帥 的名號，就能憑空逆轉這顯而易見的地形劣勢，彌補他們戰略上致命失誤不成？真是異想 天開，癡人做夢！」 「戰爭不是這樣打的，無論多高昂的士氣，都扭轉不過必敗的局面，外在環境決定了這仗 帝國軍要吃大敗仗，我是不知道寒煜公有何奇策，我只知道高處往下沖的力量永遠比較大 ．」 「就算有奇兵，那又如何？碾壓過去就好．」 王國的軍隊當中，有七位被稱為＂七豹將軍＂的最高指揮官．王國最重要的職務，遠征軍 的司令官、國都的防禦司令官、近衛兵的軍團長或者國軍的總帥，都是由這七位來擔任的 ． 如今的王國遠征軍，就是由這一老一少兩位將軍搭擋指揮． 艾森豪二十四歲，他最令人印象深刻的特徵，便是在白皙如瓷的左臉頰上橫亙著一道自耳 鬢蜿蜒至下頷的細長疤痕．每當情緒激昂之時，這道疤痕便會鮮紅如烙印般浮現鼓脹起來 ． 而很湊巧的是，跟他一樣，不過是在右臉頰上，傷痕更深的是年紀更老的塔朗，這是七豹 之首，是遠超軍事存在的可怕人物． 此刻的艾森豪，口中雖附和著老將的笑聲頷首，然而他臉上神情看起來卻略顯難以理解， 若有所思地遠遠眺望著帝國軍的陣營． 寒煜公若是這樣簡單，就不可能這幾年一直讓王國軍吃敗仗了． 雙方佈陣已經結束，很明顯的帝國軍地勢不利，誰都能想到這場戰役的結尾會是怎樣的結 局． 日正當中，天降正義，該給寒煜公的神話來個句點完結了． 王國軍居高臨下，自然整個攻勢將由王國軍主導發起，王國軍用最平常開局拉開了戰爭序 幕，居高臨下的弓箭手傾瀉而出數萬羽箭，遮天蔽日，帝國軍除了舉盾而起之外毫無抵抗 能力，所幸帝國軍所用的盾牌本來就是可以藏身在內的大方盾，組成龜陣之後還是能抵禦 弓箭的攻勢． 然而單單擋住弓箭是不可能勝利的，王國軍的主力與弓箭手也一步步的推進，相對的帝國 軍的步兵龜陣卻是反向的逐步後退． 不過詭異的是，應該裝備重裝甲的重裝步兵，卻只是身披輕甲甚至是棉衣保暖而已，除了 大盾之外，毫無重裝可言． 當王國軍逼近帝國軍，進入了騎兵衝鋒的距離之後，巴浩然果斷下令． 「進攻！騎兵隊出擊，切開這些沒用的龜陣，把烏龜頭拉出來砍掉！」 王國軍精銳之師用來破陣的重裝騎兵，在這兩翼受限的環境下威力更大，只要衝破帝國軍 的第一線，海浪會一波一波的席捲過去，帝國軍就會被自己的人浪給弄到崩潰，只要第一 陣崩潰，後面就是雪崩之勢． 雪狼王國重騎兵，編制三千，是王國精銳之中的精銳，非貴族子弟不能入選，從小就接受 完整武士教育，裝備最精良，武藝最高超，是王國的榮耀． 在開戰之初就投入這支部隊，正是老將巴浩然看准了帝國軍沒別的選擇，沒有足夠的空間 展開兵力，在高處弓箭的壓制下，步兵只能龜縮一團，弓箭是防住了，但是對於重騎兵的 衝擊就完全無法防禦． 「衝鋒，加速衝鋒，把你們手中的長矛刺入這些烏龜殼裡面．」 重騎兵團的長矛在騎兵的精湛騎術下，高速下依然能刺進龜陣的空隙之中，甚至在衝鋒的 速度下，長矛直接穿透木制盾牌一串二． 看似被重騎兵重創的龜陣，實際上也是死傷慘重，如預期的帝國軍的第一陣潰逃了． 帝國軍第一陣丟棄了所有的盾牌，也沒見到他們手上拿著武器，就像是一大群農民逃難般 往後跑． 「步兵陣跟上推進，保護騎兵隊！」 巴浩然對後續的步兵下達全面推進的命令，這波的主攻由艾森豪親自指揮，若是順利，這 次就能讓帝國軍徹底的退出戰場． 然而在王國重騎兵突破帝國第二陣，讓第二陣也跟第一陣一樣潰散之後，衝鋒到了第三陣 前，卻遭到了意想不到的陷阱． 深達兩個人高的洞穴，上面鋪著樹枝稻草，經過一晚的降雪後就成了完美的地雷區，重騎 兵在這裡落入洞中，馬匹斷腿，武士斷頸，王國的驕傲現在成為了哀鳴． 帝國前面崩潰的兩陣士兵，退到了後面沒多遠，就從雪中翻出事先藏好的武器與新的盾牌 ，鎧甲是來不及穿戴了，但是重新武裝起來編組完成，一面擋住步兵的攻擊，一面跟第三 陣聯手屠滅殘餘的重騎兵． 失去了這寶貴的重騎兵，是王國軍最慘重的損失，步兵與步兵之間的互撞只是彼此浪費生 命的行為，所以艾森豪斷定這戰已經失去了勝機，該退了，沒必要陷入絞肉機之內，畢竟 帝國人多，絞的起，王國沒這樣的家底可以消耗． 然而下山容易上山難，更何況是面對敵人的追擊，更難． 艾森豪將軍親自率領親兵斷後，阻止帝國軍的追擊，然而帝國軍怎可能放過這樣的機會， 輕裝的帝國軍士兵爬山比全副武裝的王國軍士兵容易多了，當艾森豪將軍被寒煜公一箭落 馬陣亡之後，從山下往山上席捲的逆浪，就不可抵擋了． 王國軍敗局已定． １－２完 這男子有著青銅色的頭髮、以及同顏色的眼眸，脖子上有道明顯的疤痕，卻不是傷的很深 ，紅得像是用血勾勒出來的． Chapter 2: The Scar on the Bronze Face The Kingdom forces had erected a chain of camps along the mountain ridge. Inside one of the central tents—plain canvas， sparse furnishings， nothing that revealed its importance—a lone figure sat beneath the flickering yellow of an oil lamp. The wavering light sketched the hard silhouette of a veteran carved by winters and wars. This was General Bahoran， the old wolf of the Snow Wolf Kingdom. He had lived long enough to be a grandfather. A lifetime in the army had left his skin traced with intersecting lines of frost and battle. His bare torso—when he removed his armor—was covered with scars that served as medals. His once-firm jaw had begun to sag， and his beard had lost its sheen. But his eyes… His eyes still gleamed with the predatory light of a young wolf. When the fevered chants of the Imperial troops surged upward through the canyon—shaking the canvas—the old general did something unexpected. He chuckled. And even shook his head twice in amusement. “General， what do you find so funny?” Standing beside him was Eisenhower， a rising star among the Kingdom’s young commanders. His silver armor—sleek， beautifully forged—caught the dim light and sharpened his youthful silhouette. His eyes， bright and sharp as a hunting cat’s， shone with a cold， metallic bronze tint， aggressive and restless. But now， the young warrior’s brows were knit with worry. He leaned slightly toward Bahoran， confusion etched across his face. “The Imperials stand in a deathtrap， yet their morale has not faltered. Shouldn’t we be more cautious? What if Duke Aureus still holds hidden troops? ” The defiant joy in the enemy’s cheers seemed to defy reason. Eisenhower could not fathom what conviction drove trapped men to roar like victors. He possessed courage， exceptional martial skill， and burning loyalty to his kingdom—yet even he could not pierce this mystery. Bahoran barked a dismissive laugh. “Those fools? Their naivety is laughable. Do they truly believe a few shouts of their commander’s name can overturn a fatal disadvantage? That noise won’ t fix their blunder. A doomed position cannot be undone by enthusiasm.” He leaned back， voice cold as mountain ice. “War does not bend to passion. Environment decides outcome. From that height to this valley， gravity alone will crush them. I don’t care what‘clever plan’ the Duke of Winter may have—momentum always favors the downhill charge.” A narrowed grin cut across his weathered face. “And should he have a hidden unit? We will simply trample it.” Within the Kingdom’s armies， seven elite commanders held the title of Leopard Generals—the highest military authority. All key positions—Commander of the Expeditionary Army， Defender of the Capital， Captain of the Royal Guard， even Supreme Marshal—were exclusively held by these seven. Today’s expedition was led by a pair from two generations: the seasoned Bahoran and the young Eisenhower. Eisenhower， only twenty-four， bore his signature mark—a narrow， pale scar tracing from his left temple down to his jawline. When emotion surged， the scar flushed red like a fresh brand. Coincidentally， the strongest of the Seven Leopards—Talon， their commander —bore a deeper scar on the opposite cheek. A strange symmetry across generations of warriors. Eisenhower bowed as the old general laughed， but something troubled him. His gaze drifted across the ravine toward the Imperial camp. If Duke Aureus were this simple… the Kingdom would not have suffered defeat after defeat these past years. Both armies had completed their formations. Every soldier could see the truth: the Empire held the inferior ground. The end seemed painfully obvious. It was noon—“the hour of justice.” Time， it seemed， to end the myth of the Duke of Winter. The Kingdom army initiated the attack， as was natural from the high ground. Tens of thousands of arrows rained down like a dark storm. The Imperial troops could do little but raise their large rectangular shields ， forming a turtle-shell wall to weather the barrage. But shields alone could not win a war. The Kingdom’s infantry advanced steadily， pushing downward. In response， the Imperial turtle formation retreated step by step. Then Eisenhower saw something odd. The Imperial line—supposed to be heavy infantry—wore only light armor. Some merely cotton coats. No greaves， no breastplates. Only shields. “What are they planning…?” he murmured. Once the Kingdom troops pushed into cavalry range， Bahoran issued his command without hesitation. “Attack! Cavalry forward! Break their shell and drag the turtles out by their necks!” The Snow Wolf heavy cavalry—three thousand strong—was the pride of the Kingdom: noble-born， raised from childhood in warrior discipline， unmatched in skill ， clad in the finest armor. In this narrow corridor， their charge was even deadlier. Break the first Imperial line， and the rest would collapse like a wave crashing down the valley. Once the front cracked， the avalanche would be unstoppable. “Forward! Drive your spears through their shells!” Even at full speed， the cavalry spears struck with precision—slipping through cracks in the shield wall， penetrating wooden shields， skewering men two at a time. As expected， the Imperial first line collapsed. Soldiers fled， abandoning shields， armed with nothing， scattering like startled peasants. “Infantry， advance! Protect the cavalry!” Bahoran ordered the follow-up push. Eisenhower himself led the advance. If all went well， they would wipe the Empire from the battlefield entirely. The second Imperial line broke as expected. But when the heavy cavalry crashed into the third— Everything unraveled. A hidden pitfall—two men deep—camouflaged with straw and branches， then buried under fresh snowfall. A perfect trap. Horses snapped their legs. Riders broke their necks. The pride of the kingdom—reduced to a wailing heap of steel and flesh. And the fleeing Imperial soldiers? They had only retreated far enough to the hidden supply caches. There， beneath the snow， lay fresh shields and weapons. Armor they had no time to don， but arms they could wield. Reformed， they turned and struck—from the flank， from the rear—while the third Imperial line crushed what remained of the fallen cavalry. The loss of the heavy cavalry was catastrophic. Infantry-on-infantry slaughter was meaningless attrition. The Kingdom could not afford a meat grinder; the Empire could. Eisenhower saw at once the battle was lost. Retreat was the only option. But climbing back up the slope under enemy pursuit was hell. He personally led the rearguard， holding off the Imperial surge. But the Empire’s lightly armored troops climbed faster， moved easier. When Duke Aureus himself loosed a single arrow that felled Eisenhower from his horse— The uphill line collapsed. What followed was an avalanche in reverse， sweeping upward. The Kingdom army was doomed. 1-2 End The man had bronze-colored hair and eyes of the same metallic shade. Around his neck ran a thin scar—not deep， but vivid—red as if drawn with fresh blood. --

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