第2章 青铜脸上的伤痕 王国军依照山势建立了连绵不断的营寨，在中军大帐之内，一顶毫不起眼，内部陈设简陋 的素色军帐之中，却在昏黄的油灯火苗映照下照出一个硬朗的身影，而这就是王国军战场 老将巴浩然． 巴浩然将军年纪已经当上了爷爷辈，一辈子军旅生涯，给予他的是纵横交错的风霜纹路与 脱下衣服之後身上无数的光荣勳章，曾经刚毅的下颚也开始臃肿了起来，胡须也不再有光 泽，然而他眼中的光芒依旧闪烁，锐利无比，依然如同年轻的饿狼． 当帝国军激情高昂的呐喊声如潮水般涌入上方之时，巴老将军反而露出了会心的微笑，头 上还顺便摇了两下． 「老将军为何发笑？」 伫立在巴浩然老将军身侧的，是王国军中冉冉升起的新星，年轻将领艾森豪． 艾森豪身着线条流畅、工艺精湛的银色铠甲，铠甲在昏暗的灯光下泛着冷冽的金属光泽， 更衬托出他英姿飒爽的气度． 他双眸如同猎豹般炯炯有神，眼瞳深处闪烁着金属般冷硬的青铜色光泽，锐利而充满攻击 性． 然而此刻，这位年轻气盛、锐意进取的青年将领，却紧锁眉头，神色凝重而困惑，微微侧 着头，目光中充满了不解与疑惑． 「帝国军处於绝地死地，但是士气却未减，我们不是要更加小心吗？说不定寒煜公有奇兵 未出？」 帝国军置之死地而後生悲壮气势，似乎完全超乎了他理解范畴．他无法参透，在如此绝境 之下，帝国士兵究竟是凭藉着怎样的信念，才能爆发出如此惊天动地的欢呼？ 年轻的艾森豪，拥有过人的勇气、精湛的武艺、以及满腔报效王国的热忱. 「哼，帝国军这些愚蠢的家伙，简直是天真得可笑！他们莫非真以为，区区几声大喊主帅 的名号，就能凭空逆转这显而易见的地形劣势，弥补他们战略上致命失误不成？真是异想 天开，痴人做梦！」 「战争不是这样打的，无论多高昂的士气，都扭转不过必败的局面，外在环境决定了这仗 帝国军要吃大败仗，我是不知道寒煜公有何奇策，我只知道高处往下冲的力量永远比较大 ．」 「就算有奇兵，那又如何？碾压过去就好．」 王国的军队当中，有七位被称为＂七豹将军＂的最高指挥官．王国最重要的职务，远征军 的司令官、国都的防御司令官、近卫兵的军团长或者国军的总帅，都是由这七位来担任的 ． 如今的王国远征军，就是由这一老一少两位将军搭挡指挥． 艾森豪二十四岁，他最令人印象深刻的特徵，便是在白皙如瓷的左脸颊上横亘着一道自耳 鬓蜿蜒至下颔的细长疤痕．每当情绪激昂之时，这道疤痕便会鲜红如烙印般浮现鼓胀起来 ． 而很凑巧的是，跟他一样，不过是在右脸颊上，伤痕更深的是年纪更老的塔朗，这是七豹 之首，是远超军事存在的可怕人物． 此刻的艾森豪，口中虽附和着老将的笑声颔首，然而他脸上神情看起来却略显难以理解， 若有所思地远远眺望着帝国军的阵营． 寒煜公若是这样简单，就不可能这几年一直让王国军吃败仗了． 双方布阵已经结束，很明显的帝国军地势不利，谁都能想到这场战役的结尾会是怎样的结 局． 日正当中，天降正义，该给寒煜公的神话来个句点完结了． 王国军居高临下，自然整个攻势将由王国军主导发起，王国军用最平常开局拉开了战争序 幕，居高临下的弓箭手倾泻而出数万羽箭，遮天蔽日，帝国军除了举盾而起之外毫无抵抗 能力，所幸帝国军所用的盾牌本来就是可以藏身在内的大方盾，组成龟阵之後还是能抵御 弓箭的攻势． 然而单单挡住弓箭是不可能胜利的，王国军的主力与弓箭手也一步步的推进，相对的帝国 军的步兵龟阵却是反向的逐步後退． 不过诡异的是，应该装备重装甲的重装步兵，却只是身披轻甲甚至是棉衣保暖而已，除了 大盾之外，毫无重装可言． 当王国军逼近帝国军，进入了骑兵冲锋的距离之後，巴浩然果断下令． 「进攻！骑兵队出击，切开这些没用的龟阵，把乌龟头拉出来砍掉！」 王国军精锐之师用来破阵的重装骑兵，在这两翼受限的环境下威力更大，只要冲破帝国军 的第一线，海浪会一波一波的席卷过去，帝国军就会被自己的人浪给弄到崩溃，只要第一 阵崩溃，後面就是雪崩之势． 雪狼王国重骑兵，编制三千，是王国精锐之中的精锐，非贵族子弟不能入选，从小就接受 完整武士教育，装备最精良，武艺最高超，是王国的荣耀． 在开战之初就投入这支部队，正是老将巴浩然看准了帝国军没别的选择，没有足够的空间 展开兵力，在高处弓箭的压制下，步兵只能龟缩一团，弓箭是防住了，但是对於重骑兵的 冲击就完全无法防御． 「冲锋，加速冲锋，把你们手中的长矛刺入这些乌龟壳里面．」 重骑兵团的长矛在骑兵的精湛骑术下，高速下依然能刺进龟阵的空隙之中，甚至在冲锋的 速度下，长矛直接穿透木制盾牌一串二． 看似被重骑兵重创的龟阵，实际上也是死伤惨重，如预期的帝国军的第一阵溃逃了． 帝国军第一阵丢弃了所有的盾牌，也没见到他们手上拿着武器，就像是一大群农民逃难般 往後跑． 「步兵阵跟上推进，保护骑兵队！」 巴浩然对後续的步兵下达全面推进的命令，这波的主攻由艾森豪亲自指挥，若是顺利，这 次就能让帝国军彻底的退出战场． 然而在王国重骑兵突破帝国第二阵，让第二阵也跟第一阵一样溃散之後，冲锋到了第三阵 前，却遭到了意想不到的陷阱． 深达两个人高的洞穴，上面铺着树枝稻草，经过一晚的降雪後就成了完美的地雷区，重骑 兵在这里落入洞中，马匹断腿，武士断颈，王国的骄傲现在成为了哀鸣． 帝国前面崩溃的两阵士兵，退到了後面没多远，就从雪中翻出事先藏好的武器与新的盾牌 ，铠甲是来不及穿戴了，但是重新武装起来编组完成，一面挡住步兵的攻击，一面跟第三 阵联手屠灭残余的重骑兵． 失去了这宝贵的重骑兵，是王国军最惨重的损失，步兵与步兵之间的互撞只是彼此浪费生 命的行为，所以艾森豪断定这战已经失去了胜机，该退了，没必要陷入绞肉机之内，毕竟 帝国人多，绞的起，王国没这样的家底可以消耗． 然而下山容易上山难，更何况是面对敌人的追击，更难． 艾森豪将军亲自率领亲兵断後，阻止帝国军的追击，然而帝国军怎可能放过这样的机会， 轻装的帝国军士兵爬山比全副武装的王国军士兵容易多了，当艾森豪将军被寒煜公一箭落 马阵亡之後，从山下往山上席卷的逆浪，就不可抵挡了． 王国军败局已定． １－２完 这男子有着青铜色的头发、以及同颜色的眼眸，脖子上有道明显的疤痕，却不是伤的很深 ，红得像是用血勾勒出来的． 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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