The mana-driven tendons were maxed out to the energy core's limit. Lead weights were replaced with steel armor, the helmet now fixed with enhanced vision, hearing, night vision, and short-range comms—fully equipped.
It even looked sleek, like an ancient heavy-armored warrior from a distance.
For three days, nothing happened, but the squad's tension grew palpable.
Sticking with Randy had perks. Patient and knowledgeable, she answered most of his questions.
He learned why the team was on edge: the farther from Glaslovar, the greater the danger and the slimmer the chance of retreat.
Food was another issue. Despite a vehicle packed with rations, energy crystals, and spare parts, the knights' consumption was relentless.
At noon, the captain leapt from the lead vehicle to theirs, seeking Randy.
"Contact Glaslovar. Tell them we're falling back to the nearest supply point for resupply," she said.
Everyone perked up at the news.
Randy complied, using the vehicle's comms device, operable only by psychics.
Ritchie found it odd. Battle armor comms worked for knights, but Randy's explanation about high-frequency excitation versus psychic transmission went over his head.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for Randy's response. The longer it took, the graver their expressions grew.
After half an hour, Randy looked up, face grim. "I can't reach Glaslovar."
"Interference?" the captain asked, her icy demeanor growing colder.
"Not certain, but highly likely."
Silence gripped the air. Then the captain's cold voice cut through: "Everyone out. We're in deep trouble."
At her command, the squad sprang into action.
The battle armors, stored back-to-back facing the vehicle's sides for quick exit, were ready. Both doors flipped upward, and ten armors, including Ritchie's, stepped out.
Metal clanged as heavy steps thudded on the iron-hard frozen ground.
"Quartermaster, fit everyone with dampeners. We're in stealth mode now," the captain ordered.
Dampeners were linings inside the armor to muffle sound. Consumable and restrictive, only assassins liked them; most knights didn't.
The vehicles were driven to a concealed, accessible spot and covered with branches.
Randy stayed in the last vehicle. Ritchie huddled outside, guarding. Hundreds of meters away, Diana perched on a high platform, eagle-like, scanning the area.
Diana wielded a ten-meter knight's lance, a standard heavy assault knight. Scouting wasn't her role.
The terrain was hilly, with low mountains, most under a hundred meters.
The squad's other members crept forward. Nora, the silent knight, led a kilometer ahead.
Her armor, the Green Iguana, was unique. There was no protruding armor, just a mottled gray-brown and yellow pattern, nearly invisible. Built for recon, it lacked combat strength but excelled in intel. It could magnify an ant crawling five kilometers away to fist-size, its sounds audible.
Nora searched cautiously, wary of enemy scouts.
Rounding a low mountain range, she eyed a valley ahead, a likely ambush spot and a place to tread carefully.
She slowed, scanning every jutting rock and tree cluster for hidden scouts.
Amplifying ambient sounds, faint leaf rustles roared like drums, the wind howled like thunder.
Among the noise, she caught faint Valedian speech, barely audible but unmistakable.
As she prepared to alert the team, branches rustled, and she felt eyes on her.
In an instant, Nora reacted, zooming in on the sound's source. Behind a row of bushes, an unnatural green seam betrayed a presence.
Two scouts spotting each other was common.
Fleeing now would expose her team. Nora chose to act, lunging forward to uncover how many enemies hid in the valley.
Ritchie, in his armor, had been in the freezing wind for over four hours. Though windproof, the metal conducted cold brutally. He was freezing.
Knighthood was grueling, he realized. Extra layers slowed the armor's reactions, so he couldn't bundle up.
As he longed for the vehicle's warmth, Diana's voice crackled in his ear: "Randy, Ritchie, listen up. The captain's engaged the enemy. Seven heavy knights, fifteen light, at least one scout. Withdraw now and report back. I'm fetching the others."
Retreat was welcome but not the news he wanted.
"Let's go," Randy said, no hesitation. She started the vehicle without waiting for Ritchie to board.
Ritchie leapt onto the vehicle, barely a meter high, an easy jump and a protective measure.
Trees whipped by as the vehicle rocked over the rough, roadless terrain. Ritchie half-knelt, hands gripping the roof.
A few kilometers out, rustling came from both sides. Two figures burst from the woods.
Randy's voice crackled in his ear: "Stop them. They're 'Hunters' in Valedian 'Cheetah' armors. Speed-focused light armor, thicker only at chest and back, thin elsewhere."
Ritchie glanced ahead, then at the pursuers, fear rising. The bumpy path made escape impossible against fast light knights.
Gritting his teeth, he rolled off, landing with a spin.
A deafening bang echoed through the mountains. Smoke poured from the massive gun barrel under his shield, shrouding him.
Randy had given him this custom firearm not to fight knights but to create chaos for escape.
To his shock, as the smoke cleared, one Hunter was down, the bullet shattering his helmet's thin faceplate.
He didn't dodge? Ritchie's mind reeled. Even ambushed, a knight shouldn't fall so easily.
Then he remembered the second enemy. They attacked simultaneously. The Hunter's slender lance darted forward.
Seeing no arcs or shockwaves, Ritchie relaxed. Another rookie.
He wasn't scared of rookies, especially with a lance. Diana and the sisters trained him with sticks, and lances were just pointed sticks.
Tilting his shield, he deflected the lance and grabbed it.
He knew thrusting weapons were hard to leverage. Blocking with a shield alone would leave him pinned.
The rookie was quick, the lance snaking through a gap.
But Ritchie had left that gap deliberately. Shifting left, the lance grazed his side, screeching against his armor, leaving a deep gash.
Seizing the moment, Ritchie clamped the lance under his arm, charged two steps, and unleashed a textbook shield bash.
The defensive heavy knight's only attack, honed over a millennium, was near perfection.
A loud clang sent the Hunter flying.
He'd prepared, though, abandoning the lance and retreating a dozen steps to gain distance.