Reincarnated as a boss tyrant in the game

This sudden downpour not only extinguished the fire in the rebel camp but also presented a significant obstacle to Soren's raid plan.

As the fire gradually weakened, the initially chaotic situation in the rebel camp began to stabilize.

Immediately afterward, war drums thundered, and hundreds of thousands of knights roared in unison, their hooves pounding like thunder as they charged toward Soren and his forces, forming a massive encirclement.

Jennifer fought desperately and with great difficulty broke through the encirclement to reach Soren's side, her hair plastered to her face by the rain.

Her face was etched with anxiety: “Your Majesty! The enemy has reacted! We must retreat!”

Rainwater streamed down her cheeks, mingling with sweat and blood.

Soren surveyed the situation before him. Though unwilling, he knew that it was impossible to continue the attack at this point. Helpless, he nodded and ordered, “Withdraw!”

Upon receiving the order, Soren led the group of Saint-ranked experts and soldiers in an orderly retreat.

They fought as they retreated, their weapons constantly waving, fending off the rebel pursuit.

Rainwater struck the ground, splashing up layers of mud, making the land underfoot slippery and difficult to navigate, adding considerable difficulty to the retreat.

On the walls of the Normandy Line, Countess Fiana had been closely monitoring the battlefield situation.

Seeing Soren leading his army in retreat, she immediately and decisively ordered, "Fire the magic cannons and volley arrows to cover His Majesty's retreat!"

As her order was issued, the magic cannons on the city walls roared in unison, the massive cannonballs hurtling toward the rebel ranks with whistling sounds.

The cannonballs landed, kicking up bursts of dust and flames, blasting the rebel cavalry into chaos.

At the same time, the archers drew their bows and released a hail of arrows, a dense rain of arrows swarming towards the rebels like locusts, providing powerful cover for Soren's retreat.

Under the cover of the magic cannons and arrow rain, Soren and the others finally managed to retreat back to the Normandy Line.

The soldiers on the city walls cheered and rejoiced, delighted by the Emperor's safe return.

Standing on the city wall, Soren gazed at the still-flickering battlefield, thinking to himself, “After all, this is a world of magic. Magic can change so many things.”

Rainwater continued to stream down his armor, but his gaze grew even more determined.

Inside the rebel camp, the atmosphere was heavy, almost suffocating.

Although they had successfully repelled Soren's raid, when the casualties were tallied, the faces of the various Border Kings were uglier than the last, their hearts aching as if someone had ruthlessly grabbed them, drawing blood.

They had originally thought that the crisis would be temporarily resolved after Soren led his army to retreat, but when they saw the casualty figures, they were shocked to realize that the victory had come at a terrible price.

The number of soldiers who actually died under the swords of Soren and his men was not that high. The real horror was the stampede caused by the initial chaos and arson.

In the darkness, the soldiers panicked, fleeing in all directions, crowding and trampling each other.

The tents were engulfed in flames, and people lost their way in the sea of fire and chaos, unable to control the situation at all.

Those young soldiers did not even have time to show their skills on the battlefield before they fell under the feet of their own men.

Overnight, the rebel army suffered over ten thousand casualties, with tens of thousands more injured.

In the camp, the Border Kings looked at the casualty reports in their hands, speechless for a long time.

Some Border Kings angrily threw the reports on the ground, while others sighed silently, their eyes filled with despair.

“That damned Soren, using such despicable means!” one Border King cursed through gritted teeth.

“What's the use of saying this now? We've lost so many troops. What are we going to do next?” another Border King asked with a worried look on his face.

The crowd spoke all at once, but they were unable to come up with an effective solution.

This sudden blow made them realize that Soren was far more difficult to deal with than they had imagined.

In this war, their situation had become even more difficult, and the road ahead was full of unknowns and uncertainties.

Border King Olga stood in the center of the camp, his face ashen like the gloomy sky before a storm, veins bulging on his forehead, his fists clenched so tightly that his fingernails almost pierced his palms.

He knew better than anyone that the current situation was almost hopeless for them.

The only reason the rebel army could still stalemate with the imperial army was because of its seemingly large number of troops.

But this large army was actually a double-edged sword. Once it collapsed, it would be like a wild horse that had broken free of its reins and could not be controlled at all.

Those soldiers who had lost their command and were in disarray were likely to become bandits and brigands in various places, burning, killing, and looting, causing immeasurable damage to the people and economy of the Empire.

This was also why Soren had not sent out Saint-ranked experts to exterminate them.

Olga knew that it was almost a fantasy for them to defeat the imperial army.

The biggest bottleneck was the lack of enough Saint-ranked experts to support this protracted war.

Saint-ranked experts on the battlefield were like sea-stabilizing needles, able to influence the outcome of the war. But now, they were far inferior to the Empire in terms of both the number and quality of Saint-ranked experts.

He could almost foresee the direction of the battle that followed: starting tomorrow, the imperial army would inevitably use its advantage in Saint-ranked experts to send them to assassinate the rebel army's senior officers and Border Kings.

At that time, when the imperial army launched a general offensive, the rebel army would have no power to fight back.

Thinking of this, Olga felt a surge of despair in his heart, as if an invisible hand was tightly gripping his throat.

He could no longer restrain himself and roared to the sky, “Unable to turn the tide!” His voice echoed in the camp, full of helplessness and grief.

As for breaking through the Normandy Line, in his opinion, it was simply a pipe dream.

The Normandy Line had a strategic location, solid fortifications, Soren personally stationed there, and many Saint-ranked experts and elite troops guarding it.

They had tried to attack many times before, but they had been beaten to pieces. Now that they had lost so many troops, it was even more impossible.

The other Border Kings were silent when they heard Olga's cry.

Their faces were filled with anxiety and helplessness.

The atmosphere in the camp was so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.

A crisis concerning the survival of the rebel army was quietly descending, and they seemed to have found no way to solve it.

“Let's make one last stand tomorrow!” The only remaining Saint-ranked expert of the Desert Foreign Race suddenly stood up, his eyes burning with resolute flames, and slammed his fist hard on the table in front of him, making a dull sound.

His face was slightly flushed with excitement, his chapped lips trembled slightly, and every word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth.

“What if we lose?” Border King Guwen'erte also stood up, staring at the other party coldly, his eyes full of doubt and worry.