His movement was minimal, so as not to agitate the general, as Arnau and Siegfried turned their heads towards them in shock. They knew that their cover had been blown and they held onto the hilts of their weapons, but Arminius did not yet give any signal to strike, as if he had become entirely trapped in the prison of Radilov’s aura.
Sitting forward, the Rus put his hands together beneath the table that the other had been wary of. “Don’t feign innocence, Armin.” Aurelius cautioned him that the opportunity to act had passed. “We’ve long known about your endeavours.” He revealed his knowledge to the lieutenant, aware that he understood what he was referring to.
With nowhere left to go and nothing left to say in his defence, Arminius felt his blood grow stale. “Then, why didn’t you attack us the moment you found out?” He confronted the man who had been toying with him ever since then.
“Why would I?” Aurelius scoffed and threw his arms up, as if he expected his enemy to already know. “I’d much rather take that hope away from you once it’d been completely steeped.” Ending their talks on that note, the Rus chuckled.
Distant drums rolled, and the sound of a great horn bellowed. The army was silent no more and had been woken from its slumber. Their chants thundered, and Arminius knew that their march had begun, not bothering to take the slightest peek out of the slit in the wall, as his eyes stayed pinned on the easy general.
As if nothing was happening, Aurelius continued to brew his tea and poured a new batch into both their cups. It was unclear whether he did so out of respect for the lieutenant, who had somehow remained calm despite everything that had been revealed, or if he simply wished to maintain his facade.
A whiff of steam once again obscured their faces, creating a perfect opportunity for either of them to strike. However, even as it dissipated, neither moved from their seat. Arminius slowly moved his hand towards something that the Rus would not have been able to foresee, yet the latter took no precautions against it. He let the tea leaves rest in the open pot and retrieved his cup from the middle of the table when he heard hurried footsteps repeatedly tap on the stairs.
Swinging around the pillar with a bow in his hand, drenched from the rain, was Károly, who had hoped to reinforce Arminius, having felt he was in danger, only to find that Arnau and Siegfried had already unsheathed their swords and were ready to pounce on the general. The archer drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it on his bow, pointed at the enemy.
Sensing that a lancer was approaching him from behind, Aurelius lifted his cup and gently blew on its surface, rippling the tea. “Still, I’ve had my fun.” Radilov took a sip of it and exhaled, turning his eyes to Arminius. “Thank you for the tea.” He offered his gratitude.
There were flashes of light in the distance, and the sky rumbled like the crashing of thunder that came from the east and west. Troops cried out and took cover under the ominous whistle of shells, and as noon struck, fire rained down on the city.
Trapped between two walls of artillery with nowhere to flee, many foresaw their end. When most would have been out of their homes, strolling the streets, gossiping in cafés, visiting shops, drilling on parade squares, and playing in parks, they were suddenly met with waves of flames that vapourised their mortal flesh. Houses crumbled, streets were torn apart, and from beneath, pipes erupted and quaked the settlement. Towers crashed, churches collapsed, and the city was ravaged by the first barrage of shells, but the besiegers did not relent.
A mess of rain and blazes poured down like a storm that not even the heavens could blow or water out. Each strike meant the death of a family and a dozen more wounded, with the last shock followed closely by more. Explosives pounded the earth, and even those settled in the gatehouse leagues away from the city centre felt the floor shake. The guns had not aimed for the wall, knowing that their ammunition would have been wasted on the sturdy concrete that stood unbreakable, but in the stead of the soldiers who could do nothing in retaliation were people who became the attack’s first victims.
Through the slits in the gatehouse walls, a sea of flames, ash, smog, and mist filled the cityscape. They heard the shouts of soldiers on the wall calling for the lieutenant, and overwhelmed by the shrieks that erupted from Haven, which had become hell, Siegfried flinched. When he turned his head towards the noise out of reaction, Aurelius set down his cup.
He unsheathed a knife that had been hiding behind his back and needed no aim before throwing it. The blade cut through the air and, before anyone could stop it, pierced Siegfried’s chest. It became lodged deep in his ribs, and from the force of the impact, he was thrown to the ground. Blood poured out of his wound from the fuller, and he curled up, agonisingly, grasping at his heart.
The lieutenant unbuckled his holster and drew his pistol at Aurelius, but before he could even place his thumb on the hammer, Aurelius threw his pot of boiling water at his face, burning him around his eye. He cried out in pain, his hand pressed against his eye, stumbling back into his seat, and even if he had been half-blinded, he wished to fire his pistol, only he would not dare when he heard Arnau charging at the general from behind.
With both of his swords unsheathed, he lunged at Aurelius, who simply moved out of his way and grabbed his hand before yanking one of his swords out of his grip. The general spun off his seat and whipped his blade towards Arnau, whose remaining sword deflected the strike. Thinking that he had barely avoided death, the lancer leapt back, but the enemy’s reaction was quicker. Aurelius twirled his sword into a reverse grip and swung at Arnau from the flank. Their steel clashed, ringing out, waking Arminius, whose fury grew.
He gritted his teeth and subdued the pain, his face partially scarred, as blood ran down his head from the pot which struck him. Arminius let out a cry and summoned his Eifer, but rather than fearing the budding thunder, Aurelius smiled. When Arnau charged towards him again with a thrust, the general skipped aside, allowing his blade to flow freely past him. Arminius, narrowly avoiding impalement by an allied sword, halted his Eifer and grabbed Arnau by his arm. Although the lancer had hoped to halt himself and fight beside the lieutenant, he was flung towards the stairs, spinning off balance on his feet, until he dug his heel into the floor to anchor himself as Károly reached out to catch him by his back.
His breath was heavy, and as he knelt by Siegfried, he placed his hand on him to reassure him. “Sieg, hold on.” Arnau felt his chest beginning to fail to rise. “I’ll get you off this wall.” One could not tell if they were droplets of sweat or tears running down his cheeks, but his voice remained determined.
Gasping for air, all that escaped Siegfried’s lungs was blood. Colour faded from his eyes as he struggled to say even Arnau’s name, holding onto his hand that weakly squeezed, fading away.
Károly drew his arrow and aimed it at the general, but with Arminius in his line of sight, he could not release it. His hands were shaking, anxious for an opening.
Unholstering his pistol and pointing it at Aurelius, the lieutenant cocked its hammer and steadied his breath. “Both of you, head to the harbour!” Arminius urged them. “This wall can only hold so long.” He told them, hoping he could encourage their withdrawal.
In disbelief that he would want to face the general alone, Károly lowered his bow, his face visibly aghast. “Armin…” The archer tried to reason with him.
The lancer beside him lifted Siegfried up from the ground and hurled him onto his back, his arms wrapped around him, but no one had noticed that his eyes were already still. His friend’s blood soaked his body as he gazed at Arminius. When he noticed the archer's confident demeanour, he turned around and hurried towards the stairs, pausing only when he saw that the archer’s feet were glued to the floor in panic, unable to shake off thoughts of hopelessness that evoked a memory he had never encountered before.
“Károly, give him some space.” Arnau woke him up, holding onto his shoulder. “Our lieutenant won’t fall so easily.” Insinuating that what Arminius had wished was rather an order, he reminded the archer of his position.
The thought of leaving Arminius made his head wet with sweat as he closed his eyes tight. Being unable to do anything, he gritted his teeth with disappointment, and he took one last glance at Arminius before treading backward, committing to his retreat, leaving two forces graver than the bombardment facing each other.
Now that they were finally alone, Arminius could fight without a care. In his left hand, the trigger of his pistol slowly compressed, and the pressure primed its hammer for release. His blood heated up, itching his finger until it could bear no more of the wait, and he fired his gun.
The hammer struck the shell, and the bullet fleeted out of the barrel, the muzzle flashing like the distant artillery, and a puff of smoke burst out, but Aurelius’s reaction was inhumanly quicker than the machine. The general spun his sword into a forehand grip and deflected the round that rang on impact before leaping at Arminius, who planned to unleash his Eifer, but the general would not allow him to summon it. In the moment the Eifer left his heart, Aurelius’s sword was already swinging for his neck.
Forced to defend himself, Arminius parried his strikes, but on every meeting, he noticed that Aurelius’s attack was predictable. For someone who had fought against Rzhev’s sword art, the lieutenant was able to defend himself with a margin of movement that allowed him time to think. However, the predictability of the enemy’s sword was a feint.
The blade suddenly moved with speed and fluidity, resembling the sea lashing against a beach. It disrupted Arminius’s rhythm while artillery fire pummelled the city and the scent of smoke masked the tea that had once filled the room. Arminius took two steps back, predicting that Aurelius would charge at him. However, Aurelius pivoted on his agile feet like water and swung his body around. His blade swept upward, appearing to be aiming for Arminius’s head, which forced the lieutenant to bring his sword to his defence, but it was knocked away by Aurelius’s momentum.
The half-blood was ripe for attack, and realising his mistake, he fired his pistol three times maniacally, its bullets rebounding off the walls and ceiling. Aurelius leapt back, and having not thought that he would waste his rounds out of panic, he halted for a second. A bullet had scathed his face. He wiped the blood off of his cheek and grinned, standing tall.
Arminius backed away from the wall and advanced towards the general, inching forward every ten seconds, holstering his pistol and guarding himself with both hands on his sword. His eyes, streaked with lightning, searched for an opening, but he was unable to dismantle the general’s strategy before being backed into a corner again.
Rubbing his fingers, which sensed the moisture in the air that had invaded the gatehouse, the general sniggered. “Armin, can you fly?” Aurelius asked him a bizarre question.
Arminius frowned in perplexity, wondering if he was being genuine or not, but in the moment he lowered his guard, his reaction grew delayed, and Aurelius caught notice of it. Raising his sword to his face, his blade glowed in an instant, and the lieutenant knew that he had forsaken his defence, his eyes widening in terror.
The moisture in the air soon formed a thick veil of mist which pulsed as the Rus’s Eifer surged as if every molecule in the room was being drawn towards the general’s sword. Rain gathered around his blade and coated the steel like a swarm of sentient particles, and his smile finally melted away, his face fuelled by anger. Eifer coursed through his veins, and when the switch which controlled the flow of his power flicked alight, he swung his sword across his entire arc of vision, launching a wall of mist at Arminius at sound speed, slamming into him, who struggled to defend himself with just a meagre sword.
The impact nearly burst his eardrums, and it felt as though a train had run into him. Thrown back into the stone blocks behind him, the wall that had kept the wind, smoke, and rain out burst open without resistance. The sheer force of the colossal strength of Aurelius’s Eifer tossed Arminius out of the gatehouse like a breeze against a feather, and he found himself in freefall. Heavy rubble slammed into the ground below him first as he plunged for over twenty paces that would have killed anyone else, but the boy instinctively tried to angle himself midair, hoping to land on his feet he knew could withstand the impact. However, the earth was near, and he had no time to act. He reallocated his Eifer into a single foot, and his heel met the ground, but he felt his ankle snap, his fall having been broken.
Tumbling down the ridge, he landed back first onto the cold, wet pavement and felt his bones rattle from the impact. As he lay there with his sword still tightly clenched in his hand, his comrades who had descended from the wall and had appeared at the foot of the stairwell stood, staring, disturbed. They ran towards the lieutenant, who miraculously regained consciousness, but his body was frail.
Everything was a blur, from the rain to the lights to the voices. The pain had not yet come, but when he lifted his head, he was greeted by the sight of Aurelius, standing victorious over the gate.
Parts of the gatehouse crumbled, yet he did not move to safety, watching Arminius from afar. His expression had none of the affability he portrayed moments ago. In a fit of rage, his heart enflamed, the lieutenant drew his pistol, and though his aim faltered, he fired it nonetheless. The bullet which shot by Aurelius was inches off its mark, and he did not flinch.
Feeling his body lose strength, Arminius slumped back into the arms of Károly as Arnau hurried to them. Their voices gradually grew louder as he recovered. Having seen that their wall had been compromised, the defenders piled themselves into the gatehouse, forcing Aurelius to turn around and fight. Trusting that they would be able to slow the fiend, Károly began to drag Arminius away by his arms despite his small stature, as Arminius gazed at the heavens. The rain pattered on his face as shells whistled overhead.280Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtF8EnRyllM
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