A vile blend of sweat and flesh seeped through the half-blood lancer’s jacket, whose back was pressed against a corpse. He was saved when a hand reached down for him, and when Arminius looked up, he saw the face of his friend, gritting his teeth in an attempt to conceal his pain. He took his hand and stood up, stumbling as he remained dazed, but he had survived the frightful encounter more than his comrade beside him did.
His wound, which he had caught from a sabre, disturbed him less than witnessing the sheer will of his allies in action as he held onto his flank. “Fuckin’ hell, he’s mad.” Colt turned his eyes down, and determining that it was no more than a flesh wound, he wiped his hand of his blood and rearmed himself, but neither he nor his squad could find the man in question, assuming that he was embroiled in a battle of his own.
The infantry clashed in disorder, with blades being thrust and swung wherever the wind took them. The scraping of steel screeched and rang endlessly as reserves of the opposing armies threw themselves into battle, hurling their lives away as if they had not a dime of desire to live through the battle, which had become a brawl like a gladiator’s pit. Those disarmed resorted to fists and claws, rearming themselves with the equipment of corpses as their officers discharged their revolvers, its smoke and sparks deepening the bitterness in the air. Two immovable forces fertilised the earth in a stalemate that bled both enemies and allies dry.
Between the lines, Arminius and Károly ran ahead together. However, after a few paces, they realised from the quietness around them that the footsteps of their comrades had halted. They turned around and found their squadmates breathless, some whose faces had paled. The squad were being weighed down by fatigue, sluggishly trudging through the mud until they rallied around the half-blood lancer and their archer, who were seemingly unclaimed by the same exhaustion as they were. Lev curled over and gagged as Julien patted his back, but even as they all tried to shun any thoughts of fatigue, nothing could unburden them from the task at hand. Their warrior hearts throbbed, commanding them to drive on, but they had little faith in themselves.
Wondering how he could revive his comrades, Arminius’s mind blanked in a stupor of deliberation, and he did not notice the beating gallop of a horse. It rolled through the Lecher, and as none could bring the creature and its rider to a stop, charging out of the ranks, a horseman who bore a hole in the defender’s lines ushered in his elite guards into the opening. Arminius turned around, but he was too slow to react against the might of the attacker when Károly plucked an arrow from his quiver and drew his bow before it was nocked properly. He spun onto his knee and fired his shot within a second, the arrow hurtling at the rider. Deflected by the thin blade of the rapier, the missile struck the rider’s bodyguard beside him, but the scare jolted his horse, which reared and cast a vast shadow over the squad. Standing before the lone rider, some recognised his seemingly pretentious demeanour that was hard to forget.
Gin marched forth, bouncing his sword on his hand, sure of the rider’s identity. “Isn’t dat one o’ Vasilevsky’s?” His brow furrowed as he asked his comrades, but he was ready to pounce on him, having no patience for diplomacy, which he had to suffer the last time he found himself in the presence of a Confederate general.
“Gin, we don’t have the means to sew you back together if you’re cut into pieces this time.” Arber tugged on the brute’s collar before he would make the mistake of lunging fist first at the enemy again, reminding him of their previous encounter, which did not end as planned.
The Confederates broke through the Lecher’s opening gaps, pushing away those who battled to join the squad, but it was proven then that tenacity alone could not have vied with the swamp of strength that belonged to the Rus. Tides of enemies rose and swallowed the nine whole, soon finding themselves surrounded on every side. Their wish for respite had been snatched away, and they were forced to poise themselves on guard once more in the depths of hostile land. However, the sight of their small statures posed not as much of a threat as a regular squadron would, and the enemy slowly drew nearer them, thirsting for vengeance as they pointed their blades at their throats, a steel wall that was impossible to assail. But their captains and sergeants suddenly ordered them to stand down, the hand in the air guiding the squad’s attention to the third general.
He removed his feet from his stirrups and leaned forward with his arms crossed over his steed’s mane, squinting as he scanned their faces, which appeared familiar to him, but the memory of who they were exactly was not so fresh. Only upon seeing the brute being held down by his comrades did his demeanour brighten upon remembering their faces. “I must say, I am rather surprised. ” A chuckle broke out of Rzhev as a grin rose on one corner of his mouth. “It is no wonder any longer why the general took such interest in you.” He pointed at the squad and admitted that their second meeting was unexpected.
Rzhev pushed his arm outward, and his men withdrew twenty paces, cautiously forming a new border of steel around an emerging oval field. The squad looked around them, puzzled as they failed to grasp the third general’s intentions as he sat upright and stroked his moustache, holding out his rapier before it fell out of his hand. The blade dropped to the ground and burrowed itself in the earth, deep enough for it to stand upright. Rzhev uncrossed his arm and swung his leg over his saddle, and in one motion, he leapt off his noble seat. His armour rattled, and a guard hurried forth from behind him, jogging towards him with a hand on his sword’s grip. He gave a quick salute before reeling in his general’s steed and retreated promptly with the jittery creature. Although the scene of his execution grounds was set, Rzhev deliberately took leisurely steps towards his rapier, which, despite his apparent calmness, had left the squad feeling their hearts thud louder.
Calmly, the third general picked up his rapier and pointed it at his adversary. “But the general’s reputation was lost, and I am here to reclaim it.” Rzhev spoke to them in a suddenly flatter tone, which was different from his usual cadence. “So, tell me, you little horrors. In what manner do you wish to die?” He kindly offered them a choice, considering it heroic for a soldier of his calibre to offer them the option of their execution.
On the threat which they heard, the squad tightened their formation and raised their blades against the general. The air had turned from one of fear to potent will. Their instincts of survival had awoken, and their minds sharpened, riding on a wave of adrenaline with their intent clear.
Gritting his teeth, one of the half-blood lancers placed his sword beside his face and steadied his stance. “Let’s not make a repeat of last time.” Arminius advised his comrades to steer clear of individual actions as his heel came off the ground.
Without the choice to retreat, the squad tensed their grip, locking themselves into a fate that they believed, with their numbers, that they could cheat. But the Rus smirked and laughed at them, assured by their commander’s prowess that the squad would soon find difficult to comprehend. He had not yet shown the scent of Eifer nor the expression of a killer. No danger coloured his face, yet it could have been hiding beneath his unimposing silhouette. The student of the Summer Lion had fooled his prey into thinking that all there was to his appearance was a soldier capable of dressing up in a noble-esque manner.
He lowered his blade and scoffed out of disappointment. “Very well.” Rzhev abided by their challenge, flicking his cape behind his shoulder.
The squad braced up in anticipation of an attack, but before they ever saw the general’s feet lift off the ground, there was a flash and the sound of Eifer shrieking, and the world of colour broke. His Eifer, which had been mastered to near-perfection, had reduced the dimensions of the universe around them into streaks of shadow and light. None had thought that he was capable of having mastered the gods-given gift, nor did they think that he would have unleashed it in the first instance of battle. The attack ripped awide a rift in the squad whose intuitions saved their lives. From to a combination of luck and risk, they barely escaped, suffering gashes and cuts on their legs and arms as those who dived and fell were defeated. The adept dashed aside, like Arminius, whose quick feet avoided the trail of blazes before it arrived, a calamity partially of their own making. The bones in his arms rattled as sparks disintegrated the edge of his blade. A splinter had scathed his face, and when he pivoted around on landing, the sight of devastation distracted him, and he twisted his ankle. Dropping to his knee, he held onto the soft earth to steady himself, his vision a blur, smudged by the dust and haze.
The general stood proudly before him, his cape fluttering in the gale he produced as he held out his rapier and turned around, twisting his moustache as if he was admiring his work of destruction. The bloodstained track he had painted had separated his prey. Lying in the earth, squirming with wounds that they had not suffered before. The able-bodied dragged their comrades away, but one did neither. Motionless, his blue eyes were hidden behind his eyelids, his blonde hair steeped in mud. His comrade crawled towards him and kicked his sword to Arminius’s side before dragging Julien away from the carnage. Although most were able to stand themselves eventually, not many could fight on. The archer aimed his arrow as a giant charged at his target like an enraged bull. The brute helped up the Easterner as Alexandria defended them both, yelling at the half-blood Rus whose mind had stopped, kneeling, silently dismayed. The sight of the devastation incurred by his foe gave birth to a flame in his heart that Arminius had not known in years. Replacing his blunted blade with an untainted sword, the boy’s dual-colour irises shone like amethyst.417Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiAHqXm9i6G
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