The Confederates chanted and cheered, overwhelming the silence of the fewer Lecher observers who were deafened by the noise. They waved their swords as if they were a part of the battle, singing anthems and marching songs. Tootles of flutes and the rolling of drums taunted the colonel and his lancers, keeping them ready against the third general, who would no doubt strike first.
He leapt forward without notice, seeking their demise within a second, but Florian had since learnt his rhythm and stepped away. Deflecting his strike with his fan, from within the shadow hidden behind his body, unseen by Rzhev, the colonel’s sabre swung upward, striking the general’s chest. It did not injure him, the blade ringing as it bounced off his breastplate, but the thought that he had been struck angered him. His face reddened, thinking that he ought to fight with more caution. However, it was his own pride that denied him a more sensible approach.
As if he was undisturbed by the colonel’s warning, Rzhev jolted forth in a feint, and Florian lunged back. Realising his mistake, he dug his heel into the ground to find his footing, hoping that he would be able to catch the rapier charging at him. From his flanks, two lancers rushed inward, pincering the general. Both swords moved at the same speed, forcing the Rus to divert his attention. Grunting, Rzhev finally withdrew, bringing his foes closer as they slowed. He lifted his heel and lowered himself, his rapier swooping into the path of the lancers. Arminius and Colt, like Florian, had long caught onto his pattern of attack and deflected his strike out of muscle memory. Although it lacked the same power that his thrusts had, his strike pushed the two boys away, their feet skidding across the mud. In a moment not wasted, giving his enemy little time to rest and recover, Rzhev launched a barrage of jabs, chaining the three allied soldiers into a deadlock of defence that he hoped would eventually wear out and break them. But it was those same movements he had repeated throughout their battle of aggression and agility that enlightened the lancer.
Arminius soon discovered the very reason that explained his constant bombardment. To test his theory, hes dove beneath his comrades’ and enemy’s sightline, appearing beneath the general’s nose when he released a hint of Eifer that aimed for his head. Rzhev’s surprised eyes told the lancer enough before he withdrew, as did his allies. At two dozen paces apart, two forces were in a standoff as each belligerent regained their breath.
“There’s a gap in his attack,” Arminius discerned from a clue unveiled by the general himself. “That being his attack itself.” He glanced over to both Colt and the colonel.
As they wondered what had led him to think this way, they exchanged uncertain glances, reflecting on their own experiences in battle against the third general and questioning whether it was true or not. However, without another strategy, it was the only plan that they could trust. Colt set aside his ego and heeded him for once. The colonel believed him, as he did for many of his comrades, albeit hesitantly, and marched forward. The lancers’ steps were soft and precise, drawing outward into the edge of the general’s vision, whose eyes flicked left and right, watching for who would attack first. Then, they charged, once again, together. It was clear their synchrony was no fluke, although it was a trick Rzhev had seen through.
The general withdrew again, forcing the two lancers to advance unto a single point that his rapier could defend with ease. Parrying each strike lacking strength and agility their adversary commanded, the general’s tempo quickened and slowed, throwing his enemies from their rhythm. The battle had become a delirious act, and to Rzhev, it was apparent that their swords would not be able to harm him. Their art of swordsmanship was at an imbalance, and by chaining themselves into an assault together, their limit was nigh. Their slashes and cuts did not complement one another, as if their vigour was just for show. With two flicks, he deflected both their swords, twisting the lancers’ wrists until their grip over their weapons diminished. Rzhev spun and propelled Arminius to the ground with a kick. On landing, his cape glided onto his arm majestically before opening a new wound on Colt’s body, which was caught by the tip of his thin blade.
Stumbling back in disbelief, Colt, who had only known victory, realised that his grievous bodily gashes and tears were overwhelming him, leaving his legs weak. He dropped to his knees, his blood merging into one stream that soaked the ground beneath him.
A layer of dust coated Arminius's vision as he steadily rose from the mud. Behind it, the glow of Eifer warmed like the morning light of summer, drying the earth under him. Rzhev pointed his rapier at the boy, who was unafraid, and dashed towards him seeking to recover the honour that they had stolen from the lion when a shadow was cast over him.
Florian had leapt in to save Arminius, his fan and sabre crossed over, as Rzhev hurtled towards him. The colonel believed that Arminius’s theory had come to fruition. The surprise had changed the rhythm of his assault, and the third general knew his Eifer would not hold. Rzhev fed every drop of blood and divine energy into his rapier and drove on. His flames assailed the colonel’s guard, crawling over his steel blades, which glowed from the heat. Florian felt the blood in his fingers begin to boil, and despite his ability to wield an Eifer, it was nowhere near as potent as the general’s. The pain that seeped into his bones was intolerable, yet he had to tolerate it for the sake of victory. His grip began to loosen, but with one last push of his weight and will, Florian yelled out and turned his body away from the centre and, with it, the tip of the rapier.
The light of the Rus’s Eifer was shattered, and a gust of wind blasted outward from their blades’ point of contact. The colonel stumbled left. Both their defences were null. Rzhev’s guard was open, and he sought to regain control, but unlike himself, his adversary has always had a weapon in reserve.
A bolt of lightning sailed into reach, and a blade came on his neck. In horror, he leaned away, but his head was already cold. Shuddering, his eyes blanked as blood poured out of his throat, bathing the lancer who dealt the fatal blow from beneath him. Unmoving, the last colours the general saw were those of his own life and the smog-filled sky. Rzhev fell backward, with his rapier fixed in his hand, onto the earth, stiff and dead.399Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3zSL5BwvhW
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