Like a rock in a glass of water, the Lecher forced the Rus off their hill. The uniformed troops overflowed the ridge and battled however they could, but the slope which they fought on only continued to drag them down. Despite their best efforts to stand their ground, a force beyond numerical strength confronted them. Their officers finally gave the order to rejoin their comrades on the riverside field and surrender their hillside position, but their enemy did not relent. Driven by vengeance, more men poured out of the treelines in swarms, breaking from their columned ranks and chasing down whoever was in their sight. It became clear to the Confederates what had befallen them: complete misfortune. The Confederates had been stalked without knowing. Perhaps the smoke led their enemy there, but whatever they believed was the reason for their seeming demise, nothing could save them except for a miracle.
Twenty thousand Aelon soldiers had been scarred like their comrade regiment guarding the bridge. The lives of over a hundred thousand soldiers and civilians had been taken from them. The image of the massacre was still fresh in their minds as they stormed their enemy lines, cutting down those who failed to flee. The ambushers gained momentum just as they slammed into their enemy’s rear.
Standing on the brow of the hill, the elderly general overlooked the battle. His greater numbers were encircling Radilov’s, returning the favour the boy general had wrought on his army. The shoe of his scythe was sat in the red snow, its body black with the reaper’s skin bound to its shaft. An air of death surrounded him, howling for him to not let a single Confederate soul escape alive.
The other battle by the water and the bridge raged on, and fearing that they would perish without their aid, Adam, Wojsław and his bear, Wojtek, descended down the ridge, advancing with a regiment of men ill-equipped but spirited enough to claim complete victory.
Another faithful subordinate stood beside the general and fought with his voice, the weapon he wielded best. “Any man with a rifle and a round, fire at will!” Shouting out his orders, Florian used his steel fan to direct his troops.
His skirmishers compacted into a thin line of rifles and bows along the ridge as stragglers were picked apart by the fervorous Lecher, who hailed a second volley into the enemy. Lead and arrows chewed through the densely packed Rus, who had no escape as their ranks compressed from the ambush. Red mist showered them, and smoke shrouded their sight. The fog thickened from their bodily warmth, yet, despite being blinded by their desperation, the gunfire and plucking of bows did not cease. The crackles of gunpowder were constant, and soon, visibility was nothing but their imagination.
The general’s vision was already poor, and he knew not what was happening, but he had not forgotten why he came in the first place. Worried, showing a rare, softer side of his heart, he squinted, trying to peer past the cloud. “Did you see them, Károly and his pack?” Warneńczyk asked his aide, hoping that his younger eyes had spotted them.
“Yes.” Florian assured him, replying with a precise nod. “I caught sight of them.”
When Warneńczyk glanced over to Florian, he was unsure whether the colonel was telling the truth or whether he was concealing it. Whatever it was, the worried grandfather did not seem convinced, but he could only spectate the battle from afar, as his age had already proven his limits. The feeling of dread forever lingered on him.
It was clear that the dwindling regiment could no longer withstand the intense fighting at the front. The tides may have withdrawn slightly, and the Rus may have been trapped, cornered on all sides by steel, gunfire, and the icy waters behind them, but the Lecher felt pressured to end the battle quickly in hopes of preserving whatever remained of their force.
Two of his warriors among the brave fought the fiercest, breaking the will of their enemy with their attacks that appeared inhuman. One warrior’s bladed whips wrapped around a foe like a python, mangling the victim who fell among the corpses it had preyed upon. The other warrior hacked at flesh with a double-headed axe, as if he were chopping lumber, while riding atop his bear, whose hide was resistant to the sharpest steel. They ploughed through mud and snow as the skies began to rain with white ice again. The heavens had opened up, powdering the bodies of the dead as the living’s joints stiffened from the draught. But neither side caved, even if it meant driving themselves to annihilation.
Light on his feet, Adam strangled and slaughtered with his maddened whips, which tenaciously fought with a mind of their own. With one flick, his whip straightened out like a sword, piercing and skewering the crowded Rus, and with another flick, it curved, curling and ripping their bodies into seven parts. He wielded the whip without fear of it rebounding and striking him. The battlefield was a place where he belonged, but to think that he had not set foot in this bloody land ever before, this captain must have been trained to the limit that man could ever endure, nearing the bounds that separated him and the God of War.
Eventually, he found a weakness in the lines, which provided the perfect opportunity for his comrade to display his might. Wojsław whistled and turned his companion towards the spear wall. The two monsters towered over everything else at a height of over twelve feet combined. Their shadow was immense, and the tremor of their aura alone shook the Confederates. Even as they braced for an attack, they did not know whether they could guard against such a behemoth that was invulnerable to any weapon. The gods shunned them before the bear crashed through their lines and let in a wave of Lecher, who stormed into the widening gap. Joining his troops, Adam sprinted through the opening, but he was shortly halted beside Wojsław, whose blade stopped its havoc.
A fiend stood waiting before them, turning around to face the two warriors who had appeared. The third general had felt their burning Eifer, which had lain dormant for years, but he did not move aside. He planned to face them when the ground began to quake. Many thought that it was the charge of the Lecher alone that caused the earth to shake. However, Adam was the first to notice that it was not. Looking to his feet, the snow cracked. Wojtek detected from a whiff of the air that the tides were changing.
As snow dusted his head as he turned to his side, he felt the end approach. “Fuck.” Adam uttered, his eyes widening upon realising what it was.
Wojtek’s growl alerted his master to the threat coming from the south, which was moving upstream at a speed unimaginable for infantry. There was one answer to his question that none should need to find out. The captain hurriedly rallied his men, crying out his discovery that was relayed across the front within a minute. The few enemies who understood their language translated their woes and rejoiced. Steadily giving up their ground, the Lecher had to retreat, but it was far too late. The moment the captain felt an unwanted energy course through the earth, he turned around and fled, shedding one last glance at the third general, who faced his fast-approaching saviour.
Grinning, Aurelius stood still and muttered his name. “Rex…” He lowered his spear, knowing that the battle was coming to a close, but it was only by coincidence that his comrade had come earlier than intended.
Out of the turn in the path, winding around the treeline which followed the river downstream, the hooves of horses were many. In a stream, hundreds, then thousands strong, showed themselves. The vanguard of Eos’s famed cavalry had arrived from their long march. Though winded, they were desperate to reach the place of their meeting, only to find it swarming with enemies. The sight of their struggling comrades emboldened their hearts and ushered them forth into a gallop, seeing the undefended flanks of the enemy greatly exposed. The peasant army were withdrawing, their morale having been shattered by the sound of the cavalry alone. Their winged hussars had been dispatched elsewhere, with the general believing that they would fare better in the central plains, and without their presence, there was little they could do against the threat.
Seeing that his enemy was ripe for attack, Eos thrust his glaive onwards, and his men rode ahead of him, forming a spearhead before they swiftly crashed into the Aelon. The skirmishers along the ridge fired in an attempt to slow the charge, but anything they did had become futile. Their army had been snapped into two parts, and the force separated from the general’s camp was soon encircled by a moving wall of horses and lances. Blades renewed with vigour pointed against their backs, and though the sight of the slaughter was shielded by the dust and snow, their panic echoed. Those protected by the hill stood in wait as if their hands had been bound, unable to fight against the flow of fate.
When Adam emerged from the clouds, climbing his way to safety, his bulkier comrade was not as agile. Behind him, Wojtek ran, carrying Wojsław, whose eyes were set on the general, but a blade suddenly ran through his back. His eyes remained fixed on the high ground when he was toppled from his creature, who had not noticed his demise, for his natural instinct had been overridden by the thought of survival. Trampled, the warrior that the general most cherished was no more in an instant, swept away by the currents. Warneńczyk stared on in dismay, dazed from having witnessed his downfall.
Having felt the importance of the man he had felled in one strike, Eos tugged on his reins and halted his steed, looking over his shoulder at the dead in the sea. Shaken, the Lecher’s spirits had been broken. The vicious cavalry churned through the army until it was but a lake of blood that joined the river’s currents. Their comrades fled, hurrying up a ridge defended by lines of spears and rifles that the horsemen were not so suicidal as to dare an attack on.
At the rear of the retreat, Adam pushed his men on, saving however many he could, when a small squadron charged towards him and his sentry. Knowing that not even he could outrun them, he knelt down and whipped his blade at them, slicing into the legs of a horse before its rider’s sabre missed him by a hair’s margin. One after another were felled in the fatal crash, dismounted and crushed under their steeds and companions who could not halt in time. The survivors were picked off by a volley of arrows that fleeted over the captain, who waited for the bear to emerge from the mist. Together, they climbed the ridge and were saved from the slaughter.
The creature was without a master, and when its blood settled, Wojtek realised it from the lack of weight on his back. Turning around, he sniffed, alone. His head lowered as he approached the general whose veins twitched in anger and confusion. He had allowed the death of his greatest soldier, not with a blunder but with misfortune. The guard that he most trusted, that he had watched grow from a boy into a man, had perished from his carelessness. The bear nudged his clenching fists that heated up with boiling blood.
“General, if we stay here any longer, they will have our heads.” Florian reminded him of the direness.
The general could not utter a single word, as if his tongue had been frozen. “Károly…” Warneńczyk mumbled in guilt, reminding him of a dark memory that he longed to forget.
Florian turned towards the bridge as the closing phase of the battle commenced, where a shrunken regiment battled on to the point of needless struggle. In an opening in the fog, the colonel caught a glimpse of a wounded archer lying at the end of the bridge, who had been dragged away from the carnage, but for that reason, he chose not to tell his general of his finding, pretending that he saw nothing.
Out of desperation, the general’s grandson’s comrades had to forgo their orders, however in misery, as reality struck them. It was unlikely that they would ever be reunited, as the channels of cavalry and infantry that divided them widened.
“If we retreat, Gen’ral, we can hope that their attention’ll be diverted.” Adam projected his voice, marching up to his commanders. “They may be saved yet.” He shared his optimism.
Even Florian seemed to agree with his subordinate. “Skowroński is right.” The colonel pinched his chin and faced the general. “You are the greater prize. The enemy cannot deny it.” Intent on using the old man’s name as bait, he sought to bring the hunter’s focus away from the lesser foe.
“Then, we’ll fight ‘em on equal terms.” Adam pressed his fists together, confident that they would succeed.
Warneńczyk suddenly uttered a sigh, as if he had been calmed by their words. His eyes widened from an obvious revelation, but they were shut again as he took a breath. However, it was not his subordinates’ words that enlightened him. He had listened little to their suggestions but had heard enough from his heart to make his judgement. The captain’s face lit up in anticipation of an order that could see their morale revived, but the general gave an unexpected answer.
Opening his eyes, he slackened his grip on the shaft of his scythe. “No, I have already surrendered them to death.” Warneńczyk coldly responded as if he had foreseen everything. “It would do us no good to linger.”
Among his soldiers, none had fled. There were only loyal men who quickly rallied around their general without a second thought, yet of their twenty thousand they came with, mere thousands remained.
The captain was astonished, almost disconcerted, for he had not known this man to be the cold-hearted devil he was then. In that moment, his tone and poise resembled those of a demon, devoid of any emotion except for the calculation of whether his actions served his best interests. It was with the hardened heart of a survivor, seeking nothing but to survive, that eventually turned him away from the battlefield, from his grandson and all those he had favoured. He simply walked off as if they never existed. His men may have followed him unconditionally, but one among them refused to act without clarity.
Adam took a step forward, stunned by the composure the old man portrayed. “General, Lienz’s yer grandson.” He protested, as he always has, but this complaint was out of shock. “Surely, there’s an opening somewhere—” Despite being adamant in his belief, he failed to recognise the flaws in his plan.
“And how many men should I sacrifice to save one life?” Warneńczyk reminded him of his place and spoke to him with words that a general should speak.
The captain fell silent, but he had not noticed the colonel’s similar calmness, for Florian had known of this man’s nature for thirteen years.
Sensing that his captain was not yet convinced, Warneńczyk halted. His eyes stayed ahead when he spoke. “I have another grandchild.” The general’s demeanour was neutral, but his heart was filled with ambition. “She will suffice as my heir.” He said, forsaking his grandson.
He marched on with his loyalists as they have always done, abandoning those fated to be taken to the gods’ gates that day. After all, as they have said for themselves, they would give their lives fighting for him. Whatever the price was, he had paid the ferryman in advance, who was to take him to paradise, despite him being the devil.
His columns withdrew from battle, hoping that the ridge would delay their enemy from giving chase. Stricken with guilt, Adam knew not what to do nor what to believe in. Perhaps there were some things that were beyond his understanding. Florian held onto his shoulder as he passed by, following his general with questions unasked. For him, it must have been easier to abandon the regiment than to waste thousands more to save a hundred men, but for the captain, he had been forced to turn away from those he had fought to save twice. But, there was not to be a third.
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