Eighty marched on, their hearts weighing heavy. Having witnessed the tumult, the disintegration of their hope, they journeyed across fields alone, sleeplessly fearing the enemy. They could have been chased or not, but they took no chances, for it would mean certain death. But to those who knew where they were, death was already certain. To the south were their pursuers. To the north was the land’s end. To the west was the sea. To the east, past the Kingdom of Dannen, was the enemy too.
The corporal had come home, serving as his comrades’ guide. Even if he had forgotten some words from his mother tongue, locals were unhesitant to help him navigate. Without his skills, the century would have had little chance of survival. For a nation as isolated as Dannen was, many common folk did not speak the language of their southern neighbours. Despite being separated by a mere river and some leagues of forest, their peoples were so different in character that even the Lecher found it odd.
While their counterparts would have chosen to flee without a second thought, the people of Dannen seemed to refuse to be evicted from their homes. They had an unwavering spirit, working for their land, which they sought to protect with their own lives. Even if they fought against the Confederate horde, homestead by homestead, family by family, death seemed to be their only answer to invasion. Not even Julien could urge them to abandon their homes and save their lives, yet their reason was not something as little as stubbornness or bravery. It was their love for the land that they were born in, and it was not difficult to see why.
Trees were sparse, and gentle hills dashed over the plains stretched on for leagues in every direction, neatly divided between families who never waged war against their neighbours. Their farmlands were fertile, as farmers like Gin could tell from the sight of patches of earth alone uncovered from the snow. Although the region had seen heavier snowfall than usual, it did not deter the thriving of livestock and winter crops. The wind was not so harsh either. It may have been cold on the skin, but the air did not pierce into their bones.
Trudging down the road leading east, the century found that many market towns were still quite populated, even knowing that within days, the red armies would come and their homes would be pillaged. One such town celebrated, and there was music, dance, and feasts harvested from its neighbouring villages. The sight could not help but give the passersby joy, even though it was for just a brief moment. Then, on a turn in their path, the countryside opened up again. The road began to wind uphill, and the breeze of the sea strengthened. The thick scent of salt reminded Arminius of his home, but the heavens above diverted his attention.
Staring at the blue skies whose sun had hidden behind a small fleet of clouds, his eyes were dreamy. “Even the sky’s prettier here too…” Arminius mumbled to himself.
“What…?” Surprised by his random thoughts, Julien looked over his shoulder with a slight, confused smile.
But it was just he who admired the landscape. His comrades continued to mind their environs, basking in what little rest they had, away from the ash and bleakness of the battlefield. Even the snow seemed more colourful than a lush meadow riddled with bodies and bullets, yet, however pristine these lands were, they could not help but wonder one question. How was it that the people seemed so carefree, but their kingdom appeared so empty of soldiers?
Passing by each village, they had noticed that the militia had remained, but they had no commander sent by the army, nor had they ever received formal instructions. None of them seemed to have been trained, and there were no signs of professional garrisons either. It was perhaps odd to the foreigners, but some had sensed that it may have been their culture to rely on the average militiaman.
Treading lightly, unburdened by his rucksack lost in the height of battle, the Rus was similarly engrossed by his surroundings. “So this is your homeland…?” Impressed by the upkeep of their roads and the passiveness of the people, Lev felt as though the air had cleansed his soul. “They live as if there’s not a war happening on their doorsteps.” He mentioned.
Julien slowed down, often quickening from the angst of having returned home despite his face not showing it. “Yeah, but I lived further north.” The corporal answered.
“An’ where’s dis Medewen we’re head’d to?” Gin butted in with embers in his heart. “I’m hurtin’ all over…” His comrades allowed him to whine, for his wounds had not fully healed since their first battle.
Looking to the horizon from where the sun had risen, he wondered about that himself. “It should be…” The blonde-haired boy quietly muttered to himself, approaching the summit of the hill, when the memory of having walked this very road came rushing back to him.
Julien hurried on like a pup as his comrades laid back and marched at their own pace. When his figure disappeared over the brow, his footsteps slowly ceased. Wondering what had stopped him, the century’s curiousness gave them the strength to climb the last steps to the top of the hill with haste. As they emerged over the curve, they spotted Julien, who had stopped. However, when they approached him, the sight that stilled him also left them frozen in place.
The land, air, and sea were split. The colour of the heavens, the land below and the waters further down was clear in view. Nothing obstructed their view, and it was as if the scenery belonged to the eighty. The Strait of Medewen was vast. At least, they could tell it was no river. Its deep waters and its tides curved around a corridor that sat between the mainland and the land across from it. Though from where they stood, they could not have known that it was an island.
The isle was the third largest in the kingdom, and the fort lying in the distance seemed to be their destination. From afar, its walls were old, and it appeared low. Most of its body was covered behind the mound in the road, and they could not make out the colours of the flags that signified its allegiance. No noise came from the fort. If there even were any, their sounds would have been drowned out by the howling wind and the echoes of the sea. But its construct was not even half as impressive as what stood before it.
There was a bridge of an inhuman size that was minimalistic but pleasing to the eye. It befitted not the monarchs of the old, for they would have reeled back in horror, but it was made for the tastes of the modern man. The pillars reached out of the sea like the limbs of a sea giant, holding onto a viaduct that ran over the strait. The bridge must have undergone constant repair, for not even a single crack in the road appeared. Dressed in a peculiar material that many were unfamiliar with, the path was smoother than anything the century had ever seen. It was a stark, blackish grey in colour, and the closer they looked, it appeared like cobblestone if each stone had been ground down into even smaller pieces and were bound together with tar. As they advanced onto this new terrain, one found himself intrigued by the material. Others were astonished by its length and height, and others were too frightened to dare cross it even if their comrades pushed them on.
First among the eighty to step onto the asphalt, a sergeant looked over its walls and ran his eyes along the bridge’s entire seeable length. “How the… who the hell built this?” Having never seen anything like it, Colt was at a loss for words.
A lancer marvelled at the structure, but what lay beneath his feet was most intriguing to him. “I’ve read about this somewhere before…” Kneeling, he pressed his hand against the cold blackish ground and recalled. “But to think this really exists…” Arnau mumbled, wanting to take a sample of the material to study, as Siegfried leaned over his head, wondering what was so captivating about the blackish stone.
“It must be a league long…” Lev held a hand over his eyes and squinted, gazing out into the distance.
Seeing that his comrades had been so easily distracted by the monument, the corporal could not help but feel a sense of pride for his nation he had never felt before. A smile peeked out of him, but he knew they should not linger too long. Julien waved his arm for his century’s attention, gesturing for them to follow on, reminding them that however unlikely it was, given their lack of importance, the enemy may still be in pursuit.
Not yet have they had a good night’s rest nor a filled stomach, and these thoughts crawled out from the back of their mind as they began to traverse the league-long crossing. The fearless felt excitement hop over them, leading them quickly onto the suspended road. Some of their comrades were less amazed, dreading needing to walk over the waters that were at least two hundred feet below. Shuddering, they had to be humoured by their friends’ words, telling them that all would be well before the whole unit could be on the march again.286Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ90C6wAtHme
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