As the first to have heard the news, the squad’s faces lit up in hope. They rejoiced, and by Gin’s loud, uncensorable mouth, his words were spread throughout the camp until each and every of the thousand had heard. Renewed with belief in divine intervention, they prayed to their gods with gratitude as energy rebounded into their blood streams and they let out cries and cheer. Suddenly, the taste of water had the sweetness of wine, and their rations felt like warm, freshly-baked bread. Their imaginations ran wild speaking of what they were going to do once they had reached the safe banks of the Renen. Unlike their openly jovial selves, Arminius cracked a simple smile, finding as if everything that they had done up until then was worth the suffering struggle that they had survived from their wounds, their shattered spirits, to the sake of all their fallen comrades. There was no doubt that in his heart, he was glad, perhaps gladder than most.
“We’re saved!” Siegfried, his arm, injured from a stray bullet, in a sling, jumped onto Arnau’s back.
Holding his blade before him, the lancer blew on its edges and dusted its surface. “Not yet,” Arnau set his whetstone down and sheathed his sword as he gave a realistic response. “Not until we’ve reached the Renen…”
Siegfried realized that it was best to maintain, in his thoughts, the decency of understanding an unwanted possibility, and stood himself, but it did not discourage him from hoping before he noticed Arminius’s face change. The lieutenant raised his head on spotting something in the distance that had caught his eye, however, it was nothing he ever wished to see. There was dread, fear, emotions that none of his comrades had seen except Siegfried who followed his gaze. When he landed his sight on the culprit of his commander’s terror, neither did he wished to have seen it before anyone else.
Standing up beside Károly, Arminius moved his hand from the pommel to the hilt of his sword. “Were you followed?” Arminius did not sway his eyes from his focus when he asked.
Confused, the archer stammered, “Wha—No, Alexa made sure we weren’t.” Károly looked over his shoulder and fell silent as he slowly rose.
“Then, they must’ve known…” Arminius knew he could not blame him for what and who had appeared for that was beyond their control.
One by one, the soldiers of the thousand turned around as those who already did gestured their comrades to do too. Before long, they fell silent at the sight that crept into their souls and informed them that judgement day had come early. Knowing not how to react, cold sweat formed on their scalp, yet despite their fears having been realized, they needed no command in arranging themselves into columns of centuries. Corporals and sergeants, and whatever officers who were left, scattered, wading through the snow to rejoin the ranks of their troops. Orders were called out, overlapping the different voices who shouted the same words. The air became stagnant with evil, doing away the short-lived joy they had experienced. Lines formed behind their walls of logs, erected in a crescent formation that wrapped around the bridgehead, defending their sacred bridge. Displaying their sparse collection of rifles and bows, those without either weapon knelt with bladed and blunt weapons readily by. Their heads were kept behind the lacking fort but their hands shook uncontrollably. It was the wounded whose minds did not waver and it was they who stirred their comrades. Eventually, their fervor reignited for the sake of survival however scant that possibility may have seemed. Remaining by Arminius’s side, Arnau took shelter upon sending Siegfried to the rear, but the lieutenant did not, wanting to face his enemies recklessly in the open.
Overlooking his prey that he had caught, a third general smiled fiendishly. Wanting to witness the upcoming battle from the ground, he brought his feet out of his stirrups and dismounted with the swing of his leg over the spine of his black war steed. Its fur was like the midnight sky and only its saddle provided the creature a source of color. The boyish general strolled closer to the treeline and emerged out of the sparse bushes and naked foliage. A servant reached out to him, bearing his favored weapon. As the general passed by, he snatched it out of his hands and stood its shoe in the snow. The spear of three blades was longer than his height and its tips all faced a single point. Royal blue, the shaft was ornamented with carvings of gold swirls that rode the canvas of an open sea. Regularly, he commanded much more than how many there were then, however his force still easily overwhelmed his foe with its presence. Ten thousand infantrymen, standardly armed, uniformed, with a rifle and a saber each, headed the proud, flying banners of a vanguard army. Unafraid to challenge any nearby adversary, no matter how many they have hunted and killed, their bloodlust were not yet satisfied. Camped before them was a regiment a tenth of their size who stared at the steadily growing numbers that crawled out of the woods. The Confederates appeared like a blanket of steel over the fresh, single-colored snow. Forming one enveloping front, they had the Aelon surrounded, but to the third general, his encounter with the enemy had not been exactly planned.
Pulling a face of surprise, he scanned their defenses which had been hastily put up. “They beat me to it.” Slightly bewildered by their agility, the young soldier seemed impressed.
It did not dissuade him from his orders and his wager, to need to kill anything before him that did not speak his mother tongue and any he deemed inferior. Aurelius Radilov may have been the very devil that haunted ally and enemy alike with his existence alone, but more so than being a fiend, the general was a veteran, an elite, and professional. He knew what was needed for victory and what amounted to defeat. When he raised his spear, his men organized themselves and had their loaded rifles stood at the ready, and waited for the command to fire.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2jNyqFE6iB
