Chapter 108: The First Duel of Dragons 3
"My lord, we are ordered to counter attack!" A scout who climbed up a large tree, hollered excitedly to those down below.
The men quickly grew both anxious and exhilarated, but only one remained uniquely still. My uncle stood there with an eerily detached face, as if all that transpired around him was of no concern or relation to him at all, but then his lips parted as he called softly, his voice neither loud nor empowered with aura "Men."
They instantly stilled, the previous air of boiling enthusiasm receding like the waves after a storm. My uncle then turned, his face now a hardened mask of impenetrable authority "I only have one order for you today. Take no prisoners."
"Yes, my lord Archduke." The men loudly saluted simultaneously.
Then they charged. Like ethereal mountain spirits they glided through the narrow canyons paths and like wolves upon sheep they plunged into the flanks of the advancing enemy lines. And they, who were too busy focused on quickly capturing the fort before them were completely unaware and utterly unprepared.
But they were no amateurs either, each man of the Mercenary King’s army, even the common rabble among them had the sanguinary experience of half a decade in their brutal business of blood for gold.
They quickly reformed, shields interlocking, spears aligning, while swords and knives unsheathed to better fight in the narrow passes, for they swiftly realised that they still outnumbered their foes. But what was experience before sheer overwhelming strength; what weight did a mountaineer’s expert knowledge measure against an avalanche’s charge, or what sway did an entire boatload of weathered sailors hold before the full wrath of the sea.
None. And that was how they were when faced with my uncle’s rampage. He tore through them like a stone reef through a ship’s hull, slashing through them like a blind storm of swords, his edge making no distinction between young or old, officer or new recruit all tasted the mortal bite of his blade.
But he was no mindless killing machine, with no rhyme or reason to his savage acts, as he hid a devious plot in his sleeve, one that the enemy commanders took too long to grasp, as my uncle quickly reached his destination, the mouth of the pass; their path of retreat.
Realising their catastrophic blunder, the mercenary generals sent wave after wave to dislodge my uncle no matter the cost, but like an iron dam he blocked their desperate torrent, pilling their corpses high and wide, making it even more difficult for them pass through the narrow gateway.
Yet suddenly a rapier as swift as light struck at my uncle’s face!
He moved his head as fast as he could, before rapidly side stepping a few meters away to take a better look at his would be assailant, but even then he still felt a slight burn on the right corner of his face; the blade had cut the edge of his ear.
’He pretended to be a normal soldier among them, before he found the opportunity and attacked.’ My uncle coldly thought, his mind accustomed to the companionship of death on the battlefield quickly calming him down, while dulling the sting of not only his wound, but his shaken heart too.
The man was dressed in the standard light brown leather armour of a common mercenary, with black pants and boots. He wore no chainmail, no helm, no distinguishing features whatso ever, even his sword was of normal make and material, showing absolutely no sign of him being a mighty eighth rank martial artist. He was an ordinary, lanky looking man, with greasy looking dark brown hair that was tied in a small bun, a slightly hooked nose, with thin lips and light brown eyes.
The kind of man you would find the like’s off anywhere in the world, which stood to great juxtaposition against my uncle, who was not only handsome but also wore and wielded the finest arms and armour money could buy; he was also as tall him, yet with a notable air of royalty and pride around him, even in this distressing environment.
The two only stared at each other for a moment, sharing no words before they lunged at each other, where another odd difference was highlighted between the two. My uncle’s slightly longer than usual cutlass struck with large cleaving slashes, while the man only parried before quickly jabbing with piercing stabs.
Both sides seemingly equally skilled, with neither gaining the advantage even after hundreds of exchanges that ended in my supposed uncle’s victory as the man had retreated with two inconsequential flesh wounds. But my uncle saw it differently, since even though the man could not pierce through his aura infused armour, he believed the mysterious rapier wielding man had won, because he had managed to distract him long enough for the mercenary army to complete it’s retreat.
My uncle wanted to chase the man, to finish what he started, but he feared charging into the enemy’s territory alone and being surrounded by more experts, or worse one of the War Dragon’s wives, so he ordered a pause to the attack.
Simultaneously, a similar incident was happening in the northern passes, one with far greater repercussions. After Horus led his men in an attack much like my uncle’s an eighth rank martial artist, wielding a mace, with a long handle and perfectly round head, while also holding a large circular shield with a large spike in the middle, appeared from their midst.
But unlike my uncle, Horus was only a seventh rank, so he was quickly overpowered, leaving at the mercy of his opponent almost instantly. Thankfully Isaac was also there, and he materialized on the battlefield the moment he heard the news, before quickly dispatching the bald headed mercenary with two well placed daggers, one through his back and heart and the other through his upper spine and out his throat.
But that was not the end of it, as soon after Morgana, Maximillian’s second wing and wife joined the northern front, planning to balance the scales after the death of the mace wielding mercenary, but Isaac would let her negate their hard won advantage, and even though direct combat was not his forte, he still held his own against the berserker like woman who lunged at him with spear in hand, until a couple minutes later when she unwillingly retreated for the same reason my uncle halted his attack, she feared the arrival of more ninth rank reinforcements.
And so the first day ended, with Maximillian’s forces suffering suffering casualties close to twelve thousand, while we lost around four thousand; a resoundingly victory on the first day. But that wasn’t even the greatest accomplishment this day, as we had already claimed the head of an eighth rank martial artist and general so early on.
But it was not without cost, as Horus was gravely wounded in the fight, something that nearly drove me to forgo this silly little game and order a full assault on that bastard and his army, so that I may extract the price of their unforgivable offense!
Luckily my advisors stopped me, as they assured that Horus’ life was not at stake, something that brought me little consolation when I saw his shattered body on the medical bad. His ribs were all but shattered, while his head had suffered multiple fractures, and both his arms were also broken in impossible angles as well, and that’s not even mentioning that gaping hole in his stomach.
Even now, while his eyes were closed they still quivered from the pain, as his lips and gums constantly bled due to how hard he was biting down on them.
I tried my absolute hardest to restrain flaring temper, along with the tempting roars of the monster with in me, as I darkly commanded one of the presiding priests over him "Speak."
"His lordship’s wounds are indeed grave, your imperial majesty. But nothing we can not fix... But he will be in a weakened state for a few days or possibly even weeks afterwards." He tactfully, yet truthfully answered.
I snapped my flaring eyes at him, already feeling my madness beginning to overwhelm me, as I furiously asked "How weak?"
"I-I’m not sure, sire. B-But this is already an excellent rate of recovery, anyone else if they were any weaker would need months to fully heal, l-let alone survive such heinous injuries!" The priest quickly explained, his voice and expression panicked as he hastily bowed.
I looked annoyedly at the man, already regretting not bringing Adam himself here with me on this campaign, but then I had to remind myself that a tenth rank master must always remain in the capital, for better or for worse..
"Just heal him, and summon the best alchemist we have in camp to prepare him some tonics." I ordered, waving my hand dismissively as I turned to leave.
"R-Right away, my liege. It shall be done." He stutteringly replied.
I paused one step before exiting the tent and softly said "Call for me when he awakes."
"Yes, sire. Of course." The priest breathed a sigh of relief.
I nodded in reply and continued taking my leave, and once I was certain I was far enough away from his tent, I unleashed all my supressed wrath and insanity in a pulse of divine power, interlinked with a suffocating killing intent.
"Regardless of tomorrow’s damned coin toss, we will make them bleed." I malevolently ordained, leaving no room for discussion on the matter.
"Yes, sire!" The generals behind echoed out.