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Chapter 203 - Confrontation
🕑 Added 2019-10-31 00:05:33 +0000 UTC Corco's axe rushed through the cold air and got lodged in an enemy shield. In a hurry, the king used his own shield to defend his side from a counter while he yanked at his weapon. Although the axe didn't come loose, he took the shield and the entire attached warrior with him. All he needed to do was make a step to the side and the enemy warrior landed on the ground. He didn't even see the man's face before two of Corco's guards rushed in and made short work of the last straggler this side of the wall.
Before Corco had arrived at the front, his people looked in trouble. Now however, they had already pushed them all the way back down the hill. Still, stabilizing the center hadn't been Corco's goal from the very start. He had only chosen to charge down the middle their defense looked weakest there, but the arrows had all come somewhere from the left. Now that he was near the front, he was looking forward to catching that bastard Herak and teaching him the lesson of a lifetime. Maybe then the bastard would no longer chase him like a scorned lover.
“To me!” he shouted, and amassed a large group of warriors around him. “We are breaking out!”
What was the point of a defensive battle when the wall was already in such a sorry state? A charge down the hill would have no worse an effect than stubborn insistence and would be much better for morale. Most importantly, it would bring him ever closer to Herak's reckoning.
Led by Corco and his guards, the army rushed over whatever was left of the snow wall. For the first time since the start of the battle, the southern army was on the offensive.
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Alcer made an awkward step to climb over the corpse of a fallen ally and suddenly the feeling returned to his numb legs. With it had come the fire in his veins. Though he was surefoot again, the pain made him gasp for air. This was the third time he had gone through this cycle of pain and numbness.
Still, he wouldn't give up. His eyes never left the banner not far away, the king's own.
“To the king! Charge!” he heard in his ear. When he turned, Alcer saw Guman the hunter. At some point during the earlier battle they had lost each other, but now they were reunited again. Although Alcer was supposed to be the commander, he was the one to receive orders now. Yet when he heard the shouts from all the men around him, he understood right away. The message hadn't come from Guman, it was relayed from the center, from the king's position.
Alcer stumbled back, picked up the axe of the fallen warrior he had just stepped past and turned his head to his side, to further spread the king's command.
“To the king! Charge!” he didn't think twice before he followed Guman towards the front.
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More tight-lipped than usual, Herak scanned the battlefield. Even for a merchant, the little king was quite clever. As Herak's shots had gotten more and more accurate, the bear of Borna had pinned down the little king behind his guards. All he needed was a single slip-up from his foe to get his revenge for all the evils that had befallen him back in Borna, to make up for all his shame and loss. As a nice aside, he would even be able to fulfill his brother's mission and have real hope of returning home to his lands and regaining his former power as the Duke of Balit.
Once Corco was dead, the southern barbarian lords would be confused and without a leader at least for a while, more than enough time for Herak to prop up a few of them and establish a solid foothold in Medala, one they could thoroughly control. Thus, they would be able to establish a neat trade route through this little land-bridge to the mystical lands of Chutwa, where the roads were plated with gold.
However, the clever little king had realized that he would not be able to escape Herak's arrows and thus had fled to the front line, into the confused mass of Medala warriors.
Looking up from halfway down the mountain, the entire scenery seemed like an unreadable mess, but Herak had been in enough battles to decipher the situation. King Pachacutec's central warriors were being pushed back. Ever since Corco had joined the battle, they had been losing ground and were now driven down the hill. Any more of this, and they might just collapse completely. Of course, Herak could have continued to fire if he wanted to help out his allies. A few well-placed shots to take out the enemy officers would destroy the command structure the defenders had built and rob them of their momentum. Herak didn't care.
All this time, he only stood there with his bow in hand, and scanned for an opening to fire at Corco. He had traveled too far waited too long for his revenge, and he wouldn't miss his chance today. So what if they lost the war as a result? Now that he had seen their so-called allies fight, he understood that Medala was not much of a threat to Borna's plans.
Their warriors were powerful cultivators, but their equipment and even more their tactics were antiquated. If they continued to fight these bone-headed, unstructured melees, they would soon run out of cultivators, and then their entire ancient system would collapse. Further, if push came to shove, Herak was confident that he and his men could retreat without any losses, so why should he care about his allies?
There!
As Pacha's warriors were driven back, Herak caught a little fleck of shiny silver in between the mass of bodies, right beneath Corco's opulent new banner. Without the need for thought, he drew his bow and fired his shot. Yet before it could reach its target, the bodies shifted again and the hole was closed. Although the arrow pierced the back of his ally, it only elicited a low growl of discontent from Herak. While his eyes resumed their search for an opening, he drew another arrow from his back.
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Even when he saw his troops get pushed back, Pacha didn't get worried. He knew how to turn the tide of battle. All this while, he was only focused on the purple banner in the distance. As soon as the enemy commander was dead, the defenders would collapse – as would the entire south – and the war would be over. With the southern lords scattered, he could pass the Narrow Sea and swallow the entire south. From any point of view, there was nothing more important than his revenge. Thus he pressed on.
His axe swung a large circle around his body and threw the defenders to the side like paper dolls. Even with only his left, the hero king was still stronger than most everyone on the battlefield. Not to mention, half of Corco's troops were pitiful mortals who could offer zero resistance to his might.
As Pacha drove through the southern rows like a nail, his men gathered around him and followed. For the first time, he could make use of all the tactics he had learned over the years in the palace and his heart jumped in exhilaration.
Pacha, could feel I: Rather than a sterile dueling arena, the midst of a chaotic battlefield was his home more than any other. From time to time, he would slow down to gather his men, or send them out in various directions to reinforce his line and support his push. Yet he never lost focus of his goal. His will fixed on a singular point, Pacha pressed on towards the southern king's banner in the distance.
No more tricks, nephew. I hope you will offer good counter this time.
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With increasing worry, Tama watched the armies buckle as they smashed against each other. From above, the two armies looked like the rough sea. Wave upon wave, they armies collided and splintered into small whirlpools and large streams. Around her, more and more injured were dragged from the battlefield and towards the back, where their remaining doctors were already waiting to treat them with whatever supplies they had left.
The smell of gunpowder and blood had long mixed and covered the entire incline. Even so, the delicate girl remained at her post. Although she wasn't any kind of great general, she didn't need to be. Her orders were simple: Every time she saw a section of the wall get broken through, she mobilized another portion of their reserves and tasked them to drive back the attackers.
However, by now more and more of the space behind her had become empty; they were running out of reserves to throw into battle. Only a bit longer and all their men would be invested into the war. She tried to look as indifferent as possible as she counted the few remaining rows of warriors. Tama really had no idea what to do once they ran out. In hope of a fast end to the fighting, she looked past the reserves and into the sun halfway hidden behind the horizon.
Maybe once night fell, King Pacha's hordes would call off their attack. The northerners had rushed after them, attacked the walls without a break and fought uphill all day. They should have been exhausted a long time ago. Maybe the loss of light would be what drove them over the edge and forced Pacha to retreat for the day. If only they could hold on a bit longer, maybe that would be enough. After all, they didn't need to win. They only needed to hold out.
What's the point in flights of fancy? Whatever the outcome, we will all know soon enough.
She wanted to return her view to the front, always in search of more bad news to react to, but then she saw an impossible sign in the distance that stopped her in her tracks.
High above the sun and to its left, Tama could see a small red star rise into the early night sky. Like a beacon of hope, it stood between the dim stars of late evening and dominated them with its brightness for a while, before it fizzled out and disappeared without a trace.
Despite its supernatural appearance, Tama had seen this sort of signal several times before. It was one of Saniya's new inventions and one she, as the head of Corco's new information department, was more than familiar with: A signal flare from the east, the sign that her brother Fadelio was safe, and that Dedrick's army would soon come to reinforce them! Now there was no more reason to stand and fight. A deep breath escaped her lungs, but her chest still felt tight. Their army would still have to disengage and get away, and her master's fate was still unknown.
“Call upon all troops!” she shouted to the ghost besides her. “Tell them of our victory and order a retreat of all men! The final reserves will cover our actions!”
As her ghosts disappeared to carry the good news to the front line, Tama looked back towards the center of the battle field, and her brows furrowed. Her eyes flitted to and fro without rest, but in the twilight, she failed find the goal of her search. Somewhere within this mess, Corco was still fighting for his life.
“Be safe,” she whispered. “It is time to go home.”
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Just two rows from the absolute front, Corco stood and tried to catch his breath. Moments before, he had still led the formation, but he and his men had installed an implicit system of rotation so they wouldn't run out of gas too quickly. Although the king had stayed a bit behind the front of the battle at this moment, the stink of war was still everywhere. After the initial rush, his blood had soon cooled and he realized just what he had been doing. What nonsense plan was 'let's get the fucking archer'?
Anyways, now that he had regained his whatever counted for sanity in his head, he realized that Herak, or his head, wasn't important. He wasn't even the central army's commander, so what was the point in fighting him specifically, even more so at the risk of Corco's own well-being? As soon as he realized, he wanted to just retreat back – covered by his warriors – and organize their defense from a safer distance.
However, when he saw the looks from the southern soldiers, he changed his mind. All across the battlefield, his charge seemed to have inspired a strange dependence on him, as others stared at him like he was their savior. If he retreated by himself, their entire line might collapse. Although he wasn't comfortable with the burden, he wouldn't have his people suffer just because he was scared.
By now, he didn't consider his own safety, or Herak's punishment, but instead, he only wanted to lead his people and make sure as many as possible would survive the war. Plus, while this wasn't Corco's first battlefield, it was the first time he was this much in the thick of things. If his soldiers were to suffer, so would he.
After Corco's breath was steady again, he aimed to rejoin the front line, still surrounded by his guards. As he stepped up to take responsibility for his actions, he brushed past a soldier, identifiable as one of his own Saniya troops from his light uniform, and gave him an encouraging nod. These commoners were the people he wanted to fight for more than anyone. Hadn't that been his goal from the very start, to create a world where they could thrive?
Just as he was about to reach the first line of defense, not far in the distance Corco spotted a giant figure. Despite the chaos of war which obscured his view, it was a miracle he hadn't noticed it sooner. Over two meters tall, a giant axe in hand and illuminated by sunlight from the east, there stood his Uncle Pacha like the warrior of legends he had always pretended to be, as if cast from gold and with an immortal shine.
Corco, of course, never cared much for legends and immortals. He had beaten his brawny uncle before, and he could do it again. This time would be the last, an early end to the pretender's rule and life.
Almost as soon as Corco found Pacha, Pacha turned his head and saw Corco. Once he had noticed his arch rival, the giant threw off the southern warrior who had held onto his shield and stared back, the fire of the sun in his eyes. Corco himself bared his teeth in a wide grin that would be considered enlightened by no one.
Last round.
Although Corco was eager to end their feud, he hadn't made made his first step when he was held back by the shoulder. One of his warriors had grabbed him and shouted into his ear as soon as he got his king's attention, before Corco could even complain about the interference. Finally, the news had reached him: Fadelio was safe and it was time to retreat. No matter how much he would have loved to have his final showdown with Pacha here and now, the lives of his soldiers were more important than his enjoyment.
“Group up!” he shouted. “Pull back to the crest of the hill and reform the line!” Just as before, countless voices repeated his command and carried his word over the entire battlefield. Just before he turned to leave, Corco looked back to his uncle Pacha, who still stared at him without blinking, as if he was obsessed.
After a friendly smile and a wave goodbye to his distant relative, Corco lead the retreat. Whatever Pacha had planned, his exhausted men wouldn't be able to follow the southern army this time, not right away. Although they might chase them once more in due time, for now, the battle would be over.
