Rhydher sat astride his horse, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the banners of Verdune stretched across the valley. Sunlight glinted off their polished steel—a sea of helmets and spears, ten thousand cavalry and five thousand heavy infantry lined in disciplined rows. Their formation was tight, layered, and prepared. But so was he.
He exhaled slowly. His army was drawn up in formation—a shield wall at the front and archers positioned on the ridges above. The open field between them was deceptive—soft, grassy earth that would become a killing ground once the first wave clashed. To the sides were forest with dense trees and unknown creatures lurked in them. Not good for ambushes.
"Signal the men to be ready. They will hit us with a cavalry charge first." Rhydher ordered.
A horn blast cut through the cold morning air. His soldiers begins to change to a triangle shape— shields locked tight and spiking long, very long spears. Rhydher's gaze narrowed as Verdune's heavy cavalry began to move, the earth trembling beneath their hooves.
"Come to me, fools."
Rhydher's shield wall absorbed the first cavalry charge like a steel wall. Spears locked. Shields braced. Horses screamed as their legs were cut from under them. Verdune's first cavalry charge broke apart, flailing, as archers from the ridge rained arrows down on the exposed gaps. The one who made it past the triangles shaped formation of spears were struck down by the rear guard.
The enemy send the rest of their cavalry in hoping to drown us in numbers. But their swords never reached us and their spears broke when they hit our shields. They falls to our spears by the hundreds unable to penetrate our spears. They had the numbers but no discipline, coordination or training.
The first phase of the plan was working.
Rhydher watched from his position on the ridge. His strategy was working perfectly—Verdune's forces were diminishing, their commanders panicking and their lines faltering. All he needed was to close the jaws of death upon them.
And then he felt it.
A pulse in the air. Wrong. Off-beat.
A dark figure emerged from the enemy's ranks—a figure clad in a deep crimson cloak wilding a staff that glowed redder than blood.
A mage. A fire mage.
The mage lifted his staff. Verdune's remaining cavalry retreated ten thousand charged but only few thousand or so was seen retreating. The air warped.
And then—
Explosion.
Blazing balls of flame shot through the battlefield. The shield wall buckled as the fire ball hit the front line. The explosion sent soldiers flying high. Soldiers screamed as flames ate through their bronze armor. The flames and explosions burned the remains of the cavalry.
Rhydher's eyes widened.
Magic? Here? How?
He turned sharply. "Reform the line! Pull them back—NOW!"
A second blast struck the ridge. The archers fell screaming. Rhydher's horse reared beneath him, panicking as the ground shook beneath their feet.
Through the smoke, Rhydher saw the mage step forward, the staff glowing with dark light.
Verdune's cavalry regrouped. Their infantry ready to charge. His perfect formation was unraveling. But they didn't attack. They will get caught in the barrage of their mage fire.
The mage was way outside of archery range. No way to snipe him down.
Smoke, flame and corpses adorned the battlefield.
For a moment Rhydher considered charging the enemy and taking out the mage but the chances of success were low and they will lose to the enemy sheer number. It was not worth it.
"We need a miracle." He said to himself, loud and clear. We all thought the same.
Our prayers were answered. Not by the gods but by our brother.
The mage's staff pulsed brighter—a throbbing crimson light that twisted the air around it.
A low hum echoed across the battlefield.
Rhydher's eyes narrowed. He's charging something.
Then—
A flicker of motion from the ridge.
An arrow cutting through the smoke—
—but the mage's eyes flared red.
He twisted his staff, a barrier of flame spiraling up around him—
—but the arrow punched through it.
The shaft drove straight into his forehead. The glow of his staff flickered—
—and died.
The mage's mouth opened soundlessly. His eyes widened.
He crumpled to the ground, smoke rising from the hole in his skull.
On the ridge, an archer lowered his bow and whispered, "Tsk. Too slow."
The mage couldn't see the incoming arrow until it was too late due to the smoke. No it wasn't that. The shot was made from a distance of seven hundred meter, an impossible shot. He must have let his guard down.
Rhydher's gaze shifted toward the ridge where the warrior stood.
A figure stood there—bronze armor glinting through the haze. The Bronze Archer, Hyde D. Strom, the best archer in our army.
He lowered his bow. And nodded.
"Kill confirmed."
Rhydher's gave him a look of appreciation. His eyes darkened.
"We are not out of trouble yet." He reminded himself.
Their mage is down but they still have over five thousand infantry and five thousand cavalry.
Our formations was broken and were still recovering from the series of explosion.
The enemy advanced toward us slowly like a hungry wolf approaching an injured lamb.
We won't form up in time. It was a desperate situation for us.
The enemy already thinks they won.
Our only choice to survive was to retreat back into Gehena as fast as we can. We all thought that. But not the crown prince of Drakseid. He was seeing victory ahead of us.
"Hold, fast. Sons of Drakseid. Don't run." He shouted as he run into the battlefield among his soldiers.
The enemy halted their advance upon seeing a ten year old set foot into the battle.
"Form up. Stand and fight."
Our spirits renewed and we scramble to get into formations with broken bones and twisted ankles.
The enemy pressed on but they stop to listen to the war cries coming from their left and right. Coming from the deadly forest.
Rhydher smiled and said, "They are seriously late."
"Charge! Push them back!" he shouted.
We charged the enemy head on. Pressuring them, our spears, shields and armor were leagues above their. And pretty soon we were joined by our ally emerging from the forest like death reapers. They stabbed the enemy.
The whole battle field was mayhem not for us but the enemy. They couldn't make head or tails of the situation. The young prince himself joined the fray, his mythril thirst for blood.
The duke saw that his army was defeated and done for.
He ordered a retreat and ran fast for his safety, planning to get as far away from the battlefield towards the safety of Verdune.
The enemy forces retreated, dropping their weapons and running like madmen's.
But their escape was cut off.
Rhydher's cavalry came through from the other end of the plain from the direction of Verdune. Lances broke flesh. Hooves crushed bone. The enemy tried to fall back—
—but our shield wall had already closed behind them.
They surrendered but we didn't stop encircling them. We massacre every last one of them.
No prisoner. No mercy. Those were are orders.
We stood there—
Amid the blood and the broken.
The battlefield was quiet now.
The screams had faded into the wet sound of dying breath.
Rhydher stood among the bodies, his sword still dripping red. His gaze swept across the fallen, the bloodied banners, the crushed remains of Verdune's army.
His soldiers were silent—breathing hard, broken shields and spears trembling in their hands.
Eyes wide.
Some whispered prayers.
Others stared blankly at the carnage.
Rhydher's voice cut through the smoke.
"Victory."
He turned toward us, his gaze sharp and calm. "Remember this moment. This is the price of survival. The result of victory and war. The cost for peace."
His eyes darkened.
"And it won't be the last."
A gap opened in the shield wall. Verdune's banner fell as the duke's personal guard collapsed. The duke's horse reared as a spear struck its flank. The beast crashed to the ground, dragging the duke with it.
Bloodied and gasping, the Duke of Verdune crawled to his knees. His guard was dead. His army was dead. Only he, his secretary and advisor remained.
Rhydher came toward him. His feet's step through the blood and mud. His sword still in hand dripping blood.
The duke lifted his head, face twisted with rage and disbelief.
"You—monster."
His hand slipped toward his belt—toward a concealed dagger.
Rhydher's foot pinned his wrist to the ground. Bone cracked beneath his boot.
The duke screamed.
Rhydher crouched beside him, sword resting lightly against his throat.
"You can die on your knees or stand as a fool."
Rhydher's gaze sharpened.
"Choose."
The duke's chest heaved.
His eyes burned with hate—but his knees hit the mud.
Rhydher's hand caught the back of his head, forcing him down further.
"Kneel."
Blood and mud splattered beneath the duke's hands as he trembled.
Rhydher's eyes glinted coldly.
"A fool, then." Rhydher drove the sword down—just enough to draw blood.
The duke's breath hitched. Slowly, he knelt.
Rhydher's gaze darkened. "Your aides?"
Two figure were dragged from the wreckage of the battlefield—Verdune's minister, still clutching a bloodied scroll and his secretary begging for mercy. They bowed their heads before Rhydher.
"Whose ideas was it to take Fort Gehena using soldiers disguised as bandits?" he asked them.
The secretary replied right away, his voice shaking and afraid, "It was the Prime Minister of the Distia Empire idea. We are innocent. Please let me go. I beg of you. I have a family."
Rhydher looked at the man coldly, "We all have family," he replied. "Don't worry if they behave then they won't join you in HADES."
The duke spoke, "You bastard, are you planning to take Verdune?"
"Not planning. I have already captured Verdune. It belongs to me, everything that was yours in now mine."
"Impossible! You are lying, how will take my city fortified and well-guarded."
Rhydher grinned, "Shall we go see. Crucifying you on the hills of Verdune sounds great."
The battlefield lay in smoking ruins. Bodies were strewn across the bloodied ground. The banners of Verdune lay broken and burned.