The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, dust, and tension as we prepared to advance into the fray. All around us, the ground was littered with fragments of broken shields, spent crossbow bolts, and the fallen. The relentless hum and hiss of projectiles tore through the air, cutting down men who barely had a moment to react. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, each beat syncing with the echo of our marching feet as we moved to reinforce the center.
To our left and right, Aserai and Imperial mercenaries were pressing forward in unison, but the discipline among the ranks was lacking. The various groups of mercenaries were not advancing in a unified line formation, each band of soldiers clustered within their own ranks, seeming almost independent of the overall army. While our strength in numbers was visible, the uneven coordination meant some troops charged ahead while others lagged behind, creating irregular gaps and exposing vulnerable flanks.
As I assessed this, I tightened my grip on my shield, feeling the weight of both my armor and the tension of the moment. My gaze caught sight of a few men in other mercenary groups ducking behind their shields just in time as bolts from Valandian crossbowmen punctured the wooden layers, sinking deep into some soldiers’ backs. Those unlucky enough to miss the cover fell to the ground with a sickening finality, their bodies landing in the coarse desert dirt. I was sharply aware of how this disorganized advance left us exposed, our defenses weakened.
Seeing an opening, I directed my own men to angle closer to the nearby mercenary ranks, instinctively looking for the added cover of their shields. I gestured to Silvana to position her crossbowmen along a raised cliff nearby that offered some protection from the deadly bolts while giving them an ideal line of sight to the enemy’s front ranks. As we moved, I noticed the faint determination on her face; she wasted no time setting up her men, ensuring they had clear shots at the Valandian soldiers stationed in the center.
With a sharp gesture to Leon, I indicated for him to lead our infantry forward. Our men, armed with pikes and shields, pushed ahead as one, pressing toward the enemy line. The sounds of battle around us merged into a chaotic roar—the clashing of metal against metal, the dull thud of bodies hitting the earth, and the desperate shouts of men steeling themselves against the next attack.
As we approached the Valandian ranks, the distance closed quickly, and suddenly we were locked in fierce combat. The Valandian infantry met us head-on, their spears extending like the teeth of a beast, waiting to devour anything that came too close. Our shields pressed together as we advanced, creating a moving wall against the incoming thrusts. The clash of spears hitting shields echoed, each impact reverberating through my arm as I deflected or parried their attacks.
The struggle was relentless. Valandian pikemen pushed forward with brute force, trying to drive us back through sheer determination. Their expressions were grim, yet somehow detached—as if they, too, felt the inevitability of their fates but were resigned to die for their cause. Each thrust from their pikes met with resistance, as we countered with our own weapons, our shields braced to absorb the force of the impact.
In the midst of this brutal exchange, the constant barrage of insults from the Valandian soldiers reached my ears. I heard them yell "Traitors!" with every shove of their shields, every thrust of their pikes. Their venomous words were directed at the Imperial mercenaries and Valandians fighting against their own. Some of our soldiers visibly faltered at these words, doubt flickering in their eyes as they fought their countrymen. The power of those insults—traitors, cowards—cut deep, weakening morale for some. But for others, it only fueled their determination, a fire lit beneath them to prove themselves.
While our center continued to press hard against the Valandian front, something strange was happening in the ranks opposite us. Over by the left flank, where Sultan Unquid’s elite soldiers clashed with Valandian cavalry, I noticed a shift in their movement—a coordinated maneuver that hadn’t been anticipated. I squinted through the dust and chaos to see the Valandian cavalry breaking off, leaving only half their force to hold our left flank at bay.
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It took only moments for the realization to hit me: the remaining Valandian cavalry had set their sights on the Sultan. In an audacious gambit, they were charging past our left flank, threading through an opening that had gone unnoticed, making a direct line toward Unquid. A sense of horror clutched my gut as I saw the Valandian knights—regal and merciless—lower their lances, their armor glinting in the midday sun as they thundered toward the Sultan’s position.
Sultan Unquid, positioned his personal retinue and Jawwal riders on his left flank, and sent reserved forces to the center. He hadn’t expected the Valandians to abandon the battle lines and go straight for him. Our Jawwal riders, though excellent at hit-and-run tactics, were ill-suited for prolonged close combat against heavily armored knights. And the Palace Guards stationed at the left flank were away from the Sultan, while fearsome in close-quarters battle, lacked the speed to react to such a swift assault.
The Valandians’ strategy was cunning, exploiting our weaknesses with ruthless precision. By pulling back half of their cavalry from the left flank and sending them directly at the Sultan, they had created a sudden and dangerous vulnerability in our formation. I could only watch from my position, helpless as the Valandian knights closed the distance with deadly purpose.
In the center, the battle grew more chaotic by the second. Our morale was high, bolstered by the sheer weight of our numbers and the sight of the Valandians being slowly pushed back. The Golden Boar mercenaries, fighting with the fierceness of cornered beasts, were slowly losing ground under the relentless pressure of our soldiers. Despite the Valandian sharpshooters’ efforts to whittle down our ranks, the advantage was visibly swinging in our favor. But with this new turn of events, a creeping sense of dread took hold.
The Valandian attack on our left flank continued, splitting our forces as the Sultan’s retinue attempted to regroup and protect their leader. Dust and sand flew up around the fray as the knights smashed into our Jawwal riders, who were desperately trying to hold them off. Our formation was faltering as Sultan Unquid’s guards struggled to intercept the Valandians.
I glanced toward Silvana and Leon, catching their worried expressions. Both had paused in their fighting, momentarily distracted by the sudden chaos surrounding the Sultan. I knew what they were thinking—the Sultan’s life was essential to our cause. If he fell, our army would lose its figurehead, and the chaos could very well tip in the Valandians’ favor.
“Focus!” I shouted, rallying them back to the battle at hand. We couldn’t afford to let the center collapse, no matter what happened on the flank. I drove my pike into the shield of a Valandian soldier, knocking him off balance before following up with a hard shove. Beside me, Leon and the other mercenaries fought with renewed fervor, driving forward even as the chaos on the flank threatened to spill into our ranks.
I gritted my teeth, frustration and helplessness gnawing at me as I continued to push forward. I knew that if we could break through the Valandian center, it would give us the momentum to turn and support the Sultan. But every step forward was met with fierce resistance from the Golden Boar mercenaries and Valandian infantry, their will to fight unbroken despite the odds. Their loyalty, or perhaps their desperation, made them formidable foes.
The battle was at a tipping point. The Aserai center was pressing the Valandians hard, but our flanks were under immense pressure. Every choice carried weight; each decision was a gamble in a game of life and death. I raised my shield, bracing myself against a flurry of blows from a Valandian soldier who fought with a vicious tenacity, his pike striking with a relentless force. I parried, countering with a swift strike that sent him reeling, but even as he fell, another took his place, stepping over the body with grim determination.
Across the field, I could still see Dhiyul and his Jawwal riders locked in combat with the remaining Valandian cavalry. They had been holding their ground, but the tide was slowly turning against them. The Valandian knights, their armor glinting beneath the desert sun, fought with disciplined brutality, their formation impeccable despite the chaos. I knew that the battle would not be won by brute force alone.
Every passing moment felt like an eternity as we fought on, the sands of the desert beneath us stained red with blood. I was acutely aware of the stakes—of the lives hanging in the balance and the fragility of victory
The battle was far from over, and the cost of failure was unthinkable.