Osias... or Visalros entered the melee. Leather armor scavenged from the fallen with the ever so faint red feather woven into the rectangular plate over his heart. He was the center of both his bannermen and his enemies' attention.
Because he fought savagely. It was violent and domineering. Limbs were dismembered and flashes of blood decorated the earth and air in wicked sprays only to be absorbed through Blood Reave. He moved from one enemy to the next... mere Ordinaries who felt as though they'd only touched steel for a day were nothing, even in numbers.
As Oasis's blade reaped the life of another poor Ordinary, many more pounced on him using the death of their comrade to try and kill Osias. But Osias was thriving amidst a battle like this, reaving blood and lives alike with each swipe of his blade.
He parried a half-hearted thrust from a spear only to find the soldiers of the Golden Hawk dead set on holding him down. Several men abandoned caution in a wild lunge to grab his limbs as a First Ordeal enemy came to finish him. They crowded and piled onto each other… yet Osias could only feel a little pity for them. To reduce themselves to nothing more than chains of flesh to hold him down. Was it fear of their leader or were they so resolved to kill him that they decided on such a wretched and desperate plan?
Yet Osias didn’t let the desperation of his enemies hold him back, using his unnatural strength to pull one of the Ordinaries close.
‘Fool should’ve worn a helmet…’ Osias fleetingly thought as his teeth tore into the man's throat, silencing his miserable wails.
From behind Osias, his followers bellowed and chanted as he spat out the foul flesh and used Blood Reave once more.
His followers fought like demons, following their leader. It was hard to believe that many of them seemed so frightened yesterday… They helped Osias break free from the handful of soldiers grasping at his feet, running through them in a mess of blood and cries.
“Visalros!”
In the next moment, the First Ordeal that led the suicidal batch of Ordinaries came forth, and he was a wretched-looking warrior. An irritable face that wore a long black beard… but most notable were the four arms that the warrior had. An extra pair protruded from below the two natural ones, each wielding a blade.
It seemed that the four arms were a product of their First Ordeal…
Osias cleaved through a pitiful Ordinary that seemed so small and underwhelming, and then he emerged from the carcass’s spray of blood and lunged towards the four-armed figure, trampling over corpses and the living alike. In his free hand, he held a mismatched lump of flesh—rendered from the Ordinary earlier and hurled it at the First Ordeal to open up their battle.
With scornful eyes, the First Ordeal swatted the bundle of flesh aside with a single arm and charged forth without a word. However, Osias didn’t mind… he wouldn’t understand anyway.
Osias met the four-armed brute in a fierce melee, delicately dodging and parrying the blows from what felt like four men.
It reminded him of battling Nico… yet this First Ordeal felt weaker in a way. Perhaps it was control or essence control, but the blows felt unrefined, albeit fast. They were predictable and the two extra limbs felt as though they were nothing more than a ruse that held the brute back. Like the extra pair was a trick to overwhelm or confuse Osias…
Osias scoffed, avoiding a stray Ordinary soldier from interfering as he circled around the four-armed warrior. Then, with a precise blow, he cut the fingers off a limb, staggering the warrior as they reared back in pain, dropping a sword.
‘Nico was stronger, more precise. Cunning with using his extra limb. Thoughtful as well.’
Throwing a vicious stomp at their lead leg, Osias crumpled the warrior’s knee and continued to pressure them downwards. Two of their arms were forced to support themselves from falling down on their back, but Osias didn’t relent in his assault. With a ferocious slash, he severed an arm through the weak attempt to block.
“Visalros!” His men chanted from behind as they made quick work of the other Ordinaries.
“Hmph.” Osias huffed, parrying another attack, and beheaded the kneeling First Ordeal. He stuck a hand into the corpse and reaved it of all its blood.
“Perhaps… this will stop the Jentys from their bickering and prattles,” Osias murmured to himself, careful to not reave the head of its blood so it wouldn’t be so mishappened and withered.
He ripped the cloth from beneath the armored corpse, tying the head onto the sash around his waist and picking the metal brooch of their enemy’s sigil — the Golden Hawk, from the fallen First Ordeal’s left breast.
Storing it, Osias continued forth, with the dangling head around his waist — a permanent grief-stricken and fearful expression plastered it.
‘More… perhaps if I gain reputation — merit, even, will I find myself facing the foe that will allow my ascent and return.’
“Visalros!” His followers once more bellowed. Osias threw a quick glance behind him…
His followers were quickly advancing towards him, almost finished with finishing the rabble under their fallen four-armed leader. Osias smiled under his helm, but returned his attention to the front…
Together, they were advancing and breaking the faulty formations of the Golden Hawk Bannerman. They merely advanced, while Osias made sure not to over-extend past the other companies beside them, otherwise they’d be isolated and pincered. Even his own men as barbaric and murderous as they are cannot survive being surrounded.
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‘Where… where are the Second Ordeals? At the rear?’ He wondered to himself as his blade took another life.
‘No, do I even lead these men that far?’
Osias was no general. He never fought in a war. He knew nothing of strategy and the battlefield. Osias is not privy to the mind of a leader, much less a leader amid a war upon tens of thousands of soldiers. This desolate plain, the haze covering the sky, and the countless battling heads that stretched on as far as he could see… clouded the battlefield from revealing what he wanted to find out.
He needed to know the general, or leader of both armies. How many soldiers are on each side. Where they were. Perhaps even why they were fighting. But the language…
Osias sighed deeply. Lifting his chin, he looked to the sky as his ears perked.
‘Heavy marching…’ He noticed and brooded.
He wondered if the Second Ordeals were to come today or later. By now he could only guess where the true dangers lurked…
It was natural for him to think that if the Second Ordeals weren’t fighting amidst the fray, they’d be at the rear of the army. Perhaps in a battle tent of sorts, yet he didn’t know for certain. But there must be powerful Path Finders present somewhere.
After all, who else could round up enough Ordinaries to fight despite many of them obviously having not held a sword before? It wouldn’t be that foolish to think that even Fourth Ordeals were present.
“Visalros!” Another collective chant roared from his men, breaking his chain of thought. It seemed they slaughtered the last of the Ordinaries.
…Osias stifled a dark laugh from behind his helmet. If anything, his followers were beginning to gain the attention of enemies and allies alike. With time, Osias will find himself in the presence of the foe he needs to find. Perhaps even the leaders of his own red-feathered banner. Eventually… he’ll feel the pull Mance mentioned regardless and discover what he needs to kill to ascend.
Returning to his attention to the chaos of their assault, they came upon a shield formation ahead of them. Osias made sure to scan side-to-side to ensure that the other companies led by the Jentys weren’t too behind in this line of strife.
‘An opportunity to break through perhaps?’
But it seemed these heavy infantry weren’t the same as the rabble they had fought before. They were heavily armed, and Osias could sense multiple First Ordeals, their presence was like roaring flames beaming amid humble campfires. Even the Ordinaries weren’t the kind he could kill so easily as before.
Trained, experienced, and disciplined. They marched together coherently, obeying a booming voice in the same language Osias didn’t know of.
Yet the source of the cutting voice was far away from where Osias could sense if it was a Second Ordeal or not.
He narrowed his eyes towards the Jentys and their company that fought far aside from him. Faraway, Osias could see the Jentys wielding a great bow atop a rolling structure. A tower of sorts. It wasn’t too high, but enough to stand out clearly from the fray — a target for whoever could fire long-ranged attacks.
But it seemed to be of no issue for the unnamed Jentys. Each single draw and fire of their bow unleashed a storm of arrows that diverged from the original. They hailed down on the Golden Hawk Bannermen, slaying many who foolishly lacked a shield. Whenever they nocked another arrow and likely prepared their Ordeal Ability, they hid behind the tower’s fortifications as men below pushed or pulled depending on the orders barked from above.
“Is it the same one that found an issue with me?” He muttered to himself. The voice seemed familiar.
If anything, it was surprising that he even captured the attention of someone he assumes is important, a Jentys. Although his men number just below a hundred now because of the few deaths, his company is nothing more but a grain of sand on a riverbank.
The Jentys seemed to possess a few hundred men at their beck and call, forming a dense area of fighting that stretched to where Osias was… although it was just a more sizable drop in the lake of soldiers.
Though… Osias recalled the quick berating against him from the Jentys earlier.
‘Ah—was I supposed to listen to his orders yesterday? Or perhaps carry on the orders of the Jentys who died?’ He realized.
That was probably what earned him a scolding… alas he couldn’t understand regardless. And today Geral only told him to kill which was more than likely the most simplified translation of what he needed to do.
‘Bastard. I’ll leave his company to test the waters first. I can’t waste the lives of my followers.’
So Osias quickly rallied his chanting followers to merge with the Jentys beside them as they merely brushed against the heavy infantry, never engaging as they kept a distance. They walked through the cut down any stragglers of the regular Golden Hawk infantry, advancing towards the vast company.
There, Osias could get a closer look at the Jentys, quickly noticing a frown plastered on their face.
‘Ha! It is the same one from earlier.’ He noted with a sneer below his helmet.
His followers spread and aided from behind the other company… seemingly noticing that Osias didn’t want to fight against the heavy infantry on their own. Perhaps without words, his ploy was noticed by his men.
Alas, the Jentys from above his tower couldn’t do a thing as Osias pressed forward, pressuring the other Ordinaries to engage first.
‘Yes… yes! Go on!’ He mused.
As the first bold or brash row of Ordinaries engaged with the vast array of spears that jutted out from the impenetrable-looking wall of towering shields, Osias watched as they got impaled mercilessly.
But in the next moment, by the left flank, a deep rumble sounded that shook the earth.
‘Ordeal Ability…’ It seemed that one of the First Ordeals began to seriously deal with the row of suicidal bannerman.
Osias could only hope it wasn’t his own followers who rashly engaged.
Roars bellowed, and the other company of bannerman rushed ahead without a plan — relying on numbers and their Jentys to hail on the shields above.
They climbed and waded through their fellow bannerman who either littered the ground or were still straggling while impaled by spears.
Fear and apprehension took over them as they madly roared, swatting aside some spears and then sought to batter the shield formation with their bodies.
‘No arrows?’ Osais wondered, glancing behind.
However, just as Osias was to turn his attention to the wall in front, a terrible crash sounded far ahead. The distinct sound of metal crunching beneath an impossible force and the pained cries of men that followed. Ash and dust billowed from whatever happened, and Osias could see more fellow bannermen flood through the debris.
‘The Jetys?’ Osias wondered, awaiting fro the dust to clear.
The trampling bannerman surged past the opening in the wall, routing behind and carrying chaos on the edge of their steel… and there, amidst the thundering steps, Osias saw it.
A massive… spire. As if the barrage launched by the Jetys was reformed into one singular arrow of heavy metal.
It was burrowed deep into the ground with a mess of blood and armor crushed and wedged below. It looked like a lurching tombstone decorated with a base of entrails instead of flowers…
A fleeting memory of a time long ago flashed through Osias’s mind at the scene… of a certain Path Beast Osias saw Kiran battle — before they found the Gracious Heron within its mountain.
The dreadful blow was enough to cause such a memory to arise once more.