After the monstrous attack from the ranged Jetys, they advanced deep past the enemy lines, but sensing an odd presence, Osias quickly retreated along with his followers. He didn’t bother trying to relay it to the other company, and through fleeting glimpses from behind, cacophonies of anguished screams and cries sounded as his men only retreated with more fervor.
That led him to now… a familiar warhorn ripped across their side of the battlefield just as Osias’s spear impaled the poor head that found its way in front of him. Ripping his spearhead out, Osias’s gaze traced the sound and looked at his followers with a grim nod.
They fought tirelessly… Osias had come close to depleting his already great abundance of essence many times over. His men eventually failed to fight alongside him and Osias felt compelled not to engage any further, lingering in the rear of battle alone, allowing his men to recover. Finally, the retreat was sounded by whoever was commanding this great army.
Leading his men further back away from the fighting, he did a quick head count of his weary men… only to find that the number has remained almost the same. Without Osias’s knowing, it seems some from his ragtag company of men both died and had been replaced by other stragglers.
Osias could only laugh at how he came to be in a position to lead these lingerers, perhaps many of them came along with him today because they too have noticed that they’ve overextended under their previous Jentys.
Sighing heavily he wondered, ‘Do I have to be a First Ordeal to be called a Jentys?’
Perhaps he could obtain that title instead by merit and strength despite being an Ordinary. Looking down at his waist, he studied the five heads dangling as he made his return towards where the others started the fires.
All five of them died ugly deaths, the anguish drawn on their faces were clear signs of such. Osias slain five First Ordeals and pocketed their sigils, which also jangled at his side.
‘Maybe I can show these to whoever commands the Jentys…’ He thought.
So he decided to not immediately rest, noticing far away that the blood-covered Jentys wasn’t headed for the common camps where the Ordinaries rested.
“Geral!” Osias immediately picked out from the fires.
Geral climbed to his weary feet, supported by a spear, and headed for Osias. Although they can only share a few words, their intentions and gestures could speak more.
Tilting his head towards the far rear, Osias motioned for Geral to come along as he pointed at the heads by his waist.
Geral initially showed a slightly confused expression, but quickly put together what Osias wanted.
‘Ha! He’s smiling.’ Osias noticed through the thick brown beard mottled in blood and grime.
They carried through the common camps, earning a few looks from their fellow Ordinary bannerman, yet none spoke up. They were all too busy cooking what small rations they were provided from the rear, setting more fires, and wearily gazing towards the battle site ahead, keenly listening to the small skirmishes through the night.
However, it did make Osias wonder if the day he woke up in this Ordeal, was the first day of battle.
Lifting his gaze as they waded through fire and men, he studied the sky above. Even though the haze that covered above masked much of the sky, he could at least tell that the sun had already set and the ghastly moonlight could just barely pierce through the shroud of war.
But this wistful look ended with Geral turning his head towards Osias with a solemn nod.
‘We’re here… huh.’
Before them was an encampment that held many great tents greater in size than many houses he had seen before. Even the buildings in Clan Grimm’s fortress were almost the same size as these tents.
As Osias and Geral trudged deeper into the grand encampment, the air grew denser, almost suffocating.
‘Strong…’
As they continued forward, Osias couldn't help but notice the distinct change in the soldiers' demeanor. Those stationed closer to these central tents moved differently, their armor polished, their weapons gleaming even in the dim light. These were no Ordinary soldiers — they were the elite, each of them a Jentys.
Finally, Osias found it — the stares edged in contempt. As though they didn’t approve of a pair of Ordinaries brazenly storming through this grand encampment.
…The outer tents, while massive in their own right, were dwarfed by the towering structures that loomed ahead. These larger tents were constructed with reinforced materials, their thick, dark fabric swaying slightly in the breeze, giving them an almost living presence. The stakes holding them in place were as thick as a man’s arm, driven deep into the earth. And to his keen ears, he did hear a few moans of women coming from one of the tents deep in the encampment.
…Flickering torchlight spilled out from within, casting long, eerie shadows that danced on the ground. The scent of smoldering wood mingled with the faraway tang of blood, a small reminder of the war these officers and generals were leading.
Every so often, a gust of wind would catch the tent flaps, revealing glimpses of the interiors — rows of cots, maps strewn across makeshift tables, and the faint murmur of voices.
Going against what his senses screamed at him to do… he lifted the flap and walked into one of the outer tents with Geral in tow.
What he found was a group of eight men, four of whom were Second Ordeals by the air they gave off. Hardened and rugged, they each looked as though they had battled endlessly, proving to Osias that his own company just didn’t come across them.
‘Does that mean that our part of the battle is among the least dreadful?’ He wondered.
The other four were Jentyses who were listening keenly to their weathered superiors… at least until Osias and Geral entered.
Audacious… perhaps even presumptuous. But this was an army amid war. Osias refused to believe that a person capable of slaying multiple First Ordeals is someone they can simply turn away, at least in the outer tents. There was a good chance he’d be executed or the like if he brazenly walked into the larger inner tents that he assumed had Third Ordeals dwelling in there.
One of the Second Ordeals said something in their language in an amused and interested tone at the newcomers.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Then from beside Osais, Geral swallowed heavily as he began to explain and reason with them as to why they were inside this tent.
Osias didn’t bother to try and communicate through language in some unneeded way — so he simply untied the cloth that secured the five heads around his waist and pulled out the five golden brooches he picked from the chest plates of the five men.
He slowly walked towards the table they all bickered and strategized over and set his belongings down as Geral continued to speak from behind... Then the string of five heads splattered in a wet thud while the five brooches jangled.
More importantly, the four Jentyses raised their eyebrows in surprise and some of the Second Ordeals brought a hand to their beards of face in intrigue.
“Lladd.” Osias addressed them curtly with both hands presenting his blood-stained spoils.
Suddenly, one of the Second Ordeals laughed and infected the other three as well. The same one then turned around, rummaged through a secured storage crate from behind, and spoke in a harsh tone.
But not directed to Osias.
The Second Ordeal pointed towards the four Jentyses around the table and berated them harshly in his rugged voice while Osias realized what the man retrieved from behind — a piece of parchment for writing.
Swinging his head back to Geral, Osias found that his follower had abandoned his initial face of fright under the pressure of the Second Ordeals and instead wore an impossibly faint smile.
Sighing slightly in relief, Osias turned his attention once more to the Second Ordeal who brought a black-ended brush in the time he looked away and began to write something.
Patiently waiting for the man to finish writing, Osias wondered what he’d get in return for slaying First Ordeals… and then he realized that the heads of whom he killed before were left rotting somewhere in the mud!
Regret pulsed through him, but he only twitched his face slightly.
But in the next moment, the Second Ordeal finished writing and then began to circle the table towards Osias.
The Second Ordeal extended a hand that held the parchment and Osias obliged wordlessly.
But then Geral said something from behind directed to Osias.
“Urotys.”
Osias’s ears perked and glanced behind to find Geral pointing at the Second Ordeal.
‘They are called Urotys instead of Jentys then?’
Meekly pointing at the Second Ordeal, Osias echoed, “Urotys.”
The Sec— Urotys, nodded and followed by pointing a finger at themselves.
With a grin, the Urotys patted Osias on the shoulder and laughed as he motioned him to leave the tent with the parchment in hand.
Relenting to the dismissal, Geral lifted the tent’s flap and Osias stepped out, not before glancing once more at the odd encounter of the group of Jentyses and Urotyses.
As they stepped out, Geral gently grabbed and pulled Osias’s arm and then pointed towards a certain tent near the periphery of the grand encampment.
‘Ah… is this what the parchment is for?’ He wondered and followed Geral.
Together they quickly reached the oddly spacious tent, and they found just one Jentys posted inside.
‘Smells foul…’ Osias immediately thought.
The Jentys was sitting leisurely resting his feet atop a chair. He didn’t wear the usual armor that other Jentyses donned, instead wearing tattered garments that have long since faded to grey.
With raised brows, the Jentyses stooped and sinister face was revealed — coarse and ugly features hidden behind a thick ungroomed black beard.
Geral came beside Osias and motioned him to pass along the parchment the Urotys gave him.
‘Ah—’
Suddenly Jentys stood up and from behind them Osias found an odd… disfigurement of the tent. As though something obscured was being revealed — it reminded him of an unfavorable memory of a creature of the mist during his travels with Kiran.
Geral and the Jentys spoke casually until the Jentys pulled from the hazy air behind them and miraculously a set of unnatural black metal armor appeared. It was familiar, after all, it was the same as the typical armor Osias found protecting the Jentyses in the encampment and even the one from yesterday.
Small black plates laced together making it look as though the maker had flayed a massive beast for the material. Then, the helm that completed the set was also pulled from the blur, and a brilliant red plume accented it.
‘My… size?’ Osias noticed as it lay on the ground.
The uncouth-looking Jentys waved with his hands, dismissing them. Osias nodded while his face wore a grin at the new equipment… finally able to wear something reliable then constantly scavenging the corpses that strewn the ground for pieces too tight or tattered to wear.
Even Geral looked mesmerized at the set… perhaps he already knew that Osias was named a Jentys, but with the fitting armor it only reinforced the reality of Osias’s new status.
Eventually, they left the tent and returned to the small fires where his small company of Ordinaries rested. From the commotion that arose as Geral sat by the fire and spoke along with the many gazes directed at Osias practically tearing off his old protection for the new… his followers understood his promotion.
Stifling a laugh beneath his decadent helmet, Osias closed his eyes and rested in this new set… awaiting another day of battle in a few hours.
—
Osias's parry flowed into a cutting arc, then a piercing thrust immediately after. He was aggressive as he looked, but also much with a feral blur, each step preparing the next in a chain of violence.
By now an immense surplus of blood essence has been reaved and stored. Every waking moment in this desolate field of hell was used to empower him. Further, his experience, sharpen his movements and blade itself.
It’s been… days. More specifically four days since he’s been lifted to a Jentys.
Slowly his awareness, outlook, and… sight have been improved. It was hard to describe, but it was as though another sense, another way of perceiving his surroundings amid chaos was begin hammered and honed through war.
It was a morbid thing — to improve at the cost of many lives, but what can he do? Whenever he felt such a thing, he reminded himself of why he was here. Why he was constantly throwing himself into a dreadful melee with figments created by his Ordeal
…He sighed heavily, panting a little as he scanned around him and reflecting upon his company’s position in battle.
They were among the absolute front of the battalion of Ordinaries — something he came to learn over the few days of relentlessly barging into the discussions of the outer tents with Geral. It was difficult to make out from the lack of understanding of the language, but the map laid in each tent was his lifeline for information.
He was a part of an army of almost fifty thousand if Geral taught him correctly. Though now the number was cleaved to a mere fifth. In a mere five or so days, the Ordinary were thrown into a slaughter. This army was one of three, each roughly the same size, yet his own was the furthest away from the others. They advanced deep into the lands from which the Golden Hawk hailed from — and this desolate plain they were fighting on was nothing but the Golden Hawk’s attempt at pushing them away from a ruined city, buying time.
But that wasn’t Osias’s plight, it was something to worry about later… because this army and its Ordinaries were nothing more but numbers to fill out and to exhaust the enemy.
It made sense in a dark light… to throw enough armed Ordinaries, even Second Ordeals could fall if they were too proud or foolish enough.
‘Especially against the crazed and battle-mad.’ Osias thought, glancing over his followers which have grown to more than a few hundred of weary men.
Osias laughed pitifully as he recalled how they’d gathered together. They were survivors. Whoever escaped and lingered on despite the odds. From the fallen company of the Jentys Osias overtook and from many others.
It was especially eye-opening as Geral taught him another word that resonated with many of the other followers.
“Hoggva,” Osias whispered to himself.
All of them… they were farmers and the like. Common people who had no proper reason to fight, at least from the little Osias knew. Perhaps their circumstances demanded it. Perhaps the army of the Golden Hawk threatened to swallow whichever land the Red Feathers hailed from. Osias didn’t know… but slowly he was getting used to speaking the language.
Currently, the Golden Hawk Bannerman were fleeing. Some on foot, and some on mounts of Path Beasts or Ordinary horses.
Osias chose not to pursue them. He and his men were exhausted as is… besides, Osias knew that another dreadful battle ahead would ensue. Something he had even less experience in than in open-field battle.
The many Urotyses and the mysterious Third Ordeals that Osias knew not of their titles and appearances will begin to order the march.
Osias has seen the massive figure set on the maps of the fortress they must conquer. He didn’t know of the size nor how many people populated it, but because of the tense glares of the others who shared the table, Osias figured it was the most important task of their decimated army.
‘Hopefully… only the Ordinaries were exhausted in this battle.’ Osias wistfully wondered, continuing to watch the turn-tailed Golden Hawk soldiers become increasingly small even with his sight.
But even so, Osias hadn’t let go of his own agenda.
To find and feel the pull somewhere in this hell.