Sunswept plains… whatever beauty left of them was trampled atop the boots of soldiers. The earth groaned and trembled from its glint of steel and heaves of breath.
An ashen sky tinted with orange, as though the very autumn air has been tainted with the breath of marching soldiers.
…And so the advance army has arrived undeterred towards the stronghold of the Golden Hawk Bannerman.
“Alasii!” An Urotys growled the moment the stronghold was in sight, albeit still across a vast distance.
This change in the vanguard head was done earlier, likely a Cratys ordered it as they anticipated the march would soon find the stronghold. So a Urotys began to lead the army instead of a certain sharp-nosed Jentys.
In the next moment, the march halted, and the Urotys huffed out another order. Then from about midway through the army, a separate attachment — a group of faces and armor that Osias hasn’t seen before detached from the main army but… on mounts.
They each rode a different creature, all of which were sure to be Path Beasts from how unusual they looked.
One rode a lithe-legged serpent with swift legs while another rode atop a hound-looking beast crossed with stone.
…Osias’s company of Ordinaries still remained near the front of the army despite the change in vanguard heads, and that was why Osias could see so closely to this odd detachment of soldiers as they converse with the leading Urotys.
But with just a few words exchanged, these mounted soldiers rode off towards the stronghold with an intense swiftness.
Then they continued to march ever so closer towards the stronghold.
‘Ah… I didn’t get the stronghold’s name that day. Who was it with me back then?’
Glancing behind him, Osias began to study the crowd of downcasted followers of his before spotting Geral.
“Geral!” He called out.
A sunken soldier lifted his head and obliged his leader’s request and Geral was beside Osias once more.
Pointing towards the stronghold, Osias began to gesture and put on a familiar puzzled expression that his men knew well over the days they’d shared.
But instead of responding with words, Geral simply pointed towards the stronghold and then the sigil atop both of their chests… the Red Feather.
‘Ah—is it simply what their sigil is?’
Pulling out a small brooch that Osias looted from one of the many First Ordeals he killed, he pulled an intricately crafted Golden Hawk and displayed it to Geral.
Geral simply nodded.
‘Then… I’ll call it the Golden Hawk Stronghold.’ Osias nodded to himself, satisfied with the easy and simple name.
…With time, their army began to spread and scatter about as orders to set camp were sounded and Osias followed his men as they
The camp was to be set just beyond the enemy’s attack range, a distance they all respected. They had marched alongside their siege towers, and now these towering constructs stood ready for use, their dark shadows cast over the land as they were positioned toward the looming fortress.
Osias laughed to himself below his helm… To raise a camp and fire beneath the shadow of death is to build your own grave, but still, their hands move as though it were any other day.
It was odd… to make camp so early. They still had a siege to fight.
But as Osias helped Geral begin a fire, he realized that it was likely because many of them were to die in the coming hours.
Might as well have them work before they fight.
…Resting his legs against a small rising in the earth alongside familiar faces like Erdma, Geral, and Ousal, they all grimly looked at the indomitable structure in the distance as they brooded together before the orders to attack were given. From where Osias stood, he found it odd to feel such dread from the stone — no matter how special the stone was.
They looked to be twice as high as the walls of Clan Grimm’s forward fortress which was made to defend against attacks from Path Beasts of the Third and perhaps Fourth.
‘Myra… I wonder how much time has passed.’
Slowly a faint frown grew, hidden from the gaze of his bannermen beneath the metal of his helmet.
‘Was a… promise enough?’
But then he shook his head slightly — of course, words enough weren’t enough.
So he’ll return.
Suddenly from his left, Erdma began to snicker… but what began as a small snicker, has increasingly turned to howls. Yet Osias noticed — Erdma’s eyes were glum and dark despite the cackles leaving his mouth.
The other men didn’t react to the odd action, perhaps understanding the woes of their comrade because Osias did as well, studying the Golden Hawk Stronghold.
Perhaps a series of looting and pillaging was enough to draw away tomorrow's plights, but facing this unassailable city, they could only silently cower.
…Dots of men, innumerable as they are manned atop the walls, ever imposing. From here, Osias couldn’t tell what Ordeal level they were… but if this stronghold was to be their capital, then they couldn’t be weak.
Their army simply couldn't wage an attack on each of the four sides of this stronghold with what little forces they had.
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Yet even faced with just one side, the siege seemed futile.
“Ventos Alva!” A piercing shout sounded.
All the weary and grim Ordinaries looked up, all of them aware of their coming fates, and those who were resting slowly got to their feet.
It was time.
—
The siege erupted in a storm of chaos. The air was thick, and oppressive, hanging with the stench of sweat, blood, and smoke. Acrid ash clung to the wind, while the foul odor of death hovered close, creeping into Osias’s lungs with every breath.
It seemed that whoever the Golden Hawk placed ahead of them was mercilessly burning Osias’s escorts to nothing more than wisps.
‘Vora, vora, vora!” Osias shouted together with his men.
The siege tower groaned under its own weight, creaking eerily as Osias’s entire company strained against it. Muscles burned and legs quivered as they leaned into the massive structure, each step heavy and laborious. The beams, worn and splintered, dug into hands already raw from just pushing. Sweat poured down their faces, mingling with the dust kicked up from the earth beneath them.
The relentless weight felt as though it grew with every step gained toward death.
Osias’s breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving under the strain, but he pushed on, his eyes flicking toward the strained followers beside himself. His arms screamed, the tendons threatening to snap, yet he could feel the cold dread that clung to the air—knowing that beyond the physical exertion, a bloody battle awaited right after.
Arrows and a myriad of indescribable Ordeal Abilities rained down all around and cries both of the gallant and the perished sounded everywhere… and it felt as though their chants of pushing were the only way to let the world know they were still alive, and still here in this hell.
An Urutys was escorting the siege tower, possessing some kind of harrowing ability to ensure the blood-stricken ground ahead of them could support the tower.
Osias shook his head, focusing all his might on pushing the tower.
To his right, through an entire web of Ordinaries that joined them from other companies, another siege tower had already made it to the walls much faster — Osias wasn’t sure, but another Urotys seemed to be able to simply erase the presence of the tower in one moment and move it right against the walls.
‘Is it a blessing or curse to scale the walls so early?’ Osias wondered inwardly.
Osias could barely hear his own thoughts amidst the cacophony—the deep rumble of ranged Path Finders launching their payloads from behind, the war cries of his comrades, and the desperate howls of those being overrun.
Through his exhausted steps, he looked up, never finding an end to the mighty tower he was touching before thinking, ‘If anything… these towers are unbelievably resilient. It must’ve been constructed using at least a Third Ordeal’s powers—’
In the next moment, a deep rumble sounded. Not from the walls or the many siege towers to their sides… but from behind. Something different from the usual sounds of projectiles being fired against the wall.
‘What!’
Still pushing the titanic structure, he whipped his head behind along with many others to see what was disrupting their rear.
‘A flank?’ He wondered in fright.
If there was a flank… then they were sure to be defeated. Osias would have to either steal a mount or hide among the dead if he wanted to live.
But cutting off his plans to desert the army… an indescribable sound rippled and distorted the very air itself, making him unable to breathe.
The tower stopped moving, and Osias along with his entire company collapsed while he staggered to his knees and clawed at his ears and neck.
‘J-Just what happened?’ He screamed inwardly.
It was a presence. A deadly and profane presence that makes him feel as though a blade was right against his neck.
‘F-Fourth!’ He instinctively knew, recalling his few encounters with such harrowing creatures before.
From his strained eyes… there, he saw it from the Red Feather’s rear — where the Cratyses were always dwelling, never revealing themselves in battle.
Osias wondered back then as his eyes locked onto the appearance of the Cratys in that watch tower, why the man looked battered and someone who would fight rather than cowardly linger in the rear.
Even many of the Urotyses were unfamiliar… and there were still two other watch towers in that city that Osias believed to be holding the same amount of Path Finders in each and even a Fourth Ordeal that he couldn’t catch a wisp of.
Two distant figures in their rear now appeared, both were so pronounced and suffocating to simply watch.
One was a man in the air, flying with a pair of regal wings of red feathers. Even from the fray of battle, Osias could make out how grand and dignified the man’s appearance was.
‘Fourth Ordeal…’
But beside the feathered man was something that didn’t look of this world. As though it was a bundle of all that darkened the world in darkness.
A round bulging mass of mismatched corpses of men. Stacked and constructed so large and hideously it was the same height as the lofty siege towers.
Bones jutted out from his body, and their faces that made it were… alive. Growls and low groans from those who still possessed a throat and mouth.
On its head, dark red eyes are accompanied by a set of large teeth that are revealed by the permanently exposed gums and rancidly decayed mouth.
Desecrated and tortured bodies were used to create such a thing… some of which were familiar to Osias despite how uncountable the number of corpses needed to make such a thing.
‘Golden Hawks and Red Feathers, they are all from the battle days before.’
A demon made from some profane means using the remains of those who’ve fallen…
Then a sickly scowl plastered against Osias’s face, and those of his followers who were well enough to sense the world around them began to grimace and glare at the monstrosity that groaned and rattled as it lumbered towards the walls.
They all seemed to understand… why there were no Urotyses present before as well as why they didn’t seem to care about how many died in battle.
‘This… this is hell.’ He thought with a dreadful smile.
From in front of their siege tower, the Urotys that were able to harden the ground ahead of them shouted in a coarse voice, “Vora!”
Standing to their feet in weak steps of balance, they continued to push — the only way to wane off the feeling of fear behind and ahead.
Glancing behind… Osias could only lament the companies who weren’t selected to front the assault with the siege towers.
They were all in their rough formations together with other companies — a large square of Red Feathers as they awaited for much of the towers to mount before they aided the assault.
Eventually… they were close enough.
“Valassira! Va-va-va!”
Stepping on top of a fallen Red Feather with a sick crunch, Osias brandished his great sword and put a hand to the body, and reaved it of its blood essence to replish what he used up to help his followers push the tower.
‘One of the escorts who died…’ He mused darkly.
Then they entered the tower and found themselves in a dimly lit expanse, but found no stairs. However, Geral pointed to a raised platform that looked to be made from the most pristine cut of blackened stone Osias had seen.
Geral yelled something he couldn’t understand before leading their group to fit as many as they could atop the platform.
‘Is this going to get us to the top?’ Osias quickly guessed.
In the next moment, Osias studied all that was atop the platform… it was all of his followers. Almost all the faces he saw were ones he recognized from his first day of awakening in this war.
Sighing to himself, he then felt a gentle tug at his arm — it was Erdma and Geral.
They were gesturing for him to lower himself against the platform.
‘Touch? Ah—It’s like my sword.’
Bringing an armored hand to touch the pristine platform below their muddied boots Osias looked once more at his ragtag group of followers.
Sighing heavily beneath his black helmet… he felt the platform able to be infused with essence and allowed it.
‘Words aren’t needed. Whoever will survive will and those who don’t will simply die.’
It will be chaos.
But in that chaos, Osias will find it once more — his own and his follower’s terrible rhythm, a dance of death that surged and ebbed across the battlefield.
And with a blink and a flow of essence… Osias opened his eyes as his men appeared at the latched bridge that had already mounted the ramparts of the Golden Hawk Stronghold.
And before them were as many enemies as there was grass on the sunswept plains they ravaged and trampled on to get here…