From the Other Side
Six hours before the Vyndival Army’s arrival.
“Keep marching!” yelled the commander from his vork, a feline mount capable of winged flight.
Infantries of a couple hundred thousand continued their march despite the harshness of the yellow sun. Even under this blistering heat, Xiv Arcturus and his Fifteenth Company of Swordsmen marched on without a sweat, bringing one foot in front of the other as though they were simply out for a stroll.
He and his men maintained the middle western flank, guarding a mechanicalized breaching tower. It was a contraption he never thought they’d need against Minaveil Province, but their scouts—what little of them returned—made enough emphasis to ensure the moving tower was of vital importance.
Night came when the frontlines finally emerged from the Desolate Lands, spreading in ordered formations throughout the plains of the Flat Lands. Xiv’s company settled in near their moving fortification, erecting tents and producing fires as the evening gradually turned into the usual gathering of men and women enjoying supper.
It was the final evening before the battle. Everyone intended to enjoy what pleasures they were afforded. Pity alcohol was forbidden.
Xiv was no leader. At a young age of twenty-two, he had been given and stripped of his title, Lord Knight. The ranks of their army were excruciatingly unorganized that it took a miracle to have every single footman fall in order and have each division grouped together. Xiv was one of those miracle men who had a hundred soldiers following suit. And yet, he never once called himself a leader.
They were assigned a dangerous position on the frontlines of the western assault comprised of the other fourteen companies. Whoever came up with this plan had a brilliant system. Brilliant enough to hide the fact everyone on the frontlines were sure to die tomorrow.
Xiv marked their position with a Vyndivalian Flag—a golden mountain etched on a canvas of maroon red. The same flags rose not far from where they were, lining towards the distant horizon on the other end of the Flat Lands. It was a magnificent display of pride, no matter how fragile it actually seemed.
“How long ‘till we get the signal?” one of his men asked.
“Not long,” Xiv replied. “Get all the rest you can take. We’ll need it for later.”
Not far from where they stopped was one of the Great Provinces of Irista Nation, Minaveil. A few days ago, the North Valley had nothing but a watchtower to defend their border, but every soldier from Vyndival knew about the powerful princess that lived there. Now, a gigantic wall stood between the army and the province.
No use letting his thoughts meander through it now. Their breaching towers were brought forward for this exact reason anyway.
With the supper fully underway, Xiv’s company gathered around the campfire. One of the soldiers sat beside him.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Hearty, but could use more salt, Xiv thought. But he understood the real question. He took a moment to take a sip from his warm soup and organized his thoughts. The plain porcelain bowl reflected his tanned skin. There was a hint of regret; his black eyes bothered by how much he’d neglected his hair, now looking like a mess of dark red. One ought to die looking rather fashionable, but his armor for tomorrow should suffice.
“This is an important war. Our kingdom pooled all its resources for this.” He didn’t bother looking at his brother-at-arms, eyes fixed at the stale—albeit large—contents of his bowl as he tried his best to ignore the bland flavor of what could very well be his last meal.
Everything had been done in haste and unreasonable pressure.
Every decision, every strategy, even recruitment didn’t employ proper validations. They might have the advantage in numbers, but important parts were missing in more than half of their army. Resolve, training, confidence, the right state of mind, experience. The name, Company of Swordsmen, had as much promising potentials as the three months it was established.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“If we lose, Vyndival will perish along with our disgrace.” This time Xiv looked up and found the entire Fifteenth Company listening to him. All of them never had the years of training he had under his belt. All of them never even experienced a single skirmish. All of them spurned by a greater power none of them could understand.
Cursed Blessing.
He unceremoniously raised his bowl in an invitation. “I may not be able to see your faces again after this, my brothers and sisters. But we will meet each other in the afterlife or the next.” Xiv never believed in life after death, but he knew these words encouraged them.
“Aye!” All of them followed and raised their bowls in response.
“For Vyndival or death.” Their war cry, but Xiv said it casually like a quote for normal conversations.
“We fight or die trying,” replied the others in a slightly more enthusiastic manner. This second half of the quote, an addendum formed during the entire march, made Xiv recall unpleasant memories. He avoided saying it whenever he could.
The Fifteenth Company finished the rest of their meal in silence and took to their own for rest. Xiv on the other hand, isolated himself from the group.
He reached for his necklace, simple chains carrying a pendant. There he found a picture of an elderly couple in formal clothing and seated neatly. Traces of meiyal swam about the image, slightly distorting the features of his parents. It made the image seem to move. His father had the same dark red hair he had brushed up while he got his mother’s charcoal eyes.
“If there really is an afterlife, I wish I can see you there,” he said quietly.
“Now, now, don’t go killing yourself just yet, Brother Xiv.” A spunky sounding man sat beside him, tapping his shoulders for encouragement. “You’re one of the best out here.”
“Swords and weapons are no match for Meiyal Arts, Brother Dystro. We both know that.” Xiv quickly hid his pendant and his embarrassment at the same time.
“Unless we have meiyal-breaking steel.”
“We don’t.”
Vynore, dubbed as meiyal-breakers. A special ore found in the mines of Vyndival that possessed powerful adverse effects on meiyal. Once, they were abundant in the kingdom, and was used by the previous kings to form a special wall to protect themselves from the Nightmare Lands. Now the resource was rarer than seeing a mating vork and yuma, and very few weapons with meiyal-breaking properties circulated around their ranks even when he was still a Lord Knight.
Dystro shoved off the fact as though it was no big deal. “There ought to be someone here who has it.”
“King Urzic does,” Xiv said, “but he’s not fighting in the frontlines.”
“I don’t think any king does. Are you sure yours aren’t made from Vynore?”
Xiv brought out his sledgehammers. It was hilariously ironic that none of his Company questioned him about his weapons despite their name, Company of Swordsmen.
“I wish they are.” He looked at the great wall of the North Valley. “Even so, it won’t make that much of a difference. We may have our tolerance against harmful Meiyal Arts, but we’re not invulnerable.”
“If only our men could last in the Nightmare Lands, eh?” Lord Knight Dystro Tirfang laughed in a manner so close to a maniac. His spiky red hair and huge black eyes didn’t help ease the image.
Xiv found the idea amusing and regretful at the same time. “The meiyal pressure in the Nightmare Lands will be the least of our problems. You really don’t want to know what kind of monsters live in those parts.”
“Oh yeah, you were part of the capture expedition, right? Do tell, do tell.”
Even after the warning, Dystro’s amusing tone of curiosity easily persuaded the former Lord Knight.
“Landscape is one of the biggest issues. You see a floating island here, an inverted forest there. Some waterfalls fall up, not down. Most of what we saw were giant monsters, to a point. Even the plants are predators. I don’t really know what they’re called,” Xiv spoke in a modest and honest tone. No one had the luxury of classifying each species that resided in those forsaken lands. “We were only able to capture this one lesser dragon, Jaws Lurking in the Forest. It was wounded, but it killed a dozen of our men before we could capture it.”
“What’s it like?”
“I—I really can’t talk about it.” Xiv’s memories began to distort as his subconscious denied the recollection of the horrendous event that took place that day. “The only thing I could remember from it was the disgusting way its mouth opened and the tendrils growing out of its tail. It spat acid, not fire.” He slowly compressed himself to stop his body from shaking. “Aside from that, I can’t say anymore.”
“Oh,” Dystro’s voice settled into a calm. “Sorry. I won’t bring it up again.”
Xiv silently nodded his head.
“Well, I’d better go back to my people. We’re moving out soon.” Dystro stood up and dusted off his clothes.
“Take care, Brother. For Vyndival or death.” Xiv raised a fist. His friend connected with it.
“We fight or die trying, I know, but don’t you even dare try dying, Brother.”
Xiv watched the soldier walk away with confidence. He envied that attitude of him. Xiv knew very well his own skills could match up to ten average meiyal practitioners and his resistance could last him in the Nightmare Land’s pressure for a few days, yet he could not feel as confident as his friend.
Confidence was the least of his concerns. The war itself was the least of his concerns. He looked at the wall one more time. Somewhere at the top, the Princess was waiting.
“Let’s hope she’ll listen.”
Only three more hours and the sun for the Whiteday would rise to meet the painting of red.
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