Ratka fought as hard as he could, squeezing out every ounce of energy in his exhausted body to stab, slash and kill all those who stood in front of him.
A man in oversized plate, an unarmored soldier wielding a spear, they both fell before his spear, though at the cost of his own body nursing multiple new wounds, some shallow, some deep, though none preventing him from continuing to fight.
Locating Nara, Ratka quickly came to a decision, and began fighting next to him, shoulder to shoulder, while ensuring his safety.
30 Elorn attempted to mount a defense, maintaining a tight formation, and even partly succeeding, killing each and every disorganized Alom, and tribesman that challenged them, but without a leader to rally behind, they were only presenting themselves as strong, with nothing of substance to support such an impression, akin to a castle made from sand.
And high tide comes for every beach.
The 1st Tier Blood Bone archer, throwing his bow and arrow to the ground, charged into the midst of their formation, and animalistically rampaged through their ranks, reaping each of their lives with the bone spurs sprouting from his elbows, and killing all 30 Elorn within the span of a minute, completely dying his pale white skin red.
It was as if a demon had descended on the battlefield.
Silence descended once again, the few alive Elorn slowly bleeding out or fleeing.
The expected snowfall began.
Ratka, nauseous from the heavy smell of metal permeating the air, wandered away from the epicenter of the battlefield to the outskirts of the camp, in search of a place to rest that didn’t stink of blood.
On the way, he saw Nara, standing still, blankly watching the tribesmen and Alom prepare to burn the dismembered corpses of the 30 Elorn.
Ratka took him in his arms, “You did so well,” he whispered reassuringly into his ear, before continuing on.
Memories of running, and hunting in the woods with his brothers played through his mind. He remembered how in his younger years, he dreamt of valiantly fighting with his brothers to take back their homelands, cutting down the evil Elorn who sought to wipe the Blood Bone tribe from the world.
But Yanta had died, scorched by an enemy mage to the point his plate became a veritable oven, melting his clothes, and fusing it to his skin.
Missing an arm, skin blackened, charred, and beginning to flake off, that corpse was not Yanta.
Yanta didn’t look like that.
When she heard news of her eldest son’s death, their mother, without even being the one to identify the body after the fact, broke down.
After his father died in a particularly dangerous hunt, Ratka’s mother became the sole provider of the family, hunting and killing wild game so that her children could go to sleep in warm beds with full bellies, but not once did she complain. Even when she was the one to skin the game, and became covered in entrails, or stunk of blood, she only ever smiled, and continued on.
But she had stopped eating. All she did was lie in bed, her once strong, robust physique quietly withering away.
Ratka became the caretaker of the family, hunting game, raising Nara, and ensuring their mother at least ate every single day.
It was hard work, but he saw why his mother did it with a smile on her face.
If it was to help his family, Ratka felt as if he could kill 100,000 men.
But the tribe started to lose the war.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
A series of early victories made the tribe elders overestimate their strategic capabilities, resulting in them devoting too many men to a disastrous invasion of the Baron's cities, and by the end of the fifth year of the war, the originally 50,000 strong tribesmen army had shrunk to a mere 20,000.
With the drastic losses incurred, Ratka was chosen to become a soldier.
He had once dreamed of becoming a warrior, so he met his forced enlistment with a hopeful optimism.
But war was hell.
War begat no honor, no glory, no joy.
Ratka, who had once been cheerful, and talkative to a fault, had become a shell of his former self, quietly finding salvation in the bottle.
And when Nara was forcibly enlisted just as he was, and boasted in training about taking the heads of 10 men, while Ratka once would’ve countered with a higher number, and Nara would continue with an even larger number, with them going on until one of them grew tired, now Ratka only silently shook his head, and wore a pained expression.
All he wished for now was to ensure Nara’s safety, go back home, and see his mother again.
And he needed to stay alive for those three things to happen.
He was already knee deep, and he could not stop treading forward, else those he had killed would drag him down, and drown him in the blood Ratka had made them spill.
Still, even knowing that this was the only way for him to live, he tired of it.
Oblivious to his surroundings, he found himself in a different part of the camp, the faint neighs of horses in the background.
Following the sounds, he found himself in a makeshift open air stable, housing a pair of horses, one black, one white, both tied to a pole, and both visibly distressed.
Raka approached the white horse, and with trembling hands, stroked its mane, gradually calming it down.
‘Even you aren’t free,’ Ratka bitterly thought.
Moving to the second horse, he heard a noise, and spun around, coming face to face with a boy sneaking up behind him, dagger raised.
Wearing bloody fur-lined leather armor, his hair was wet with blood, and his eyes were that of a wild beast’s, as if the person in front of him was just a stepping stone at best, and an obstacle to be gotten rid of at worst.
The boy rushed at Ratka, to which he raised his spear and immediately thrusted forward, but at the last second, the spears trajectory changed.
Tshk
Whether it be because of the trembling of his hands, his spear shaft being slick with blood, the dozens of fresh and old wounds on his body aching, or any number of other reasons, Ratka felt his neck begin to gush out blood.
Collapsing on the cold, hard ground, he stared at the cloudy sky, fresh snow falling onto the world.
As the light started to fade, he became aware of just how dry his mouth was.
But ice couldn’t soothe a parched throat.
He wanted to see Yanta again.
In a warmer place.
He hated the cold.
***
Charging at the tribesman, the exhaustion in my body hit me all at once, and I couldn’t even muster the energy to attempt to dodge his spear, but by some miracle of the Boddess, he missed my body, and I was able to stab the tribesman’s neck with a dagger I had looted off a corpse, as my short sword had gotten stuck in a tribesman’s guts, while my spear had snapped in half.
The unnerving tranquility after battle remained undisturbed, the only indicator that all was not as well the quiet gurgling of blood, as it poured out from the opening in the tribesman's neck.
His face was unnaturally peaceful, his lips were dry, and chapped, corners slightly curved up, and his eyes hazy, yet still holding onto the slightest bit of some ambiguous hope even in his final moments.
Breaking out of my thoughts, I stroked the white horse's muzzle, untied it from its post, and climbed onto its back.
I hadn’t ever ridden a horse, not ever wanting nor being expected to know how, but I had little other choice than to quickly learn if I wanted to leave this battlefield alive.
Slowly, I became more proficient in conveying which general direction I wanted the horse to go in, as well as controlling how fast or slow I wanted it to go, all by remembering how the lieutenant behaved with his, no, her horse.
Blinking back tears, I had the horse slowly walk out of the space between tents that acted as its stable, before directing it towards the forest, and having it build up speed.
Looking behind, as the camp grew smaller and smaller, nobody seemed to have noticed my leaving, and after finding the road back to the run down castle, I returned to a slow trot.
Slowly, the sun set, the twin moons rose, and the trees around me were covered in green needles again. The only sound in my ears was the howling of the wind, and with the blood on my skin long having dried out, the only scent was that of crisp falling snow.
As I closed my eyes, I felt as if I was the only man in the world.
But even then, the expected peace and serenity never came.
And I was left to stew in my own thoughts.