“Would this motherfucker aim somewhere else for once!?”
More angry than scared, Corco stared at the arrowhead stuck out of the back of the shield. Its enormous force had driven the projectile all the way through the wood, only halting right in front of his nose. The annoyed king's hand roughly shoved the warrior holding the shield to the side to create some space for observation. With all these shields everywhere, he couldn't see anything. Once again, he raised his telescope to search the battlefield for Herak, that vengeful bastard.
For the longest time, their front line had been stable as a rock. Sure, Herak had stolen his trick with the sandbags to close in on their defensive position, but they still had their wall; they still had their artillery; they still had the high-ground; and they still had better equipment.
Even though Herak's muskets somehow managed to create enough cover fire for the warriors of the north to reach to their front, the best they could do was a desperate back and forth struggle along the wall. Their bravery gained them no ground and brought them nothing but heavy losses. On the snow trampled into ice beneath countless boots, the bodies slid down the hill rather than pile up along the front, to create one further obstacle to slow down the attackers.
Although it wouldn't be as glamorous as Corco's victory over Ruplio, they would still manage a solid win over Pacha so long as he was allowed to freely command from the back. Since the other commanders were busy on the front line, all Corco had to do was send out their reserves to strengthen whatever section of their line needed reinforcements. Which was where his problems began.
After he had shoved away his shield bearers, he had gained some room for his observation. Yet he hadn't gotten a good look at the battlefield when his guards once again pushed him back and closed up their shields. Right after, he heard another dull thump against from beyond the wood. At least this time, the arrow hadn't pierced the reinforced oak, but the duke's persistence still pissed him off.
He couldn't work like this. Shortly after Pacha's muskets had started to return fire, the first arrows had flown his way; they hadn't stopped since. At first they had only landed in his vague direction, but since then, the archer had honed in on his position with more and more precision. By now, every shot would be a deadly hit if it weren't blocked by his warriors. Though Corco hadn't found the shooter yet, he had seen these arrows before, thin and long and fired at great speeds. Back during their fight in Etra, Herak had fired the exact same kind. Even back then, the petty bastard had only aimed at him.
“This can't keep going. We're paralyzed,” Corco whined. He couldn't stay here and leave his army without a leader, but he also couldn't brave the arrows so he could give his commands. For that, he was neither brave nor stupid enough. Frustrated, the king turned to his attendant, his right eye twitching from the bothersome interference.
“Tama!”
“Yes, King Corco.” Even now that he was under heavy fire, the girl had never left his side, not once; and she still held that warm smile, still surrounded by an aura of confidence.
“You'll take over command of the reserves,” the king said with clenched teeth and handed her his seal. Despite Tama's reputation, it would keep the other warriors in line. No one would dare ignore her orders so long as she held his sigil. “Just watch the walls and every time they break through, send some reserves to reinforce that spot.”
“However, King Corco, what will you do?” For the first time throughout the battle, Tama looked flustered. Who wouldn't, when faced with Corco's crazy, manic grin. This time, he was really fed up with all of them ganging up on him. Pacha, Caelestis, Herak... if they wouldn't leave him alone to play Sim City in peace, he'd have to beat his pacifist notions into them instead.
“If you wanna hide a tree, you gotta do it in a forest.” he replied. “Once I'm on the front line, I'd like to see Herak shoot his arrows through rows of his own people just to hit me.” Corco grasped the axe and shield to his side. Compared to pistols and unarmed combat, he wasn't great with melee weapons, but he was still a former imperial prince. His training and cultivation would put him several heads above the average soldier, and he had plenty of support to count on.
“Master, you don't plan to join the front line yourself,” a wide-eyed Tama asked, but another arrow hit the shields to dismiss her concern. Corco had thoroughly lost his patience.
“Guards to me! Let's go get that fucking archer's head!” Although they didn't understand their king all too well in all the noise, they could still feel his enthusiasm. Once again, Corco looked beyond the shields and spotted an area right in the center, where his men had been pushed back and the enemy had begun to dismantle their walls.
“Charge!” The scream of a proper warrior escaped the king's throat, before he stormed into battle.
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A glimmer within the chaos of battle sent a shock wave through Alcer's body. Somehow, he managed to stumble to the side and avoid the sharp blade. When the axe fell towards his head, his instinct alone had saved his life. After he had missed his mark, his exhausted opponent fell from the follow-through, so Alcer grabbed his musket by the barrel and clubbed its stock over his fallen foe's head until he stopped moving.
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Alcer didn't remember for how long he had fought. His arms burned like fire and were so heavy he could barely lift them anymore. As he propped himself up after the clubbing, his feet had gotten stuck in the mud again, and it took all his power to free himself from the grasp of the earth.
At some point, his weapon had jammed up, so he had been left with nothing but an awkward club. However, he still fought on in desperation. What else could he do in this chaos, where there was no escape? Just as he was about to catch his breath, he could feel the pressure from the front line become bigger again, as more and more enemy warriors crossed the wall to pressure their halberdiers. Even the flimsy semi-circle they had formed around the wall to surround the invading enemies was close to collapse by now.
“Men to me!” For a moment, he remembered his role as captain and tried to rally his troops in a hoarse, breathless voice. “Drive them back!”
Only then did he realize again that he was just some tiny commoner, and not a great general. No one listened to him as they all struggled by themselves, all of them ants who vainly hoped to not be crushed by the overwhelming force before them.
Desperate, Alcer swung his club at the next best enemy to protect the small space around him.
Could this be the end? he wondered.
More than just his life, would their dream end here? Their king had talked to them about a future where they wouldn't bow to anyone, where their lives would have worth. Had all of it only been an illusion? Was there really nothing an ordinary man could do in the face of true cultivators?
His mind numbed like his body. Only just, he could still feel his gun barrel – moistened by snow and blood – slip through his weak fingers, tired out from hours of combat. He no longer had the strength to hold on. Yet before he lost the last of his grip, he could feel the trample of steps from behind. He didn't even have the time to turn around before he saw an avalanche of shiny silver and white rush past him.
Reinforcements!
With irresistible power, the newcomers drove into the enemy ranks and pushed the great cultivators back like they were nothing. And right in the midst of his saviors, axe held high, Alcer saw that very man who had inspired him so before the last battle. Close to the front of his elite guard, beneath his own banner, stood their king and fought for their future with righteous fury in his eyes, angered at all the evils his subjects had suffered.
Alcer's breath stopped, and his hands regained their grip. With a scream to mimic the one of his lord, he charged ahead to rejoin the battle.
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“Too slow, still too slow.” Yet again, the same words escaped Pacha, before he stared into the deep orange sun right above the horizon, and his mood sank with it. His gaze was soon caught again on the battle just below the sundown. Although his warriors had somehow managed to storm the hill and force a melee along Corco's ice wall, the battle was still only an arduous back and forth with no clear winner in sight. As the sun began to set, it had sunk into the back of the defenders and shone into the eyes of his own men, to further composite their disadvantages.
As if our tired legs and uphill climb did not make us suffer enough already.
Was this the revenge of the Divines the priests had warned him about? Ever since he had been young, Pacha hadn't particularly cared for the Divines. After all, he was named after the great Pacha itself. With the support of the only great god, why would he care about the support from those minor divines?
Yet now that the forces of nature itself began to conspire against him, his skin crawled and he felt observed by countless immortal eyes. First was the warm summer which had created a bountiful harvest for the south so they would be harder to starve out, then the snow out of nowhere had slowed his army. Finally, the sunset had arrived at just the wrong moment and weakened his charge. Pacha's heart sank when he realized that he might lose yet again.
Even worse, as soon as his men made some amount of progress and threatened to surmount the wall in the center, he saw Corco's banner move. Together with his elite guards, the little king had personally pushed the offensive back down the hill and rebuilt his front, as if he tried to prove himself as the true hero king. Helplessly forced to watch, Pacha clenched his fists. Yet as soon as his muscles tensed, a sharp pain in his right elbow reminded him of his own insufficiency.
The elbow that would no longer bend, an invincible opponent who could turn his fate like others turned pages in a book and the opposition of the divines. What could a single mortal do against all this higher force? How was it fair that everything and everyone fought against him?
If they dare oppose me, they do not deserve my mercy, the young king thought as his face regained its former vim. If everyone dares stand against me, I will simply have to cut them down, one by one.
In fact, wasn't this his chance to make up for his earlier defeats, his humiliations? Corco was right there, only a few steps away, ready to be beaten. Why would he shrink back in fear now that he was presented with the chance? Pacha ignored the pain in his right arm and tightened his fists again.
“Guards! Bring me my axe and shield!”
Without a word of question, his warriors brought the king's new weapons to him. He might have been crippled, but he wasn't helpless yet.
As Pacha held his awkward right arm out at an angle, the guards fastened the specially made long shield to it. Yes, he couldn't move his arm too well anymore, but with this large shield fastened to his right, he wouldn't have to. The large shield covered most of his body, so he only had to hold it out.
Finally, his left grasped his giant axe. While Corco had played politics to stabilize the south over the past year, Pacha hadn't stood still either. So what if he couldn't move his right arm? He could still learn to fight with his left. In then end, he was still the hero king.
“Guards to me! We are storming the hill! Show those barbarians the honor of the north!”
Surrounded by the bellows of his men, the hero king and his men charged into battle to defy the heavens.