*
From the camp, which was the eastern side of Anganar Island, they couldn't see the movements of the hostile Third Legion on the backside of the volcano. Therefore, when Vasili followed the main force across the ridge, they were astonished by the scene before them.
To the east of the island was a lava plain emitting steaming heat, while to the west was a lava delta with a bubbling river of molten rock flowing through it. This was not because the magma overflowing from the volcano flowed towards the west, but because of the engineering work being carried out by the Third Legion stationed there on the mountainside.
They seemed to be using their long spears to collect or probe something, and had carved out a massive cave on the backside of the volcano, from which Vasili could see a magma reservoir radiating a blinding light.
The beings excavating the cave were difficult to call human. From a distance, they had hunched bodies and worm-like beards, but the most striking feature was their fully integrated lower limbs as they slithered. Their bodies were covered in dull green scales, and their eyes appeared murky yellow. Despite their short arms, they were powerful, and the sounds of their forceful strikes reverberated throughout the mountainside.
It was the first time Vasili had seen Nagas, or snake people. He believed Capillata had never seen them either, but through books, that blond youth seemed to have some understanding of various creatures that walked - or crawled - on the face of the earth. Vasili remembered Capillata mentioning the three initial creations: fire, beasts, and humans. These miners seemed to have gone further along the path of becoming beasts.
The snake-like miners noticed the rare visitors from afar and paused their labor, raising their rattling tails, creating a chilling sound that echoed through the valley. Like black droplets, they emerged from tunnels and caves, gathering in a disconcerting number ahead of the Ninth Legion. Soon, another formidable legion appeared on the volcanic plain. They formed a stern barricade, their long spears tipped with obsidian tear-shaped points striking the ground.
Vasili faintly sensed the ominousness permeating the sulfurous air. It wasn't because of the formidable presence of the enemy forces, but rather due to the restlessness among their own ranks. The young soldiers were eager to prove themselves, while the middle-aged and older soldiers furrowed their brows. Even the cavalry mounts refused to advance. This was often not a good sign.
When the resounding and melodious sound of Cornu horn echoed, both armies seemed to be under a spell as they began to move. At this point, individual will was no longer in control, and there was only one path to follow. The distance of a hundred paces quickly reduced to fifty, and with the centurion's command, a dense rain of heavy javelins swept past Vasili's ears and flew above his head. Coincidentally, the enemy retaliated in the same manner. Many soldiers fell to the ground, and the surviving ones focused on their own survival, paying no attention to those who had already fallen. They did their best to step over their fallen comrades, leaving them behind in the pitch-black jungle of greaves.
"Keep the line! Hold your ground!" Through the buzzing and ringing in his right ear, Vasili could faintly hear Constanz commanding on the flank, his voice loud and clear. "Grip your spears! Prepare--"
In the next moment, the two armies collided like walls with spikes, and the commander's shouts became insignificant amidst the utter chaos, as the sole objective of the frontline soldiers became survival. As their progress was impeded, anger and cowardice caught up their bodies, which were numbed by the illusory sense of heroism. The soldiers gritted their teeth, pushing aside the venomous fangs that constantly approached, as if rejecting the hand extended by Death.
For Vasili, who was accustomed to fighting alone, this was also a rare sight, to the point that he momentarily forgot to engage in combat, standing there like a child. It wasn't until a spear tip pierced above his shoulder that he reflexively swung the asphalt-covered hilt of his sword, sheathed in horse leather, severing the enemy's spear shaft with sheer force, that he realized the war had officially begun.
Numerous soldiers fell before they could fully grasp the nature of the battle. After surviving the initial few minutes, Vasili gradually began to see a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos: instead of rashly attacking, he had to wait for the right moment, parry the enemy's spear, and create opportunities for his comrades at his side to deliver a fatal blow.
And in his hand, compared to the long spear, was the cumbersome, short, and ornamental flame-shaped greatsword, which played a crucial role at this moment.
In almost every aspect, a crude long spear surpassed the flammenschwert. They were cheap, lightweight, and easy to replicate, requiring almost no skill from the wielder. Whether it was a farmer or a monk, as long as they could gather a group of people to stand side by side and perform simple thrusting movements, the pressure concentrated on the small spear tip was enough to puncture several large holes in the armor and confidence of a skilled knight.
However, any long spear that collided with the flammenschwert would waver like a mast in a storm. Even when gathering all its disadvantages, the steel blade still shimmered like fish scales in the dim and angry sea, under the fearless and skilled manipulation.
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The sharp obsidian spearhead thrust towards him, and Vasili swiftly turned his head, leaving a warm trail of blood on his sweaty skin. It didn't make him flinch; instead, it exhilarated him. "Attack the week points! Strike at the head and torso!" The centurion's roar came from the midst of the chaotic battle. As he shouted, the snake-like soldiers' scale armor was nearly impervious to blades and spears, with only their soft white bellies vulnerable to sharp weapons. If their hands were severed, they would abandon their upright stance and slither cunningly on the ground, attempting to inject venom into unprotected ankles with their sharp fangs.
On the other hand, even though the soldiers of the Ninth Legion were brave, fierce, and resolute, they were burdened with the curse of the Holy Wisdom and Angelus, making them prone to doubt and fear due to pain and exhaustion.
Faced with relentless Naga Immortals, the feeling of unease spread throughout the legion as their stamina dwindled. In the moment of hesitation, sharper than a broken clamshell, spear tips accurately pierced and severed neck arteries. After comrades fell one after another, Vasili became an upright domino and had no choice but to crawl on the ground, rolling clumsily, narrowly avoiding the spear tips plunging into the hardened volcanic lava beside him. Thinking that 'Spearbreaker' had been struck down, his comrades fell into even more persistent chaos. Even if he wanted to get up and stop the panic from spreading behind him, he could only grit his teeth and hold his breath. He knew that if he raised his voice and attracted more attention at this moment, it would be the true end.
If the magic that makes the dough ferment suddenly fails, even the most experienced baker can do nothing about it. Similarly, on the battlefield, when "formation" as the basic melody of war is completely abandoned, even battle-hardened armies will find themselves, in an instant, no different from wailing children. And in that instant, war turns into one-sided slaughter.
Vasili realized that he could only cower beneath the wrath of the volcano, helplessly witnessing the carnage unfolding around him. Every cry of anguish, every fallen body causing a slight tremor, was a fleeting opportunity for victory slipping away, and he was powerless to do anything about it.
At this moment, a severed head rolled towards him, and Vasili, who was prostrate on the ground, met the gaze of dull and clouded pupils, seeing himself reflected in the milky haze of the eyes. The trembling figure in those pupils, with curly hair drenched in blood and sweat, resembled a newborn calf, pitiful to behold. Vasili clenched his quivering jaw, reached for the broken spear lodged next to him, and expelled weakness from his knees as he slowly stood up.
There were no more cries of agony behind him. Even if his comrades were still alive, they were forever separated from him, with no way of knowing his fate or offering any assistance. Whether other parts of the army survived at this point was meaningless to him. Looking around, he saw only himself and the crawling horde before him. He took a deep breath - feeling remarkably free in this moment.
Peeling away the shell of fear, the most courageous hymns lay hidden within extreme adversity. Vasili tightened his grip on the sword hilt wrapped in horse leather, as if holding the core of a tragedy. He roared like a beast, his face mask clattering like a bear trap. The immortals also swung their rattling tails, unwilling to back down, echoing his howl.
Simultaneously, stepping, thrusting, dodging, parrying, sweeping, breaking, disarming, grappling... Vasili ceased thinking, letting go of thoughts of the past and the future, and focused solely on dancing on the boundary between life and death. In the moment of bloodshed and splattered lava, a dreamlike ecstasy captured him, whispering softly in his ear: Don't think about anything, just enjoy it, embrace the slaughter, for it is through slaughter and only through slaughter... How regrettable it would be if you survived today...
Strangely, his fierce fighting did not earn him the deserved respect. The more his fighting spirit soared, the weaker the counterattacks from the Third Legion became. To the point where Vasili felt as if he wasn't carving a bloody path through the enemy, but cleaving through rocks one after another. Even the sturdy flame-shaped greatsword couldn't bear the strain and snapped. He wielded the broken blade, gouging at the abhorrent murky yellow eyes.
"Pick up your weapons! Keep fighting!" Vasili activated the springs on the sides of his face mask, crunching the rock-like skulls with serrated iron plates, and ordered like a tyrant, "Both you and I are still standing! How can we stop fighting?" However, all around him responded with chilling footsteps. All the immortals he couldn't intercept continued moving forward, not sparing him a glance through their jaundiced eyes.
Vasili gasped for air, his hand gripping the hilt of the sword and a small fragment of the blade hanging down, pondering the reasons for being ignored. One possibility pierced his heart like an ice needle: the immortals did not identify their enemies through their eyes, but rather sensed the humanity emanating from pores through their olfaction. This included not only anger but also fear, ambition, desire... Yet Vasili only had pure rage within him. Therefore, in their eyes, he could hardly be considered human and was regarded as a comrade.
"Vasili," the boy heard a voice, clear and mournful like wind chimes, "you have fallen in love with the feeling of disillusionment." He stopped in his tracks, turned around, thinking he would see the golden figure of Capillata. Instead, standing behind him were the undiminished naga immortals.
It was in that moment of ceasing the fight that humanity, like a thawing river, refilled his body and once again stimulated the immortals' sense of smell. This time, before Vasili could reignite his fighting spirit, several spear tips pierced into his abdomen from various angles.
Curling his bleeding back, Vasili roared in anger, yet he couldn't hear his own voice - whether he couldn't make a sound or had lost his hearing. Everything went black before him, a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he could neither feel nor identify the numb fingers. In the midst of disorientation, he seemed to have a hallucination: behind the tightly arranged human wall, the immortals gathered around a thick wooden pole. And atop the erected staff, a withered and peeling monster, darker than a dragon, was spiked with iron thorns - it was a massive black serpent longer than a dragon. The serpent seemed lifeless, but its reproductive cavity squirmed, giving birth to one snake soldier after another.
Vasili fell to his knees. As his knees collided with the ground, his holy wisdom departed from him.