“Wars and battles in the past often took very different looks than what we are familiar with today. Back in the distant past they might be decided by a contest of champions, or of small groups of important people fighting against each other, with most of the casualties taken on the losing side taking place during their retreat or rout.

As the times shifted, such things were left behind, and personal prowess took a backseat to formation and tactics. General moved from leading the charges directly from the very front to the rear of the battlefield, where they relayed order from the comfort and safety of their tents.

Whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, was hard to tell.” - From a lecture by Garth Wainwrought, Dean of the Levain Institute of Higher Learning, Circa 691 FP.

“They’re breaking,” commented Reinhardt as he watched the distant battle between the Algenverrian nobles and the Warforged.

Even from the distance, with the aid of the spyglass in his hands he noticed how a smaller detachment of the better-armored Warforged wielding all sorts of weapons caused havoc at the Algenverrian frontlines. Havoc that created openings for their allies behind them. When the pikes thrust and found flesh, the formation that already wavered started to unravel in full.

Gaps were opened where the Warforged struck, and the slave soldiers pressed their advantage as they advanced closer and intensified their attacks. The smaller detachment had not retreated either, but continued wreaking havoc in the midst of the enemy formation, their various weapons flashing left and right, often incapacitating their target or directly claiming lives.

Now that Reinhardt got a better look at them, he realized that those must be the Blademasters Nestor mentioned, the elite of the elites of the slave soldiers. They acted as the shock troopers for the rest and definitely showed great skill with the handling of their weapons. That, combined with their lack of fear allowed them to damage the integrity of the Algenverrian formation, while raising their own morale and lowering the enemy morale all at the same time.

“I suggest we get back to our respective troops, Captain,” said Nestor from beside him. “I will likely order the general advance soon.”

The young nobleman shook his head for a moment as he stored his spyglass, probably at the folly and self-serving intentions of the people who had marched out to “prove” their mettle in the traditional, outdated ways. Nestor himself held no love for such traditions. He was a military commander and a leader first and foremost, and to him victory was the only worthy result, no matter the means.

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Antiquated concepts such as “Honor” and “Traditions” be damned.

Reinhardt nodded at the suggestion which was more of a command and gave Nestor a military salute before he departed. From the corner of his eye he noticed the young couple share a hug before they too made their way to their respective legions, with Griselda headed roughly the same way Reinhardt was. Nestor himself veered off a bit further to their right where the first legion awaited him.

Not ten minutes later, the command to advance was given, and the entire coalition army from Algenverr and Jonkver marched forward to the drum beats.

With his height, Reinhardt kept track of the still-ongoing battle in the middle of the plains. The two thousand or so soldiers and Warforged engaged in combat there had not noticed the advance of the armies, as occupied as they were with each other. Across the field, the rest of the Kolitscheian army looked surprised to see their opponents march forward before the proxy fight was even concluded, and their reaction was also late as a result.

The coalition army had already marched halfway to the center of the battlefield by the time their opponents reacted and marched to match them. The Kolitcheian army clearly made their soldiers march faster so as to be able to meet their opponents in the center of the plains where the terrain was more to their advantage, but they still reached there a step later than the coalition army.

It was only then that those who fought the proxy battle in the middle noticed their arrival. For a brief moment, the detachment of Algenverrian nobles and their retinue seemed hopeful, and sent flag signals to the advancing army. Calls for reinforcement and requests for permission to retreat. They had clearly bitten off more than they could chew and now wished to wash their hands off the matter.

Nestor quashed that hope of theirs right away, however, as he returned the flag signals with a stern rejection to both requests.

Before Reinhardt’s eyes, the small detachment seemed to unravel and rout not long afterwards – probably because the nobles realized that no help was forthcoming and they tried to save their hides any way possible – as the Warforged pushed even further into their formation. It was too late for those nobles to try to escape, however, as by then the coalition army’s frontline had pressed against their backs and gave them nowhere to run to.

They were sandwiched between their own allies which refused to give way so that they could escape, and the detachment of Warforged on the other side.

The area of the frontlines which pressed against the backs of those nobles and their retinues were where the First Legion was stationed, as Nestor took the matter in his own hands. There was no sympathy for the overreaching nobles to be found. Further to their left the Second Legion under Griselda would offer them no solace, while to the right the Jonkver troops simply kept to themselves and allowed Algenverr to handle their “internal” matters.

By the time the Kolitscheian army on the other side reached the front and lent their support to the small detachment of Warforged that fought the proxy battle, the nobles and their retinues found themselves literally pincered by two warring armies that paid no heed whatsoever to them. If they happened to be in the way, then they would be slaughtered, just like that.

The battle was truly joined between the two armies moments later, sixty thousand people clashing against each other on the Nedja plains, some fought for coins, some to defend their homeland, some to gain merit and honor, some because it was their purpose in life to fight. Their spears and blades struck at each other, weapons battering against shield and armor, and as fortune decrees, occasionally found flesh beneath.

In the midst of the carnage, nobody paid much heed to the nobles and their retinue who had been left out to die by their own side.