The attack started without warning.
No fanfare, no arrogant bastard declaring the beginning of hostilities, and no surrenders were solicited.
Suddenly, dozens of tents were sent flying by powerful gusts of winds in the dead of night. Campfires were extinguished as people flew through the air like discarded dolls, all before they landed on the ground with their bodies broken beyond measure. Some soldiers outside of the initially affected range were killed by weapons or debris coincidentally landing on them as they slept in their own tents. The ground was upturned, spreading dust in the air that served as a makeshift smokescreen—which caused even more confusion.
And then armored knights broke through the mist of sand and began to harvest dozens of lives with every swing. Their formation was like a spear's head, penetrating deeply into the imperial army's campsite as if nothing stood in their way.
'Merciful god...'
Reivan was running with about a hundred knights from House Mercer, hidden in the middle of the formation with little to do because those at the front killed everything. Through the slats of his visor, his eyes beheld the sheer destruction that "mere mortals" could wreak. Throughout their journey here, he'd eaten with these knights and chatted with some too. He knew they were good people. Yet here, on this battlefield, they stepped on those weaker than them and cut through their enemies without pause.
It was clear that Transcendents were unconditionally the most proficient destroyers, but mortals weren't to be underestimated.
Not that Senior-grade Knights fit the mold of "mortal" very well. They were superhumans that normal people wouldn't stand a chance against, after all.
The formation of knights continued to dig into the camps, slaying hundreds of people by the second. Most of the mangled corpses around them likely belonged to peasant levies—ordinary imperial citizens conscripted to war with not a single cent of pay except for the right to pillage and keep whatever they get their hands on. These people were so weak they may as well be grass, unable to resist being trampled under the boots of their betters. They never asked for this war, yet they were going to be the majority of deaths in it.
He knew he should feel pity for them, but then Reivan remembered that these levies were fresh from conquering Northern Arkhan—they had likely raped the lands and its people on their way here. Along the scattered tents were loot they probably got from the campaign thus far too.
'There's still no response. It's good that we picked this time to strike. Truly, veterans know their shit.'
On the suggestion of House Mercer's representative, the knights had attacked at around midnight because that was apparently one of the best times to do so—not so early in the night that the guards would still be fresh, but not too close to dawn either, which meant the troops would have gotten a good amount of rest. At this hour, however, a lot of sentries would have been dozing off from the monotony while most soldiers were still a bit fatigued from the march.
Not only that, but just a cursory scouting trip allowed Sir Gregory Mercer to pinpoint the optimal spot to begin the attack—one least likely to have a lot of Imperial Vanguards nearby, and was far away from where the army kept their supplies. That was why the Argonians still hadn't mustered a significant resistance three minutes into the attack.
'Three minutes may not sound like a lot, but that's way too long for a combatant on a similar physical level to Senior Knights. They should have gathered and charged us by now.'
Just as he thought so, those at the front of their formation signaled a retreat as they backed off.
Reivan's eyes squinted as he examined a group of around twelve hundred hastily-dressed warriors charging in his direction—well, the knight formation's direction, anyway. A cursory use of [Supreme Insight] on ten of them revealed that most of them were on the same level as Junior-grade knights, with some Senior-grade individuals mixed in. Sadly, he couldn't check more than a thousand people's statuses in an instant, so he would just have to make do with what he found.
After sharing this information through the dream crystals that they all had, they began their plan's second step. Immediately, the formation shifted to an organized retreat.
The knights were separated into groups of thirty or so people.
Group One, the frontliners, would exchange places with Group Two, giving the former a chance to rest as they retreated. Group Three at the very back would stand their ground as they began lobbing ranged attacks at the incoming enemy forces. Eventually, Groups One and Two would pass, handing over rearguard duties to Group Three, who would then start a slowed retreat while continuing to use ranged attacks when they had the chance.
From there, it was just a matter of cycling the groups, switching who fought at the front so that none of the groups ever got bogged down for too long.
It was a military maneuver that was hard to pull off, but these were knights from House Mercer. Majority of them had the [Wind] attribute, so they were obviously fast when they wanted to. The risks to them were low because if they were really in danger, they could just leave the enemy in the dust with unmatched speed.
That said, instead of retreating at full speed, the knights intentionally slowed down to give the other side some "hope" to catch up. They never did, of course, one-sidedly suffering from arrows and javelin throws while just close enough to catch the knights by the coattails.
Reivan kept up without much trouble, making sure not to "pull the trigger" preemptively. He had initially been part of Group Two, so now that their strategy reached the next step, he was part of the group closest to the imperial forces chasing them down. Pretty much, he'd be one of the first people to enter combat if it ever happened any time soon.
That also meant that the imperial forces chasing him down were within range of everything he could dish out. Should the chasing troops suffer too many casualties, however, they might get too scared to continue the pursuit—and that wasn't a good thing for him and the other knights. They wanted to be chased, after all.
But in the thick of battle, Reivan found it surprisingly difficult to, well, do nothing. There were dozens of easy kills just behind him. With the enemy's momentum, their reactions would be slowed if he suddenly turned around and launched something at them. Such thoughts occupied his mind and his knightly predilection to capitalize on all openings was screaming at him to do so.
Fortunately, he wasn't some thoughtless beast that couldn't control himself. He did carelessly throw some light attacks, intentionally missing most of them to give off the impression that he was a panicked rat fleeing from a hungry cat.
'Oh, they're really gunning for us, huh!'
There was blood in the eyes of the imperial warriors chasing Reivan and the others down. It was clear that, given the opportunity, these Argonians would rip any knight they got their hands on to shreds. Was it because their pride got wounded? Or did all of them know someone from the tens of thousands of people their group of one hundred killed in under four minutes?
Either way, the empire's pursuit force obediently trailed behind them. Some, he noticed, had realized that even though they were still technically in the campsite, they were in the ruined portion of it—meaning there were fewer allies. These sharp people tried to alert the others but the ones at the front continued the pursuit like rabid dogs. Then, what seemed like a ball of white light shot into the sky from the pursuit force before exploding in a shower of sparks.
'A signal, huh?'
That must have been to alert any reinforcements of the current location, hinting at how they were all being led away.
Reivan clicked his tongue, snuffing out the sparks of light with an orb of shadows that swallowed it whole. Unfortunately, the little fireworks show must have still been seen, so he told Sir Xander through their dream crystals to begin the attack on the enemy supplies.
Not even a second later, a series of explosions echoed out in the distance as pillars of flame rose, banishing the darkness of the night with their scalding radiance.
'That outta occupy them for a while. Reinforcements to the ones chasing us will be delayed.'
And just in time too, because it was now time for Step 3 in their strategy.
Reivan activated all of his physical buffs other than [Beast Gate], immediately turning around to attack their pursuers. Sixteen blades appeared around him and shot through the air to plant themselves in an Imperial Vanguard's body. He made sure to aim for the weakest opponents to remove them as variables early, allowing him and the other knights to focus on the actual threats among the group.
Meanwhile, Reivan caught a Senior-grade threat with their proverbial pants down. Clearly, the Argonian warrior was surprised that the "prey" they'd been chasing was now baring fangs. Though the Argonian reacted, it was too late and the edge of Reivan's sword was moments away from the man's neck. And at that moment, their gazes met.
Burnt brown skin typical for those who worked under the sun, an even distribution of muscles born from decades of hard work, and brilliant green eyes filled with despair. If Qi hadn't muddied the waters so much, the imperial would have looked the same age as Rodin, Reivan's father.
Yet, Reivan's blade didn't stop as it traced a merciless line through the man's neck before sending the corpse flying back with a pulse of his willpower. And a moment later, a ghastly phantom burst out of the body and charged at him before being bisected by a nearby knight who'd just slain their own opponent.
"Freaking espers..." Reivan muttered from behind his helmet as he transformed into a bolt of lightning, picking off foes who were occupied with fights against other knights.
Was it cowardly to stab one's enemies in the back? No, it was practical. A distracted adversary cannot take you down with them, after all. It was easy work.
Easy enough that he had leeway to use [Supreme Insight] on more people. He wasn't specifically searching for the strong or the weak.
Rather, their MIght wasn't relevant—Reivan was searching for any espers. Those bastards were creatures one had to kill twice unless the entire body was evaporated in the initial death. Even if one was watching out for it, the battlefield was a collection of chaos; opportunities to catch people off guard were guaranteed. He would be fine, but the knights were a different matter because they wouldn't know the person they killed was possessed until the esper came out and attacked them.
Just as he thought so, battle cries resounded from the left and right of the pursuit force, announcing the arrival of the warbeasts.
Even with the enemy forces essentially pincered from three sides, that did not suddenly solve the sheer numbers disadvantage; it was still 200 or so knights versus more than 1000 Imperial Vanguards. A lot of the Argonians were taken out by ranged harassment during the retreat, but the disparity was still a glaring fact.
'Not that we're at risk or anything...'
The consensus when dealing with knights against other forces was to outnumber them ten to one. So in a dogfight, the kingdom actually had the advantage. Not to mention how every knight present was a senior knight while most of the enemy were junior-grade knights or even lower.
That said, the current battle wasn't one where the two sides would throw themselves at each other until one side collapsed.
If the empire's forces decided to throw everything they had into a retreat, then most of them were likely to escape.
'That's why we have to take out as much as we can right now!'
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Reivan charged into the enemy. He was a storm of death unleashed, slaying warrior after warrior and accompanied by flying swords that could immediately take out anyone who wasn't paying attention by attacking from impossible angles or blind spots. At some point, covered in blood as the beating of his heart drummed in his ears, he noticed one abnormality.
In this execution field, where every knight was expected to handle ten enemies at once if they had to, one Argonian was valiantly battling against six warbeasts on his own. Unlike some of the other Imperial Vanguards who had rushed here without putting on all of their equipment, this one was completely decked out in full plate. A crimson tabard and cape adorned with golden edges decorated the heroic warrior as he calmly wielded a sword and shield against his beastly adversaries.
'Whoa. Who's that...?'
Reivan quickly checked the man and found nothing particularly impressive. The man was a Half-Ascendant who had reached the limit of mortal potential, yes. But the warrior didn't have any affinities or special abilities, though he did have a maxed out [Malevolence] adding a few hundred to his basic physical combat prowess.
'I mean, sure. The warbeasts haven't reached their physical growth limits yet, but they've already passed what humans can achieve. Plus the boon from soul armaments, that means any one of these six surpasses him in pure Might.'
Yet, this one warrior was holding his own against six warbeasts with sheer skill.
"Rein," the familiar voice of his wife brought him out of his musings. She had been watching his back all this time, letting him really run loose on the battlefield without worry. Now, she spoke to him with a warning tone. "Don't do anything stupid."
"What?" He frowned from within his helmet. "I haven't even done anything."
"I know you want to fight that guy on your own."
Reivan clicked his tongue quietly. That was what he was thinking. "Can you blame me though?"
Though he hadn't been watching the fight for that long, the Argonian's skill was clear for all to see. All of the other Argonians in this area had already been killed or fled—only this one remained. To top it off, the warrior's movements remained practical and measured, as if being completely surrounded by knights wasn't enough to faze him.
Reivan couldn't quite place it, but he could feel something intangible roiling off of the Argonian. Like an aura that would burn him if he came close.
'Is this what Argonians call a hero...?'
The empire really liked to talk about them—great men born in hard times who were just different from the others. Those who were tested by fate and came out stronger for it. They didn't come around all the time, but every single one was allegedly destined for greatness or something. And it seemed Reivan may have perhaps stumbled into one.
If so, then wouldn't he be an idiot to waste this chance to test himself?
Looking around, Reivan noted that the battle lines had already moved on without him, and only Argonian corpses adorned the ground. The knights who passed by looked at the hero fighting six warbeasts and wrote the guy off as a dead man, charging past in favor of finding other targets.
Only Reivan and Helen stopped to watch the battle—which sounded bad because they were essentially slacking off, but by now, the Argonians pursuing them had been routed. Most had given up on the fight and fled instead, which meant that it was now the knights' turn to pursue the fleeing Argonians and kill as much as possible before retreating for real.
With the craven having made their move, the hero fighting alone stood out even more.
Finally, Reivan couldn't resist his urges. He stepped up and signaled for the six warbeasts to back off. The Argonian, in response, just stood at the ready, steamy breaths rhythmically escaping his helm.
Reverse summoning his own helm, Reivan smiled at the warrior as he spoke in Argonian—the language he'd just learned through a pearl of wisdom. "What is your name, Hero?"
Of course, he already knew what the Argonian's name was, but still asked for the sake of it.
After some hesitation, a baritone voice answered back in muffled gasps. "My name... is Goriagos. Son of Sogos. And I... I am no hero."
"You could have fooled me." Reivan grinned before stabbing his sword into the ground. Then he gestured at the surroundings that had grown quiet when most of the knights left to hunt down the fleeing Argonians. "As you can see, you are now alone."
"Indeed."
"If things continue, you will die."
"I will."
"Then why not work for me instead? Use your strength to fight for the winning side."
Goriagos didn't even hesitate. "I refuse."
"Mhm. I can't say that I expected you to answer in any other way." Reivan pulled his sword out and pointed it at the lone warrior. "Then on this day, you will die here."
"Certainly." The hero nodded, falling into a fighting stance with his sword and shield. "But I will not go quietly into the night."
"Wouldn't have wanted anything less."
Reivan laughed and re-summoned his helm. Just as he was about to begin the fight, he sensed his wife's glare—even when she was wearing a helm too. With a glance behind him, he could already sense the small lecture she wanted to subject him to later. "It would shame us all if we needed six people to kill one guy, no?"
Helen didn't move but he could somehow tell that she had just rolled her eyes just from the way she crossed her arms. "Just be careful."
Chuckling, Reivan turned back to the hero. "Sorry about that. In any case, I now give you a shot at dying together with one of Aizen's princes. Be glad."
Goriagos' head momentarily turned to the others watching them before focusing on Reivan again. "A duel?"
"Exactly. Nobody will interrupt until one of us is dead."
"So it is true that knights are honorable. It is a good thing to know before I am reunited with my ancestors."
Reivan didn't really know what else to say to that, so instead of coming up with a response, he just launched all sixteen of his flying swords at the guy while taking a step back. Because who needed words when you had intent-controlled weapons that could end all arguments for you? At the same time, he wondered how Goriagos would react to an attack from all sides. Sure, the shield would cover a lot, but there were a lot of ways around that. It would be a shame if the fight he got so excited for ended too easily.
A few moments later, Reivan was shocked to discover that the man could parry the swords in a way that they were redirected to each other. On top of using his shield to block, he also used Reivan's attacks to neutralize his other attacks.
It was in that way that the hero didn't suffer a single wound.
'Okay, this guy's good. Really good. Helen and Gwen can do that too, but that's also because they fight me so often.'
Unfortunately, physical attacks weren't the only way he could use his flying swords.
While four of them continued the offensive, the other twelve rapidly revolved in a twenty-meter radius around Goriagos while constantly releasing a frigid white mist that also obscured vision. Reivan then stomped on the ground as jet-black darkness spread out from his soles, spreading outward. Ghostly hands of darkness rose up to grab at the Argonia's legs or limbs, simultaneously sapping the man of both stamina and mana.
The hero's movements immediately became sluggish, making it hard to dodge the swords and the incessant interference of the black hands. He gradually started letting some of the attacks through, his armor ridden with various holes and dents. On top of that, parts of his armor that the dark hands made contact with were melting off, exposing his bronze flesh to further corrosion.
Piling on the pressure, Reivan calmly summoned a bow and started harassing the hero with arrows—which were easy to swat out of the air or evade for someone of the hero's caliber, but still added yet another factor to consider in the midst of battle.
Perhaps in desperation or a misguided bout of inspiration, Goriagos charged out with all his might, trying to destroy or at least disable one of the blades revolving around him. The swords were revolving so fast that a single swing of the man's sword ended up hitting six swords before Reivan could stop the others.
But while this temporarily disabled six swords and allowed the hero to escape the frigid white mist, the man's actions had the unfortunate consequence of leaving him open to attack from the other swords. Reivan naturally wouldn't let such an opening go unpunished, so Goriagos was promptly impaled by three of the blades, each one finding a different spot on his torso.
'Bad idea.'
Suddenly, the swords skewering Goriagos started to furiously produce white mist. The man groaned for the first time in the battle as his wounds started to frost over. His knees buckled and he dropped his sword in favor of trying to pull the swords out.
But even when he succeeded, the other flying swords turned the hero into a metal porcupine.
'That's game over, I guess.'
Reivan couldn't help but sigh. Truly, it was really difficult for someone without an elemental attribute to face against someone who did. Elementalism just provided too big of an advantage—which really made Reivan wonder how the Sword Star got so strong without one.
Suddenly, Goriagos kicked off the ground and pulled back his shield arm with the apparent intention of beating Reivan with it. The man had erupted with so much force that the distance had instantly closed. It was almost as if all of the hero's remaining life force was being used for one last suicidal attack.
But despite falling into thought, Reivan hadn't let his mind wander away from the battle completely. Even if he'd practically won, a fight was never over until you were back home in your nice warm bed—every knight knew this.
Reivan's bow vanished and transformed into a large shield and a mace. He raised the latter to protect against Goriagos' shield bash before pivoting off his back foot to strike the Argonian's side with the mace. There was a loud crunch as the familiar feeling of crushing steel and bones traveled through his arm. Goriagos groaned and his bare hand reached for Reivan's neck.
But Reivan suddenly erupted with increased strength and speed when he finally activated [Beast Gate]. He'd been fighting without it all this time so he could use it as a trump card to catch someone off-guard.
Just like now. With a casual kick, Goriagos was sent sailing through the air like a ragdoll.
The hero spun mid-air and landed on his feet, barely managing to remain standing as blood spilled out of the slats on his helm.
"Pick it up. I'll let you die with a weapon in hand." Reivan gestured at the hero's sword, fallen by the Argonian's feet. He'd coincidentally launched his opponent close to their weapon, which wasn't exactly ideal but Reivan decided to act like it was intentional.
Unfortunately, his kindness wasn't appreciated.
"Don't look down on me!" Goriagos' roar shook the air. The man's rage could be felt clearly just from that, but the hero still picked up the fallen weapon before charging with his shield primed in front of him, seemingly intending to ram into Reivan.
With a quick step to the side, he let the berserk Argonian pass by before extending his foot a bit forward, causing the man to trip. Just as he was about to strike the falling Argonian, Goriagos pivoted mid-air and almost kicked Reivan's face in if the prince hadn't transformed into lightning in time to avoid it.
'Fuck, he almost got me with that one.'
Of course, he wouldn't have died from it but it would have been an unnecessary injury.
"Aren't you a little too sturdy?" Reivan complained out loud as he waved his hand. Immediately, all of the swords skewering Goriagos were pulled out, causing a prodigious amount of blood to leak out of the holes. "A dozen swords. A dozen swords penetrated you, you know? Normal people die from that."
With a sigh, Reivan switched his mace and shield for a two-handed longsword—his most familiar weapon. Then he stepped toward the hero, who had once again fallen to his knees. This seemed like a bad idea, but he'd been draining the guy of mana and stamina all this time—and just now, he realized there was nothing left to drain.
The hero was fully spent now.
Reivan grabbed the kneeling man by the helm and yanked it off, finding the perfectly ordinary face of a man who seemed to be in his sixties. Of course, he knew that Goriagos was actually 178 years old, proving, even more, how wonky age estimations were in a world where aging could be slowed so much. Much like the first Argonian he killed in this battle, Goriagos had the brown skin of someone who spent a lot of time laboring under the sun and brilliant green eyes.
"Nice try." Reivan rested his sword on his right shoulder, engraving the face of the first hero he would slay into his memory. Then, without fanfare or warning, he swung his sword.
'Hm?'
Suddenly, his intuition screamed danger. He didn't know what it was, but something had just burst out of the ground behind him and was aiming to kill him in one fell stroke. His mana instinctively roiled in preparation to transform into lightning or a cloud of dark mist, but then he stopped himself.
Knights were trained to value the instincts they had honed, letting them control their bodies so their minds were free to think. And the logic in Reivan's head made him silence his instincts to ignore the new threat.
Reivan's sword drew a perfect arc through the air, instantly beheading Goriagos. Just before the head slipped off, he took it by the man's hair and threw it into his spatial ring. Goriagos was likely someone famous, so the man's head could be used to demoralize the Argonian forces. When he looked back, he found no monster or sinister threat waiting.
Instead, it was his wife.
"It was an esper," Helen said nonchalantly. "It suddenly came out of the ground."
"Yeah. Thanks, by the way." Reivan grinned, punching her arm lightly. "Also, fuck these espers. Now I'll have to pay attention to the floor every time I fight?"
"You should probably bring Gwen along personally."
There was, indeed, a lot of sense in that. Gwen's future vision pretty much nullified ambushes after all. Her [Earth] attribute might be of help too.
In any case, Goriagos' death signaled the end of their little skirmish. Reivan took out his dream crystal and received the good news that Sir Xander got out safely after crippling the army's supplies. Meanwhile, there were no casualties among the two hundred knights he'd brought with him other than a few wounds and bruises—which were not injuries that his pills couldn't fix.
The pursuing force, originally numbering twelve hundred, was devasted. According to Gwen, only three hundred survived and managed to escape. It was a much better result than they initially expected, so everyone but the Argonians were happy with this.
"Right." Reivan sighed, unconsciously easing up. "Let's retreat. For real, this time."
----------------------------------------
Upon Sir Gregory's suggestion, the knights performed yet another attack just two hours after the first one.
Even though people were a lot more on guard compared to the initial assault, very few people actually expected another surprise attack right after suffering one. Right after escaping a bear in the woods, you wouldn't expect to get attacked by another one just a few minutes later, right? It was the same with most calamities and tragedies.
That was what made it so great to incorporate that bit of human nature in their ambush patterns. It was like kicking someone down just when they were about to get up. What's more, the medicine Reivan produced could allow the knights to fight without caring for minor injuries.
And though the Beast King's Ichor that he used so extensively couldn't restore the stamina of humans outright, it could do that to fellow warbeasts. Because of that, the Terracatta Knights fiercely threw themselves into battle while knowing that as long as they stayed alive by the end of the battle, their wounds would be healed and their stamina restored to full. They were responsible for killing most of the imperial elites that Samsara's forces encountered.
Of course, the empire's leadership wasn't foolish enough to let their elites chase the knights too far ever again. But this created a situation where knights could simply remain at range and harass the empire's forces with arrow volleys or elemental attacks. This, ironically, resulted in more casualties than if they chased the knights all the way.
In the end, the Argonian army was attacked a total of six times before the sun fully rose and they lost 130,000 forces of assorted strength in just the first day.