A strong desire for retribution carried throughout every warrior in the camp. Orders for revenge were given and, with it, the allowance to expend their favor recklessly. Destroy your enemies before you collapse limply, leaving yourself at the mercy of the survivors.
For many, this would be seen as a daunting order. However, for the warriors of the Armée appeared to be relishing at the deadly prospects. These prideful warriors had grated nerves and wounded egos. Taunting words shared on the battle-lines were not easily forgotten. The losing position that they found themselves could no longer be tolerated. It must be shown who the true warriors were.
So, when they arranged themselves out on the hillsides for another skirmish, the warriors of the opposition must have expected the continuance of the dance they led since they learned there was no Ferron to fear. The steel masks that obscured the faces of the Armee’s warriors would not betray that a seething motivation hid underneath.
Silence in response to taunts would not be a surprising to the warriors of the advantageous position. The lack of response only served to embolden them further.
“We’re warring with the rejects!” They sang at the top of their lungs.
Fingers gripped around their spears and mauls just a little tighter. Visions of slaughtering the enemy danced through the minds of the aggrieved. They wished to bash the teeth from their smiles, savoring as it would turn to confusion and despair.
They itched for the order that would spring them forth with reckless abandon; for it was far better to die on their feet than take these insults. Heads turned slightly to the side, ears open to hear the command that they wished for more than anything else. Feet pawed at the ground in preparation for the charge.
Valentin and his deg hung in the back row, masking their presence as much as possible. The left flank looked slightly bloated, but they hoped that the commander didn’t notice new bodies hidden inside.
He looked to either side of himself. His deg, while not present during the previous battles, sought their own type of retribution. When he spoke to them earlier that morning, he spoke of redemption. Success here would help further obscure the failings of the past. They could not afford to think of yesterday and purge all memory of it from their minds entirely.
As far as Valentin could tell, it had succeeded. He watched his warriors enter their tent with faces hardened by determination. His new Vice Deggan, Caera and Médéric, stood to either side of him. Supreme focus could be seen in their tense postures.
The enemy lines began to step forwards with a measured pace, ready to have this farcical battle over with. One hundred paces separated them. Ninety. Eighty. Seventy. Sixty.
“Kill them all!” Durant bellowed from atop his horse as he led his deg of mounted warriors around the right side.
Feet pounded forwards with bloody purpose. Sparks lit up from their boots as they erupted towards the enemy lines with synchronized steps. Those unaware opponents waiting in the place where they struck had little time to react. Many had bodies behind them and beside them; containing them to the spot they stood. Their only option was to try to press forwards with less momentum.
A great collision occurred somewhere in between where the two lines started. An ear shattering boom of metallic bodies clashing into each other ripped through the tranquil morning. Groans and screams and squelching carried through the still air.
Valentin’s deg stopped just short of the fighting. They dug their feet into the soil and pivoted to the left to wrap around the flank. Cathmor and Kerwin, the big-bodied leaders of the maneuver, immediately met resistance of the enemy that moved to do the same. Zoe, Marotte, Guain, and Rou piled into the grinding of flesh.
“Push them back!” Caera commanded as it was her turn to throw her weight into the clash. Her spread thrusted confidently over Zoe’s shoulder and skewered the body of whoever stood on the other side.
“We will move to wrap further, Deggan Valentin,” Médéric informed his leader with a slightly empowered voice. “Good luck to you.”
Valentin nodded, preparing to add his own contributions to the battle while his new vice deggan saw to tending to the operations of his warriors. His feet also began sparking as he prepared to launch himself forwards, albeit, in a more roundabout way than the first wave.
Favor burst from every muscle in his feet, legs, and midsection as he propelled himself skyward. Typically, it was a foolish maneuver as any attentive javelin could pierce him more easily while airborne. Fortunately, the enemy lacked the killer’s mindset and was not able to react in time. Their horsemen had already moved to intercept Durant. The reserve lines had already moved in to support their dented front.
As such, Valentin got to see heads turn up to watch him glide over their position and land behind them. He wasted no time from his new flanking position and swiped across as many bodies as he could with an empowered swipe.
The blade of Endless Hunger bit into the midsection of the first warrior, scything deep into the flesh and clipping the spine. They toppled into the warrior to their left, knocking them off balance. Valentin pulled his halberd tip backwards and plunged it into the back of the knee and then again into their exposed next.
The next warrior tried to turn to look towards the threat behind them, but, they were immediately slain by the enemy to the front. Valentin watched their eyes dart towards the weapon before they dimmed.
With that, a nice hole in the line was punctured. The warriors of the Armée stepped over the corpses and moved to outnumber the enemies to their left and right. Valentin moved to join them and wreak quick and decisive havoc to the rest of the combatants. With warriors like Barth and Hubert leading the way with unfettered power, he had confidence that things were already a success.
As Valentin stepped to push rightwards, he saw a flash of metal aim directly at him. He took a wide, inefficient step to his side to avoid the attack. An unfortunate ally was brained in his stead. Their skull exploded in a burst of viscera and teeth before their body dropped lifelessly to the ground.
A warrior that Valentin presumed to be the enemy war leader turned to face him. Well maintained chain mail was covered with an orange and black checkered tabard and a full helmet. They wielded twin maces and pointed own of them in his direction.
Valentin lowered his stance. This was not an unfortunate development; an opportunity to end things in one fell swoop was handed to him. He moved his halberd In front of him and watched his opponent intently, looking for any clue for their first move.
They moved at the same time, both understanding the power of initiative. Their empowered attacks were effortlessly blocked by the other. A loud clang of metal upon metal screeched into their ears. They ended up on opposite sides of each other. Five paces was all that separated each army’s most powerful deterrent.
Valentin stepped forwards and spring forwards a thunderous stab in their direction. Sparks flew out of the eyes of the war leader as they stepped to the side just enough to avoid the attack. The tip slid across the material of the tabard to only find empty air.
The war leader stepped forwards and brought their weapons in a collision course with Valentin’s left side. He let his halberd go slack in his hand as he balled his gloved fist and swung it into the enemy’s abdomen. The blow thudded dully into the undeterred enemy. Mauls came at Valentin with ferocity. He had to flick up the bottom of his halberd to intercept as he took a strong step to the side, dodging the attack entirely.
Showcasing why they were the weapon reserved to beat their enemies into check, the war leader spring with another shocking burst. Another empowered blow. Another empowered dodge. Another empowered step. Their power reserves were close to inexhaustible compared to average Stormblood and they moved around the battlefield like a dervish of metal.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Valentin began to mix in feints with his favor. He attacked with normal well-trained strikes in the midst of his empowered onslaught in an attempt to disrupt his opponent’s impeccable timing. Naturally, his opponent possessed far more experience than he did. They immediately picked up on the mind games and started to employ their own, turning the duel into a stuttering sequence of attacks and dodges.
He made a difficult face. With his current restrained output, he would not be able to overcome this opponent. Certainly, if he utilized his full potential, he could slay them. While satisfying, he had no intention of showcasing his true potential until a more meaningful opportunity.
Instead, he decided that he would drag the fight out while he relied on the momentum he already created to decide the battle. He focused on creating space from his adversary and offered probing strikes.
They served as nothing more than annoyances for the enemy war leader. The attacks, while vicious, were not of a higher quality than the moves that he already showcased. The only thing that changed was that the war leader was now chasing Valentin across the hills while constantly ducking from long range attacks. Both were now far enough away from the main clash that they could no longer interfere or properly appraise the current state. However, his enemy possessed more urgency than he did.
It was better training for defensive prowess that Valentin could ever hope for. Nobody could ever sustain themselves long enough to offer him a prolonged challenge. And it appeared he would be continually pressed as the enemy warrior seemed as fresh as they were when they started.
Several minutes had already passed at heightened ability. Their mix-ups grew cleverer as the duel continued. The adversary’s dual wielding preference allowed them to attack at full power with one arm while attacking at a regular speed with another, creating a wicked combination that tested Valentin’s reactions.
Valentin dodged and blocked each attack with infuriating minimalism. Air movements from the passing weapons kissed his body with promises of death if he were to ever falter. While his defense was impeccable, the trade-off was that he had not properly pressured his opponent in a couple minutes. The attacks that he could utilize were not with optimal footwork. His legs moved in incongruent defensiveness, leaving his offense ineffective.
A large boom escaped the war leader’s feet. They began to lower themselves to pursue a leg strike. As Valentin moved to anticipate the attack, the war leader used their favor to spring back to regular height. They hit their front mace with an empowered swing from their back mace, causing the attack to have greater speed than Valentin had been exposed to so far.
He only just barely managed to get his halberd around in time to avoid having his bones powdered by the attack. A strong spike of pain fired through his arm, searing his shoulder and numbing his fingers.
Valentin grimaced but refused to be the only one to receive damage in the exchange. His right leg swung around with, perhaps, more speed than he showcased to this point. The tip of his boot connected solidly with the ankle of his opponent’s planted foot.
Both were bruised and breathing heavily. Valentin’s left arm felt like it was full of needles while the enemy war leader hobbled on one good leg.
The war leader’s eyes flicked over in the direction of the battlefield. While Valentin prepared to take advantage of the lapse in focus, his enemy raised their hands up and whistled at a sharp tone that made Valentin flinch in surprise.
“We surrender and will retreat,” a feminine voice emanated from under the helmet. “Contact your employer and prepare you camp for a formal signing of a treaty. As goodwill for my proclamation, I will be your prisoner.”
Respecting the creed of warbands, Valentin nodded in acknowledgement of the surrender. A relieved exhalation left his mouth that he had won the battle. He turned towards the battlefield and cupped his hands around his mouth. A glow covered his throat and tongue as he delivered the important information over the hills.
“They’ve surrendered!” Valentin called out. “Cease attacks immediately!”
He could hear the whooping and screaming from his, relatively, distant position. While bloodthirsty, mercenaries of this caliber had the good graces to know when the battle was over and how to properly behave. The creed of the mercenary was simple and observed for a good reason. What was their obligation today could be what saves them tomorrow.
The sound of hooves heralded Durant’s arrival before his plumed helmet crested into vision. Riders ordered their steeds to circle around the war leader, preventing any potential for escape. Dust kicked up from hooves upon dry soil as the horsemen came to a stop.
Durant did not lower himself from his horse. Instead he positioned his frame to block Ortus’ light a cast shadow over the captive war leader. While their body language seemed unimpressed by the display, they did not protest. They tossed both of their maces towards Durant’s horse, signifying their formal surrender.
“We accept your surrender, War Leader Placite Encantel,” Durant replied with a smugness born of days of inferiority. “If you had respected me from the beginning, it would not have come to this.”
“Yet, in the end, I was still correct,” Placite replied venomously. “You could not win without your father, so you brought this monster instead. Did you send a little home begging for help?”
“Enough from you!” Durant ordered. “Just because I will not kill you does not mean I will be cordial in response to disrespect. And you, Valentin, we have things well at hand here, I do not require your presence any longer.”
Valentin gave a small bow and departed from the area, a scowl appearing on his face as soon as he left their eyesight. How quickly Durant turned on his allies once he obtained what he needed. His pride too frail to ignore the nipping words of the defeated. He was glad that he would be serving the same front as Aunt Yvonne. Perhaps, she would be the one to beat some sense into him.
Lower on the hill, bodies were being piled by the warriors of the Armée. Both ally and enemy were stripped of their armor and stacked atop the dry brush. Kindling from the camp would need to be collected before their entrapped souls would find peace.
Meanwhile, the rest of the warriors disarmed the surrendering enemy and corralled them into a singular place. Their defeated horsemen were the only ones permitted to flee the area to collect their employer. Dust kicked up behind their frantic hooves as they raced off as quickly as they could.
Valentin spotted his deg finishing their own portion of the work. The still usable armor removed from the fallen were organized neatly into their various components. Chainmail and studded hauberks were laid out alongside vambraces and chausses. All that were too damaged for immediate use were set aside in a separate pile.
“I see that all of you are in one piece,” Valentin commented.
A wave of smiles flashed in response and Valentin finally felt relief that the worst of Aoire’s encounter had passed them. All appeared unscathed and buzzed with exuberance over the relatively simple battle. Even Kerwin managed to crack a tiny grin.
“Truthfully, Deggan Valentin,” Caera said in a low voice as she looked around for stray listeners. “The enemies were not of great difficulty. I am not sure how so much trouble was had to require our support.”
“It shows that all of you have grown much stronger and that you are a suitable commander, Caera,” Valentin complimented as he moved closer to his new second in command. Then, he leaned forwards and whispered for her ears alone. “Many of these people will be serving with us for the foreseeable future. I advise that you keep such words buried in your mouth next time.”
Caera silently nodded, sufficiently cowed by Valentin’s words. Unlike the more intuitive Médéric, Caera had much learning to do before she possessed a suitable strategic mind. She lacked the knowledge and experience to appreciate their situation and her braggadocios ways would only lead to trouble if not addressed immediately.
Valentin’s attention then shifted towards Barth who stood around thirty paces away. Excusing himself from this deg with a small wave, he moved in a direct path towards the scarred deggan.
Barth had grown out a full beard since Valentin first met him. A handful of gray hairs sprinkled into the brown mass, revealing the warrior’s rising age. New runes of protection were tattooed to the temple above his side burn.
His most impressive addition was his great sword. Taller than Valentin was during his twelfth Killicia, the solid slab of sharpened steel was patterned with impressive runes, showing the great cost that was invested into it. Two mace-sized protrusions made the pommel for the potential for even more devastating half-sword attacks when the need arose. It was by no means a pretty blade, but it was as brutal as it was simple.
“When did you get such a sword, Deggan Barth?” Valentin asked his comrade.
“Last Faur,” Barth answered without turning to face Valentin. “Cost me almost three cycles worth of campaigning to fund. Once we fight in larger scale battles, this blade will truly shine and give me the fame that I deserve. These small skirmishes have not been suitable to show its true power.”
Valentin was about to speak a response but restrained himself once he heard Barth sigh a frustrated sigh. The deggan spat into the ground and made a displeased face.
“We came here with sixty-two and we will leave with forty-eight,” Barth informed with a voice ripe with derision. “Fourteen capable bodies that could affect the course of next cycle’s war, lost. For what? A marble contract.”
“It is next cycle’s war why I have come to speak with you,” Valentin replied. “I wished to talk to you about our future partnership.”
Barth raised his hand to deny the coming words. His eyes were still directed forwards, towards the bodies that the carnage robbed of life. Valentin respectfully took a step away from the deggan, recognizing that he was not in the proper mood for a beneficial discussion.
“I have heard from Hubert that we are to work together to pacify the North,” Barth stated. “It is no secret that you and Hubert’s relationship is always strained. Our duel is even less of a secret. When we camp outside of Sarcinel, there is a tavern that Dacin will take you to. There, we will have a conversation free from the stray ears of others. The look in your eyes tell me such a place will be required for you to speak without restraint.”
“Thank you for the consideration,” Valentin said with a bow. “I will spare my words for that day.”
“Good, now enjoy our supposed triumph.”