Our honor is lost. Bertruda thought, taking an incoming shot on her spear.
All around her, the defenders have formed a circle, keeping civilians inside. The mighty shields vibrated, enduring the never-ending onslaught coming from hundreds of weapons. She and her troops arrived at a minor settlement on the border, striving to help with the evacuation of the Order’s assets and people. What they came face-to-face with was a massacre.
The Gilded Horde moved like raging water, never slowing down their advance. Dozens of various settlements came under fire, and with communications jammed, the Provincial Army found itself unable to react in time. Hundreds of armored vehicles ended up being captured by the enemies or destroyed within hangars. Not lacking in dedication but lacking in firepower, the state’s soldiers were cut down in the street or downed by the artillery fire from afar.
Villages and hamlets fell in an instant, unable to so much as phone the capital. Remote factories and army bases were leveled by superior firepower, leaving just crippled people dying beneath tons of rubble. Hidden bunkers were eliminated before they could use their deadly anti-infantry missiles. With pin-point precision, moving siege pieces had leveled the defenses of the larger settlements, punching entire holes in walled settlements for the rest of the Horde to pour in.
There could only be one answer to all this. Betrayal. Bertruda wasn’t as good a leader as either Camelia, First, or Leonidas. But she was the first to voice her fears over the communication network, and the other Sword Saints agreed with her assessment. The Gilded Horde moved in too fast and struck too well for all of this to be a mere coincidence. First had given his order. Preserve the future at all costs.
Knight Academy, a place where the younger generation was busy studying the arts of war and politics, came under artillery fire. Praise be to the Spirits, the walls were tough enough to endure this hellish hail, but soon after units of the Provincial Army were overwhelmed, the horde poured into the settlement. Instructors and teachers both gave their lives, making a barricade out of corpses before the school doors, yet the enemy numbers were too great.
This is when Bertruda and Macarius Voidrunner arrive, bringing righteous fury upon the misbegotten curs. They split their forces, facing the enemy forces in several districts, while sages were preparing for the last steps of a trap. Although Bertruda had originally come to save just her own people, she and her soldiers ended up dragging everyone with them, retreating to the north in an orderly fashion. Be it normie, malformed, or orais, all were taken. The survivors from the Provincial Army also joined them, bravely fighting side by side against overwhelming odds.
The defenders moved across the main street, wielding their shields with both paws. Shell after shell came upon them, but linked together, the force-fields of their shields endured, cracking slightly when metal bounced off them. Foot soldiers lurked in the buildings, finding the remaining civilians and dragging them to safety. In thick alleys, her knights waited, sallying forth the moment an overconfident foe stepped by. Hunters traveled across the roofs; their sniper rifles sang, spearing through the sound barrier and collecting a deadly toll. Linked by the joined video feed with their noble comrades below, the hunters gracefully evaded all counterattacks and peaked out of the corners just to return fire, never shifting their positions.
And her Mountain Guard, an elite group of eighteen bodyguards who handled the enormous tower shields with the same ease as if they were mere buckets, were surrounding her at the frontline. Their double-bladed axes moved with deadly precision, severing the arms and legs of the assailants. Automatic cannons installed in their right wrists spat bursts of bullets, shredding the enemy ranks.
And still on and on they came, a sea of golden and steel enemies. They advanced not as maddened raiders but as careful fighters, with heavy assault teams bringing missile launchers to set roofs aflame, driving the hunters in light power armor aside. Next rushed in their version of regulars, normal humans in exoskeleton armor, fit only to dull Ice Fangs’ blades on a better day. But there were many, and the knights had to guard their allies, limiting their ability to gracefully charge across the battlefield. And behind this rabble moved the actual force, the new breeds of the Horde, wielding gigantic swords with one hand and firing their oversized machine guns with another.
Two sides came at each other, locked in a close battle. Bertruda anguished, seeing her knights dying, their bodies trampled beneath enemy legs. Even her Mountain Guard, the pride and joy of the Mountaintops Household, were struggling, numerous cracks covering their no longer shining armor, their cloaks set aflame.
Knight Captain Fabian fell this day, his body torn to shreds, his unit eliminated to a man. His squire did her best to retrieve his body, only for cruel metal boots to break the gentle head. Escaria, Scothia, and Mourntul, the brave members of the Mountain Guard, had lost their lives under the artillery fire, giving their all to allow several families to get to the defenders. Even in death, the cruelty wasn’t over. Bertruda’s eyes gleamed with rage after seeing how these barbarians were stripping the noble knights off their armor, hacking at their limbs, and laughing in guttural voices.
Enough.
Bertruda abandoned her usual elegant self, allowing the raging beast that met Warlord Janine to resurface. Using her spear as a pole, she leaped over her guard, landing on several bodies and trampling them with her greaves. A strike with the butt of her spear has left a hole in a new breed’s head. Before the body could even understand its death, her vambraces spat out energy, setting five soldiers alight. She capitalized on the confusion, using the suddenly freed space around herself to spin her spear around, cleaving through bodies.
Too slow. Droplets of blood, pieces of flesh, and even bullets moved in slow motion before her eyes. And she danced through it all, killing and maiming. A flick of her wrist took away the hands of a raider before her. A simple kick left another headless. Plasma discharges spat heat again, exploding the generators of the fallen Mountain Guard and sending them on their last journey in a pillar of flames that engulfed nearby raiders.
Bertruda’s eyes caught the roaring sound, and she jumped, catching a hoverbike on her spear. The Sword Saint’s lips spread in a cold smile, hearing the rider’s gasp. Because of its sheer speed, Elegance went full length in this crude metal toy, killing the woman and sending Bertruda back to the ranks of her troops.
Our honor is lost. She landed on the shoulders of her guards, only for sweet Tlan, a knight who served with her predecessor, to die. An energy beam came from the partying crowd, melting its way through the man’s chest. Loyal to the last, Tlan somehow kept his body upright, refusing to let his liege fall. Bertruda jumped off him, and only then did Tlan topple. Another pillar of the Mountaintop Household lost.
In anguish, Bertruda caught him. Tlan taught her how to wield her spear; it was his merciless and wise drills that had allowed Bertruda to earn Elegance when the previous liege had perished. Gently and sternly, the always smiling man left no one without aid, and now he was dead. Ripped out of her life. By them.
“I’ll carry him, lady!” An Orais stepped forward, easily putting three tons of steel over his shoulders. “Don’t you worry, I won’t let the bastard desecrate him,” he said with a groan.
Once again, Bertruda has found herself humbled. In her arrogance, she viewed non-ice fangs as lesser beings, not as sophisticated or strong. Allies, true, but in general inferior beings. And look at them now! The Province Guard rushed forward, forming a circle around her and firing their machineguns at the advancing foes. Their fellows fired incendiary grenades over them, setting much of the street on fire. Giving their lives for the order.
Nobility exists in everyone. Turning around, she reminded herself of the Protector’s Oath. Prejudice is just as dangerous as isolation. It dulled one’s focus, guiding one away from correct decisions.
Hulking machines stepped forward, crushing concrete with every step. Six-legged, they were nothing more than moving harnesses carrying heavy laser cannons, guarding new breeds sitting in their control cabins with an entire array of metal plates placed on wires.
A group of knights charged from the nearby alley, aptly taking advantage of the overextending enemy line. Civilians came from behind, several children guided by a troll of all people. An Oathtaker used his own body to shield the little ones, trembling when fist-sized holes appeared in the gray skin, tearing through the light jacket.
True to his name, the troll endured. Bertruda only ever fought once against this tribe, but she remembered vividly how these dispassionate people calmly picked up sliced-off limbs, pressing ruined edges back to their stumps. Their regeneration did the rest, first mending flesh, then veins and bones. In mere minutes, trolls were able to walk after losing a limb. This person right here had a half-ruined badge of a tourist on his shoulder, and his movements betrayed his utter lack of combat experience. What he lacked in knowledge, the noble soul made up for in dedication, throwing himself like a shield before children.
A tall figure of steel and gold pushed his way from the enemy ranks, carrying a two-handed sword in one arm. Wearing no helmet, an attractive-looking young man barely paid attention to a bullet hitting him in the temple. The raider looked up, showing his tongue to the hunters on the roof. Double shots came in response, and the man stumbled, laughing. Crumbled into useless pieces of metal, the armor-piercing projectiles harmlessly bounced off his brown eyes.
Still laughing, the raider charged forward, taking a sword and an axe to his chest. With disgusting ease, he swung his own weapon, cleaving through the shoulder of one knight and tackling aside the other. Gesturing with his hand, the raider commanded a machine to turn the main weapons at the knights. A brilliant arc of energy came from the twin-barreled laser gun, spearing through the chest of the knight captain and leaving a hole in the advancing formation. Cheering in their guttural voices, new breeds charged in, tacking the knights and widening the gap, showing no dignity or mercy.
Missiles fell from the skies, taking the lives of another member of the Mountain Guard and killing two sages. Flames licked the edges of Bertruda’s cloak, giving her wings of fire when she charged forth again, beating aside bullets and thrusting her spear through three bodies.
So be it. If this is where fate claims her, Bertruda can live with it. The world stopped around her, brought to a crawl by her heightened senses, allowing Bertruda to weave away from the firing arc of these machines. Elegance’s tip came off, extending itself on the long chain. She swung her weapon, breaking through an armor plate and hooking the enemy driver through the chest. No mercy was given, and no mercy will be shown. She dragged the screaming woman through the narrow opening, sending away the horribly maimed body with an indignant twist of her paw.
She saw her target, making her way across the screaming horde and leaving dead in her wake. Enhanced by the advanced power armor, Bertruda moved with a speed superior even to that of a Warlord. She turned into a whirlwind, killing with the shaft of her spear just as surely as with its blade. Bullets were deflected, cruel lasers were spotted through the shared vision, and Bertruda sidestepped them before barbarians could even press the triggers. Explosions around her merely increased the death toll among the enemies rather than hinder her; the superior alloy of the power armor held, keeping Bertruda safely encased within its embrace.
The Sword Saint understood Janine now. In this time of cruel and mindless killing, Bertruda has finally come to appreciate and accept the gifts of rage. Some things could not be tolerated. She saw how the whoreson lifted his two-handed blade, aiming between the troll’s shoulder blades. The strike would’ve severed the spinal column and bisected an ice fang that held a small-looking normie girl in his paws.
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Bertruda gave in to rage, pushing her way through the last enemies. Elegance thrusts forward like a beam of light. The raider’s sword came against her blade, only to be thrown aside. The man in gold and steel turned to her, the armor covering only his legs and right half, leaving the left side of his torso exposed. Blindingly fast, Elegance has kissed him. Into his chest, knees, and right into the heart by breaking the so-called chest plate.
She only pushed him back, slamming the man’s back against the building behind him and leaving him covered under rubble. The man’s body felt like a slab of iron, only Bertruda knew that Elegance’s molecular blade could pierce through even the thickest steel. Only special alloys, like that of Janine’s axe or the weapons of her fellow Sword Saints, could withstand the ancient blade at the end of Elegance. It has failed to harm an enemy for the first time in its existence after the Twins discovered it in the ancient ruins and gave it to the first leader of the Mountaintop Household.
The raider broke free, sending pieces of stone in all directions, laughing and coughing from dust in equal measure. A knight stepped before Bertruda and her attacker while she got distracted, blocking another hail of bullets. If this bastard was one of the enemy leaders, his minions sure cared very little about not hitting him. Bertruda spun her spear, making two fast thrusts, leaving two headless bodies to fall to the ground.
The answer came to her a moment later. Bullets from his own allies bounced off the leader harmlessly, while those that hit her knight made the woman stumble and left cracks in her armor. The raider buried his blade in her left shoulder, leaving the hold of the weapon just to grab the knight by the head. Bertruda drove the bastard too late, sending him flying to the ground with the spear’s tip. His fingers broke through the crimson lenses, popped eyeballs, and hooked at the skull within, using the Sword Saint’s own attack to finish off the knight.
“I am Amal, son of Mungke Khan, heir to our lands and slaughter of thousands!” The youth laughed, reaching out for his blade. “And I will be the one to collect…”
Bertruda fired energy from her vambraces, engulfing him in overheated discharges. This seems to have broken his composure a bit, and with a strained roar, he charged past fiery flames, bringing his half-molten sword down. Elegance rose to meet the attack, gracefully and casually beating aside the blade before landing a crushing blow against his neck. The impact sent the youth cartwheeling to the side, making him draw a line in the stone with his own head. Before she could follow, she spied a beam of light through the lens of a Mountain Guard. Jumping back, she found the troll’s back pressed against the steel of her armor and a burning hole in the pavement ahead of her.
Amal’s splattered body rose again. Not a single bruise or tiny scratch marked the dark skin. He mockingly rocked his neck, allowing his long hair to dance in the air. With a smile, he tore an axe from a nearby new breed and grabbed a pistol from the other. “I am immortal; you got it, bitch? As for you…”
He shot. Bertruda blocked the bullet intended for one of the kids behind her, the spear spinning in her arms with enough speed to turn itself into a shield. Feeling her silent command, the Mountain Guard charged forward, breaking into the enemy flanks and allowing their mistress to meet the enemy charge head-on.
Sparks came into the air as Bertruda calmly met the axe. She fought methodically, easily breaking the pistol in Amal’s hand and driving him back. It took her only four moves to completely break the fool’s balance. A strike in the leg, followed by a sweeping blow with the butt of her spear against his jaw, an effortless swing to beat aside the ugly axe, and, finally, a masterstroke to end it all. Elegance made a thrust, breaking through the axe’s steel and finding its way into a laughing mouth. Noticing something akin to panic, Bertruda pushed the blade’s tip into the upper palate.
A portable flash of destruction came to life. Elegance was far from a simple weapon; within its shaft were hidden several energy generators, allowing its user to unleash a temperature of 9800 Celsius on the foe. What Elegance could not break, it melted.
If Amal screamed, Bertruda did not hear it. Light came from his nostrils, mouth, and ears. His eyes turned into lightbulbs. An explosion followed next, making the body before her thrash violently and dark smoke pour from the man’s every orifice. Bertruda pushed her weapon deeper, lifting the body for all to see.
A Sword Saint died. Noble Tancred was entrusted to the safekeeping of Houstad, and foul foes found a way to harm it, regardless. Worse still, his fair warriors failed to extract righteous vengeance and had to be saved by the Wolf Tribe. An utter failure of all oaths.
Keep them safe. These were the last words the Twins had said to the Sword Saint shortly before their disappearance. They were the first to see nobility in the Wolf Tribe, the first to bow to Ravager to avert incoming slaughter for dominance. The Twins worked tirelessly, introducing Sword Saints to Warlords, speaking with Wolfkins, advising and trying to civilize them. Bertruda, to her great shame, saw nothing worthy of praise in her cousins at first, but this had changed. The Wolf Tribe and Ravager kept them safe, willingly dying in droves to preserve the order and people’s lives. Misguided, maybe. Yet the Wolf Tribe always had true nobility.
A fortress was being constructed in the Core Lands. A home for both groups. The order was working in secret, knowing all too well how their cousins would react to such a gift. Yet once completed, the Wolf Tribe will no longer have any needs in villages; their cubs will be safe and sound, growing side by side with the order’s children. It was for this reason that Ice Fangs pursued profits above all else. To have the necessary funds and finally drag their cousins onto the light.
And it hurt her heart to refuse to answer the calls of her allies at this time. But what choice did they have? The Wolf Tribe always kept them in the rear; now, with Knight Academies in danger, could they really trust their rough kin to lead the charge? Warlords, even Janine, cared all too much about retribution, but now was the time to save lives. When their own children’s lives were at stake, the Ice Fang order had to act. If needed, Bertruda will pay with her blood later.
Roaring engines distracted Bertruda’s thoughts. A bird of steel came above the street, an entire flying vehicle carrying several dozen raiders. Its steel wings spread behind a small, lean frame, showing six burning engines. Above the wings’ engines were turrets, and raiders rained their rage down, killing knights and soldiers in front of the defenders. Four raging bursts have found a knight from the Mountain Guard; the woman’s armor endured for two long seconds before finally giving in with an ear-piercing crack. The knight’s shoulders exploded under the assail of armor-piercing projectiles. Her helmet ended up beaten deep into the chest area, and the lenses exploded, allowing the eyes’ remains to pour out along with the brain.
They have air vehicles? Bertruda thought numbly before shaking off despair. “Mountain Guard! Anti-air missiles, at once!”
The elite of her household fell on one knee, allowing a steel tube to slide above their right shoulder. Many had called the order overly reliant on the melee. Yet, this was just a façade. Every knight and every foot soldier trained rigorously with every ranged weapon available. And to the best, additional gifts were given.
The missiles took flight, exploding around the predator in the sky and throwing several fighters off their feet. Without waiting for the result, the brave Mountain Guard were already back into the fray, their axes hacking and slashing, while the missile launcher slowly removed itself from their backs. Every moment now, the steel wreckage has to fall to the ground, and then maybe they can…
She groaned from pain when the remains of the axe struck upward, finding their way through the joint of her armor. Impossible as it may be, Amal was very much alive. He let his body go limp, tricking Bertruda into assuming his demise, but when the smoke cleared, she saw him grasping Elegance’s blade with one hand, coughing like mad, and swinging his broken axe again.
Strong. She tried to break the weapon free. The boy wasn’t a full match for her, power armor or not, but he refused to let go of Elegance. Bullets, fired by a rider, dripped against her helmet, and one of the nearby soldiers hacked at the back of her leg, stopping the Sword Saint’s retreat. And in the skies above, the smoke cloud parted, revealing a humming energy shield around the enemy’s air machine.
“I will personally behead every single one of your whelps.” Amal smiled into Bertruda’s face, looking behind her where the three remaining knights tried their best to protect the civilians. “The Sky has made me immortal! No flame, no blade, no virus can damage my blessed body. I can’t be stopped! I am the bane of your miserable nation, cruel and unyielding! And you? You bleed, you suffer, and soon you’ll be broken!”
Bertruda screamed as a laser beam sliced across her back, melting the space between the joints of her shoulder and torso. The armor sent an immediate report, notifying the Sword Saint that the energy blast had eaten her flesh to the bone. And the damned machine aimed at her again, while she struggled to push back this little shit…
“If we are dying today, then you will hold a door for our entrance in the Planet’s halls.” Bertruda’s voice boomed, magnified by the dynamics of her armor. She sent an order to her troops to retreat, intending to serve as a diversion. “You said nothing could hurt you. But you still need to breathe, boy.” The sudden worry in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.
She remembered the rage seen in Lady Janine and followed suit, pushing the bastard onto the ground and ignoring the pain in her arm. Casting Elegance to the Mountain Guard to preserve the precious artifact, Bertruda lifted the broken remains of Amal’s axe, ramming one paw into the bastard’s mouth to keep it open, and brought the axe above his mouth. The plasma dischargers activated at low output.
Amal spoke true. Either because of some sort of power or by the sheer miracle of his biology, Bertruda failed to so much as move his teeth. But when the broken axe started melting and overheated steel poured down Amal’s throat, the raider thrashed violently, slamming his fists into the side of her helmet and then gesturing to his soldier to fire at her.
The idea was simple enough. Each time he encountered dust and smoke, Amar would cough. New breeds could survive far longer without a hint of air than normies, but even they were not invulnerable to oxygen deprivation. By pouring the metal on his nose and mouth, Bertruda made him panic. Now it will be just a matter of time before he inhales to seal off his fate.
Clenching her fangs from the pain of bullets, hearing the aircraft above turning to take aim, and sensing tremors from the steps of the laser weaponry, Bertruda conceded their brawl would not be this easy. The attackers came upon her, trying to pry her hold on their leader, leaving scratches on her armor with their ugly weapons and dents from gunfire. The laser cannon took aim at her. For the sake of the fallen, I will….
Before she finished the thought, the sound of battle became drowned in howls. Two armored bodies, almost perfectly matching each other in size, landed upon the remaining machine, tearing it with claws and paws. The driver within screamed fearfully, pleading for mercy. He was given none; the Shaman and the Wolf Hag tore him in two and leapt behind Bertruda, splashing crimson blood across her armor as they created a half-circle of death around the civilians and knights.
Seeing them through the lenses of her knights, Bertruda begrudgingly admitted a sort of beauty in their tribal fury. They never stood in place even for a second, fighting not like soldiers, but like a force of nature. A claw took a jaw off their foe, only for one of them to disappear and reappear a few steps away, biting a hand holding a weapon. They barely bothered to kill anyone, preferring to maim and allowing wailing screams and moans to fill the air, forcing the foes to advance across the still-living bodies of their allies. Cruelty unrestrained. But when someone aimed a weapon at the kid… They killed. Bertruda recognized the duo. Janine’s daughters.
“Bitches!” a voice thundered across the battlefield, louder than the roars coming from hundreds of throats. “I told you to use ranged weaponry! Shaman, if you are too shy about using proper weapons, stay in the rear, where males belong! We are the Wolf Tribe, not some backwater ice boys wielding swords like lunatics! We are soldiers!”
She gasped, seeing not just the video feed of her own troops but also the lenses of the Wolf Tribe. The command channels of two groups joined, exchanging data feeds. Hundreds of Wolfkins filled the roofs, pushing from the alleys and firing their merciless shardguns at the enemy. A few gave encouraging pats to the hunters, praising their sniper rifles, and charged on, firing and killing, throwing acid grenades, and filling the main street with the wailing of the dead and dying.
“And, as soldiers, when you kill…” A figure larger than all her kin stepped forward, positioning herself before the defenders.
Warlord Martyshkina smiled, raising her revolvers. Made to suit a Warlord’s paws, these instruments of destruction were devices of a modern era, crafted and tailored to compensate for a lack of artifacts weaponry. Their recoil was great enough to break a wall after a shot, but Martyshkina’s steady hand never allowed for any mistakes in her aim. She fired, landing all twelve shots across the flying aircraft.
The energy shield came into reality, struggling to endure so many points of entry, only to break down with a whine. Bullets flew forward, spearing their way through the raiders and engines and seeding the steel leviathan with flowers of crimson. What dedicated missiles have failed to do, Martyshkina’s mighty revolvers easily pierce.
“…you gotta do it in a civilized manner! See?!” The Warlord roared, raising her weapons high before reloading them. A few bullets harmlessly bounced off her armor. “Civilization! Progress! Booze… Wait, I mean… Melee is for suckers, bitches! Save our allies! I am way too curious why our cousins ignored us to let them perish! Murder! Slaughter! More!”
“Murder! Slaughter! More!” The Wolfkins repeated her roar, charging at the retreating foes.
Amal’s skin became paler at the sight of his forces retreating, and his pupils collapsed into dots at the horror overtaking him. The raider slammed the side of Bertruda’s armor with his palms, pleading for mercy.
She gave him none, still melting the weapon in her paw, allowing the overheated metal to come down his throat. And soon he gasped.