Chapter 89
The Gravediggers' Tribute
Nicopolan Side
The five thousand Nicopolans marched across the farmland, trampling crops that were almost ready for harvest. Then they slowly approached the wooden wall, shields at the ready.
As anticipated, crossbowmen from both sides opened the battle by exchanging volleys. However, the Nicopolans found themselves at a disadvantage, shielded only by their own shields as opposed to the sturdy wall protecting their opponents.
After some time, many Nicopolans pleaded with their commanders to give the order to attack. Sensing that the moment was right, Sergio issued the command to attack.
Almost immediately, Nicopolan forces attacked along the entire length of the wall. Scouts had informed them that the wall was not particularly tall, eliminating the need for ladders. Instead, they brought stacks of wood or crates to serve as makeshift climbing aids.
Although they resembled a disorganized swarm of ants, Sergio had strategically positioned his strongest contingent on his left side, near the river, targeting what he believed to be the enemy's weakest point.
He ensured that, from above, the distribution of his troops would appear similar in number, effectively masking the significant differences in their fighting prowess. As an added diversion, Sergio concentrated a large number of his less-skilled troops to launch an assault on the center
What they lacked in skill, they made up for in numbers, hoping to overwhelm the enemy.
Now, Sergio waited patiently with his reserves, his eyes level as he searched for any weakness in Lansius' defense. He considered three potential outcomes:
First, the walls nearest to the river could give way under the assault of his elite troops.
Second, the center line might buckle under the sporadic but intense attacks from thousands of men.
Third, the one thousand men he had left behind might successfully trap another flanking attack from the nomads.
When any of these events occurred, Sergio planned to unleash his reserves to decisively win the battle.
***
Hugo
The Deputy and his men fought hard along the center wall. Clad in full plate armor, he struck out at anyone who dared to climb the wall. His footing was sure and firm, as the cart provided him a solid platform to move about. Spears or swords struck his head and shoulders several times, but this only angered him further.
Another wave of attackers approached, and Hugo rallied his men. "People of Korimor, this is your harvest! Your livelihood, the food for your families this winter—are you going to hand it over to them?"
Cries and shouts rose from the men around him.
"Stay with me! This is EZY!" Hugo ended with a forced laugh, mimicking a certain friend who used to boast like this in fights. "More harvest thieves are coming; let them know what Lowlandians do to thieves!"
With only five hundred men under his command, Hugo withstood the first wave of onslaught. He knew he just needed to wait and persevere.
...
Lansius
The Lord was dispatching group after group to reinforce a portion of the wall that was in dire need of support. His reserves consisted of men still resting from their previous shift, but he had no other choice. With the Nicopolans deploying their vast numbers, sections of the wall were overrun.
Before long, Lansius had exhausted his reserves, and he personally joined the fray to bolster their defenses
The Lord arrived at the overrun section with Sir Michael, Sigmund, Roger, and several other men. He watched as his men evacuated the wounded, leaving the dead and the Nicopolans on the walls. The fighting still continued on the Nicopolan's left and right, but they had enough support to assist as many men in climbing over the wall as possible.
Having a clear line of sight, Lansius stood still, took aim, and pressed the lever on his crossbow. A bolt flew angrily through the air, striking an unsuspecting man in the back. The look of disbelief and horror in his eyes was plain to see as he turned and ran away while clutching his wound.
Lord Lansius' attack made Sir Michael charge forward with a spear. He speared and took down the swordsman who had challenged him. Sigmund, at his side, lunged and swiftly dispatched another who had hesitated, with two strikes from his sword.
The fresh commotion, coupled with Lansius' personal banner being waved by one of his men, quickly drew attention. In no time, dozens of warriors from both sides converged on their position.
"I'll be fine, take them down," Lansius commanded the men around him, who sprang into action.
Lansius lowered his visor and readily engaged as his side was outnumbered. He squared off with a man whose eye sockets were sunken from hunger. Instinctively, he countered the man's reckless swing, feeling a brief resistance. Lansius executed a deft parry, stepped forward, and drove his sword into the man's chest.
The man's wet and dirty gambeson soon turned an ochre color. He writhed in pain, but Lansius knew better than to let his opponent die an agonizing death. Gritting his teeth, he swung his left gauntlet into the side of the man's head, ending the pain in an instant.
He felt no regret, only the pain of necessity as he killed. In one swift motion, Lansius pulled out his bloodied sword, took one deep breath, and walked to the next assailant, poised to flank Sir Michael's blind side.
Using both hands, Lansius gripped his sword like a polearm and charged. The man's eyes widened in realization, but it was already too late. Despite the man's futile attempt to block with his arm, Lansius' thrust found its mark, sliding into the man's chest near the armpit.
The man groaned as the sharp point of the blade punctured his body. Within a few breaths, he began choking on his blood. Sir Michael came from the side and struck the man's head with both hands using the pommel of his sword, granting him a quick death.
"My Lord—"
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"Focus on the fight!" yelled Lansius to reassure him.
In front of them, Roger fought as if he were dancing, parrying, and countering with smooth, non-wasteful movements against multiple opponents. His armor, a plunder from the previous war, was bathed in red as he felled another man with a slash to the face. The man fell in complete agony, losing his nose and the soft tissues around it.
The squire wanted to deliver a coup de grâce, but more men were approaching him with spears and bardiches. Roger fell back, while Sir Michael and Sigmund readied their stances to protect their Lord. Fortunately, the Korimors returned to the fight, invigorated by the sight of their Lord in combat.
They soon clashed and regained the upper hand. Hugo must have noticed them, as crossbow bolts began raining down on the section in front of the wall. Soon, the Nicopolans who had climbed were all but slain to the last man.
It was unfortunate that in such an uneven battle, they couldn't afford to take hostages.
"My Lord," called Sir Michael, excitement in his voice. "Their gambesons are soaking wet. Our plan is working!"
Lifting his visor, Lansius noticed the wet mud stains all over the slain men's clothing and boots. "So, the gravediggers have done it," he remarked gratefully. Humble as they were, the hundred strong gravediggers had proven their craft and worth.
Sir Michael proceeded to rally the Korimors around them, while Lansius retreated to the rear.
On the way, he flicked his sword to shed the excess blood. His heart felt numb, but his mind was briefly filled with silent prayers for the fallen. Memories from the Battle of Korelia and of Sir Callahan surfaced in his mind. There was no guilt, only the heavy weight of responsibility for the men under his command.
Lansius knew he wasn’t fighting for himself. He was fighting for the people of Korimor, Korelia, and the entirety of Lowlandia. Only by securing victory here could Lansius move forward with his Grand Alliance, to usher in peace and stability throughout Lowlandia.
It was a future they had fought so hard for — a future where all Lowlandians, including him and Audrey, could live in peace.
***
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Nicopolans Side
The Nicopolan left wing launched their assault on the far side near the river. Comprised of select groups of mercenaries, they fought hard to scale the walls, using logs and crates to aid them. However, the muddy ground proved more difficult than they had anticipated.
Contrary to Sergio's prediction that this would be the weakest point, they found it staunchly defended by knights in full plate armor, a healthy number of men-at-arms, and plenty of levied troops.
The rain of crossbow bolts was also fierce, pinning them down whenever it was unleashed. They fought in waves, attempting to breach multiple defense points simultaneously, but the muddy terrain hindered their progress and made everything slippery.
Still, they proved their worth by rallying on their Captain and redoubling their efforts. Like torrential rains, the best of Nicopolan mercenaries stormed the walls chipping the defenses little by little.
...
Sergio noticed his assault was beginning to bear fruit. Several sections of the wall were overrun, and things were going better than he had expected. He almost committed his reserves to attack when progress suddenly slowed.
Initially, he hardly noticed, but then the advance ground to a halt. Gone were the energetic attempts to scale the wall. In their place were men, exhausted and caked in dirt and mud, failing to climb after encountering strong resistance at the top.
"Get the scouts! Why haven't I been briefed?" Sergio yelled to his staff.
Pulled by one of the staff, the scouts hastily reported, "Some of the farms appear to be muddy. We suspect it's leakage from the river since the farms haven't been maintained."
Growing suspicious, Sergio decided to head to the front lines. As he drew closer, the air was thick with tension. Cries of command, words of encouragement, and the screams of men fighting with all their might filled the air.
His bodyguard helped him wade through the thousands of men waiting for their turn to climb. Suddenly, Sergio felt the ground soften beneath his feet. He stopped in his tracks, and his men quickly raised their shields around him.
Kneeling, he scooped up a handful of mud and realized it wasn't normal. He glanced at the yellowing crops around him; they showed no signs of long-term water submersion, which would have caused them to wither.
Squeezing the mud, Sergio realized it wasn't totally soaked, meaning it was recent.
"No..." he muttered under his breath, recognizing that his adversaries had likely altered the irrigation canals the night before. When the Nicopolans refused to back down, the enemy must have breached the canals connected to the river.
With the help of the existing irrigation system and the river's powerful current, the field on the Nicopolan side was effectively flooded.
Sergio saw his men struggling to trudge through the clayey mud, slipping and being hindered by it clinging to their limbs and armor. Worse, once they slipped and fell, their gambesons made of linen would absorb a lot of water and weigh them down considerably further taxing their strength and stamina.
Frustration boiling over, Sergio wanted to scream, but he held back, aware his lieutenants were watching. Pushing aside his shaken emotions, he motioned for his lieutenants to approach.
He saw their young, eager faces and commanded, "Commit more groups! We can't let the attack falter. Send them in, send all we got!"
His young, brave Nicopolan lieutenants puffed out their chests and saluted, ready to obey. Meanwhile, Sergio's hands trembled. A pang of guilt and regret pierced Sergio as he sent them into the fray, but he knew he had no other option. If he didn't secure victory today, another opportunity might never come, and rallying this mass of people again would be near impossible.
Under the command of the young lieutenants, the assault boldly resumed.
Ingenuity suddenly struck the Nicopolans: some began cutting the abundant crop stalks around them and throwing them into the mud to create better footing. The dried stalks absorbed water, and their coarse fibers acted like a fine, woven organic net. Seeing this, more troops followed suit, and the lieutenants ordered everyone to do the same.
"What are they doing?" Sergio asked in awe as the assault regained momentum and fighting erupted again along the wall.
Knowing this was the moment he had been waiting for, Sergio ran toward the rear of the formation to reach his reserves.
"Sergio, have you found the enemy's weakness?" his captain inquired.
"Soon," Sergio promised. "Now, ready your men. We either ride the wind of victory or die trying."
His captain, an old comrade who was fiercely loyal, grinned. Facing his men, he shouted "Men, ready to march! On my order!"
The horn-blower played an excited tone repeated twice. Soon, another thousand battle-hardened Nicopolans marched toward the battlefield, trying to keep the scales in their favor.
***
Lansius
Last night, a group of gravediggers and farmers was sent to alter the irrigation on the farmland opposite the walls that were being constructed. The job normally required many men and several days of work, but the gravediggers, with their sharpened tools, managed to complete it in just one night.
The plan worked superbly. After the initial two attack waves, the mud began to form in earnest, and the subsequent wave struggled due to the slippery, clay-like mud. As the Nicopolans slipped and fell, the layers of linen in their gambeson or padded jacket greedily took on water and doubled in weight, making it especially exhausting just to move around in it.
"Just like Agincourt," Lansius muttered as he observed from a recently secured section of the wall. The quagmire that had formed on the Nicopolan side was clear for everyone to see.
The only difference is this ground wasn't freshly ploughed.
By flooding the area, he had not only stalled the enemy's attack but also trapped Sergio into either fully committing or retreating with significant loss.
"My Lord, the runners from every section report that they withstood the attack," Sigmund reported.
Sir Michael chuckled, satisfied with how the battle had progressed.
"I hope our enemy will fall back. There's still remaining farmland for them to harvest," Lansius said to his staff.
"I believed that's the wish of many, My Lord," said Sir Michael.
Lansius was about to leave the wall to tour its length when Roger called out, "My Lord, the Nicopolans. They're doing something... They're fixing the mud."
Fixing the mud...?
Lansius was stunned. "Is that even possible?" he asked, then looked to where Roger was pointing his hand.
After a brief observation, Lansius drew a heavy breath and shook his head. Many Korimors interpreted this as a bad omen, and their faces were immediately painted with concern and worry.
Noticing them, Lansius spoke, "Men, don't be so disheartened. In war, nothing ever goes as planned. There are always variations, which is why we make plans in the first place." He then added, "Even this is within my expectations!"
His words emboldened his men, especially the Korimor people, who looked at him with reverence. "My Lord, please lead us to victory!"
"My Lord, please save Korimor City!" The soldiers' voices cracked with desperation, each man thinking of home and family.
Taking a rare moment, Lansius gestured for them to quiet down. He removed his helmet, looked at them with his deep brown eyes, and declared, "If you swear an oath of loyalty to my House, I promise you a victory that neither you nor your grandchildren will ever forget."
***