A battlefield is hell itself. John had said that to him what now felt like an eternity ago, despite it being two years ago. Arturo recalled that conversation every time he went into battle. Why did he recite that line every time? He figured it was a way for him to deal with the death of his family.
While Arturo understood why John had said those words, he didn’t feel like a battlefield was hell. That’s what kept him alive. Every battle was unpredictable. Nobody knew who would live or die.
Was there something wrong with him? Arturo recalled Archard and Marcus saying the same thing about battles being hell. Would he have the same opinion if his family were still alive? He wished his brothers had mentioned how often people died of diseases or wounds when traveling. That had been a surprise. Someone got a cut, seemed fine, and then died a few weeks later. Or a sickness would hit the camp and some would perish from the disease.
Initially, he hadn’t expected to enjoy being part of the Crystal Syndicate and was glad to have been wrong. His life would be very different if he hadn’t joined. Arturo shook his head to clear himself of those thoughts. He had other concerns now.
Men were screaming outside as the siege tower he was in moved toward a stone wall. There were almost two hundred soldiers in the tower with him. Arturo was crouched down, with his sword resting against his shoulder. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in one of these and it wouldn’t be his last.
Over the past two years he had fought in Malvarian and Eshil Domain and now he was in Vandalor. Azzellia’s king, Lerin, had paid the Crystal Syndicate to assist Vandalor in this battle. When Veldahar told him, Arturo thought he was joking. The commander insisted he was not and that they were to march toward Sarute Fortress. The rebels had secured this fortress months ago, but this was now their last stronghold. Victory here would end the rebellion in Vandalor.
Arturo shifted his feet as he saw the walls getting closer. Archard had been right: Arturo did grow the last few inches, and the Verian armor he’d received from his father now fit perfectly. The armor was incredible and had saved his life a few times over the past couple of years. The durability was strong enough to deflect arrows, even crossbows couldn’t penetrate the armor.
Arturo heard the screams of battle, metal clashing with metal, people dying, and the whistling of arrows through the air. A siege tower came crumbling down a few hundred feet away as a giant boulder nailed the center.
Arturo didn’t want to die like that. If he was going to die, he wanted it to be in battle, fighting an opponent who outmatched him.
“We’re almost there,” Rogoth mumbled next to him. Gosford, Fenrir, Kellan, and Cevelt remained silent as they stared ahead, waiting for the tower to lower its ramp.
It was like a ritual at this point. Rogoth would always say something right before he started fighting. Once the fighting began, Gosford would take the lead and the others would follow. Arturo liked the process. All he wanted to focus on was killing the enemy with his sword. When his comrades first saw him wield his large sword in battle, they couldn’t believe how good he was. Even Cevelt respected him, and that was something he didn’t think was ever going to happen.
The siege tower creaked and stopped. Here we go. Arturo stood upright as the ramp lowered. Soldiers screamed and ran out of the siege tower and engaged the rebels.
Arrows flew into the siege tower, striking a few men who screamed in pain or panicked on realizing they were hit. Arturo moved past them all and an arrow bounced off the blade of his sword. The area was too crowded for him to swing his weapon, forcing him to push others out of the way.
A severed head rolled off someone in front of him and he came face to face with a rebel and his axe. Arturo intercepted the axe with his sword and punched the rebel in the face. Teeth clattered on the ground as the man toppled backward. Arturo swung his sword and two rebels were split open, blood splashing everywhere as they collapsed.
It didn’t take long for the Crystal Syndicate to overwhelm the rebels on the walls. Arturo’s sword was cleaving through multiple enemies with each stroke. Some of them were on the ground begging for help while others were in shock, staring at their mutilated bodies.
A group of rebels came up the stairs and struck down a few of the mercenaries. Fenrir aimed his bow and loosed his arrows, taking down rebels one by one. An arrow struck a throat or chest each time, sending the enemy toppling down the steps.
Gosford took control of his men, ordering them to push the right flank. His sword had tasted the blood of a few rebels. Rogoth, Kellan, and Cevelt were fighting as one unit. Loud bangs came as more siege towers reached the walls and platforms opened, allowing hundreds more troops to enter the battle.
It amazed Arturo how much the Crystal Syndicate had grown since he joined. There were now over five thousand members. Their reputation had grown to such a degree that recruits outmatched casualties, and today was going to be a heavy toll. The fortress was well-defended. A siege tower burst into flames, and soldiers began falling out, yelling as their flaming bodies flung toward the ground. Others fared no better and ran into the enemy and were struck down.
One of the rebels shouted to retreat to the lower levels. Before the man could move, Arturo split him in half, with the upper half of his body falling to the ground. More siege towers breached the walls and rams were hammering the gates. It was only a matter of time before the fortress was theirs.
“Arturo, lead the charge toward the bottom level,” Gosford commanded.
Arturo beheaded a rebel and ran down the stairs. Gosford was right behind him, with Cevelt, Rogoth, and Kellan next. Dozens of soldiers followed them. Archers released their arrows and Arturo blocked any that might hit him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t block them all and a few soldiers were hit.
Arturo rushed the archers and cut three down. Gosford and the others took out the rest. More rebels came pouring into the lower section and tried to overpower the group. A few swings later and all that was left were rebels screaming on the ground, begging for help or their mothers. It was something he had gotten used to hearing and no longer cared about.
In his first few battles, Arturo felt guilty about not helping the injured. Now it was second nature. Even if he was a healer, most people couldn’t be helped when they were missing multiple limbs and bleeding out rapidly.
Arturo stepped over the bodies and moved forward cautiously. The spies had reported at least seven thousand rebels and there had been substantial fighting on the walls, until their retreat. The rest were hiding somewhere, but why? They were letting the Crystal Syndicate and the Vandalor army storm the fortress without much resistance.
“Bring the ram over here!” Gosford yelled at a group of Vandalor men. “We need to bust through this gate. The rest of the rebels are through here.”
“Agreed,” Kellan said. Blood was dripping down his armor and he was breathing heavily. “The crazy rebels should have left once they saw our army. Better chance for them to survive.”
“I’m glad they didn’t,” Cevelt said with disgust. “I’m ready for some women and some rest.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Kellan snorted. “Going to spend all your money on women again?”
“And food,” Cevelt added.
“What about you, Arturo? You going to partake this time?” Kellan asked.
“No.” Arturo didn’t elaborate further. He saw no reason to. Before the attack on Arindall, he might have gone to a whorehouse. At least, he assumed he would, but he had never thought about it until he joined the Crystal Syndicate. Ever since the attack on Arindall, he didn’t think of women much. He had other priorities, like killing the man who had murdered his brothers. His dreams were full of revenge. He couldn’t recall the last time he didn’t think about the people who ruined his life. He had been a different person then.
Before Kellan could say anything else, a group of soldiers with the ram came charging up to batter the inner gate. Oddly, there was no sound on the other side of the gate. Did the rebels escape? Arturo wondered. That would be a shame; he was ready to leave Vandalor behind.
The contract from Azzellia must be paying well, as the Crystal Syndicate had received half upon accepting the deal and would receive the other half when the rebels were fully defeated. If the rebels regrouped from here, then the mercenaries would have to stay. He hoped that didn’t happen.
A loud crack echoed across the courtyard as the gate fell apart from the constant ramming. With the doors breached, hundreds of Vandalor soldiers ran through.
Then came more yelling, and it wasn’t the rebels.
“Sounds like a trap,” Gosford observed.
“Are you surprised?” Cevelt sighed. “Why couldn’t these fools have surrendered instead?”
Not waiting for an answer, Cevelt started forward. They barely passed the gate when some of the Vandalor troops began backing away. There was a bridge below which was a stone floor that would kill anyone who toppled over. One man was blocking the passage. The lone rebel wielded a large hammer and was smashing anyone who tried engaging him.
A lot of mercenaries and Vandalor troops were on the ground, with most of them having caved-in chest plates or smashed helmets. The bridge was big enough for five people to attack at once, but it wasn’t enough. The rebel with the hammer was too good as five mercenaries at a time tried to take him out and were each killed.
Behind the man were the rebels, cheering each killing blow the man made. He was wearing thick gray armor, but no other symbol showed him as a rebel. He wasn’t tall—he wouldn’t even reach Arturo’s chest—but his attacks were quick and powerful.
“I don’t believe it,” Cevelt said, his mouth agape and his hands shaking.
“You recognize him?” Gosford asked.
Arturo listened closely. Whoever this fighter was, he was very skilled. In all his battles, this was the first enemy he’d seen that he might not be able to kill by himself. It didn’t take long for the attackers to stop trying to cross the bridge. Some archers tried killing the man from a distance, but the arrows bounced off his armor and the rebel’s helmet covered his face.
“Yeah,” Cevelt gulped. “That’s the legend, Ribalt. Also known as the bridge defender. No one can cross a bridge if he’s in the way.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” Arturo said.
Despite his fear, Cevelt laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”
“If this really is Ribalt, we may be stuck here for some time,” Gosford said. He sheathed his sword and looked across the bridge. “I don’t see another way across and Ribalt won’t tire for some time.”
“Ribalt once held a bridge for two weeks with a much smaller force, holding until reinforcements arrived,” Rogoth said. “Just our luck. Why would he fight for the rebels?”
Ribalt was leaning on his hammer as he waited for someone to come forward. When no one did, he shouted, “Will none of you challenge me? Are you all cowards?”
“Only a fool would try to fight him,” Cevelt said.
Arturo studied Ribalt and his hammer. A normal sword would shatter trying to block one of Ribalt’s attacks. But his sword was anything but normal. He doubted there was another man in the world that wielded a sword as big as his. The extra length and thickness gave him an advantage against an opponent like this.
Arturo walked forward. He ignored the questions from the others. He heard “what is he doing?” from Kellan and “what a fool,” from Cevelt. He had his reasons for wanting to fight Ribalt. If he killed a legend, maybe he could defeat the man who killed his brothers. How else could he test his progress?
Ribalt raised his left hand and adjusted his face plate. “Are you going to fight me by yourself?” he asked.
Arturo placed the tip of his sword on the ground and nodded. There was no need for words. If Ribalt killed him, then that was how it would go. He had no intentions of dying, though who went into a fight expecting to die? He hoped no one tried to help him. If someone did, he might kill them himself.
Several seconds passed, then Arturo charged. Ribalt gasped and quickly raised his hammer. Arturo was in control as his blows crashed down on Ribalt’s weapon. Clangs filled the area as their weapons collided at incredible speeds. It didn’t take long for Ribalt to regain his footing and counter-attack.
These attacks… Arturo found himself thinking as he blocked the relentless counter-attack. Their moves were so fast that the onlookers were gasping and commenting on the fight, although neither Arturo nor Ribalt heard the commentary as they were focused on their fight. Each strike was bone-shattering. If either made a mistake, the fight could end for them right there.
Finding an opportunity, Arturo twisted his right leg and swung with all his strength. His sword collided with the hammer, forcing his opponent off balance and giving him the chance to renew his assault. Never in his life had he fought someone so skilled.
Their weapons collided and Arturo swung, missing his opponent by inches. Oh no, he thought, realizing he had overreached, giving Ribalt the chance to swing toward his chest. He barely got his sword up in time to block and he found himself staring at the sky. The ground was unforgiving as he rolled. The air left his lungs and his vision blurred. Knowing he only had a seconds, Arturo continued rolling, hearing the hammer smash into the ground where he’d been a second before. He got to his feet just in time to dodge the next strike that would have caved in his chest.
Ribalt stopped moving much to Arturo’s confusion. What was his opponent up to?
“Boy, what is your name?” Ribalt asked.
“Arturo Pentori,” he replied. Now he could hear what people were saying in the background.
“Wow, this is the best fight I’ve ever seen.”
“How can he swing that big sword so quickly?”
“There’s no way Ribalt will lose, he’s a legend!”
“I’ve fought many people in my life and you are by far the best,” Ribalt said. “It is a shame you will die before becoming a name throughout these lands.”
“This fight isn’t over,” Arturo said, grinding his teeth with frustration. Ribalt was an incredible fighter but he couldn’t lose, not until he avenged his family.
Instead of responding, Ribalt attacked. Arturo could feel himself slowing down as each strike forced him back. Air breezed over his head as he ducked and went to stab his opponent in the stomach. He realized his mistake. That opening was intentional!
Arturo saw the hammer coming toward his ribs and moved his right arm to intercept the blow. His vision blurred as the bones in his right arm shattered. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, somehow containing the scream that wanted to explode out of him. How could he fight without the use of his right arm?
Ribalt laughed as Arturo struggled to stand. He was holding his sword with his left hand, putting his weight on the weapon as he steadied himself. It was difficult to see. Shaking his head, Arturo was relieved to see his vision clear up. His right arm hung loosely at his side, throbbing painfully.
“This fight is over. You can’t swing your sword with one hand,” Ribalt taunted.
He’s wrong, Arturo thought and gripped the handle tightly with his left hand. He would have once chance to win. If it worked, it would be because of his opponent’s arrogance. Judging by his current strength, Arturo figured he could swing his sword three times before he was too tired to swing again. In reality, he had one strike that would be strong enough to pierce Ribalt’s armor. If he missed… well, it was better not to think about that.
Ribalt walked over to his injured opponent, raised his hammer and swung. Arturo waited until the last second before making his move. Putting all his weight to the right, he dodged the hammer, which struck the ground and sent pieces of stone into the air. He swung with all his might and heard the gasp of surprise as his sword sliced through Ribalt’s armor and halfway through his body.
Blood seeped through the wound and dripped onto the ground. Ribalt was gasping for air and dropped his hammer with a loud clang. His breath was coming in gasps while his body shook.
Arturo didn’t have the strength to pull his sword out and left it stuck in Ribalt’s body. He yanked the helmet off his opponent. Blood was running down Ribalt’s chin, and he looked at Arturo with disbelief. He couldn’t have been older than thirty, clean-shaven with thin hair and small eyebrows. If he hadn’t been told this was a legend, Arturo would have thought this was an ordinary man.
Neither one spoke, for each of them knew who had won. Arturo took out the dagger on his hip and thrust it into Ribalt’s throat. The legend’s eyes bulged as blood pooled down his neck and he slumped backward as the life left him.
Exhaustion overtook Arturo and he collapsed to his knees. He was tired and only now heard what was going on around him.
The Vandalor troops and Crystal Syndicate were talking about the fight and how they couldn’t believe Ribalt had lost. The remaining rebels laid down their weapons and surrendered. The fight for Sarute Fortress was over. All it took was a shattered arm and killing a legend.