153 PD, Alden Empire

‘The Battle for Arkthur’

Pieter fell to his knees exhausted. He plunged his sword into the ground and rested his arms on top. He’d had very few difficult days in his nine years in the military, none that left him so physically and mentally drained. A talentless bowman, he was never given too much of a burden. Even though his years of service suggested he would have been promoted at least once, he had only ever worked just hard enough to not get kicked out. He never wanted a higher position in the army. Neither the rewards nor the responsibilities that came with them were enticing. A simple man, with very little ambition, he just wanted enough coin to buy a house and spend his nights in the taverns with his buddies. Being a soldier for the Alden empire was merely the easiest way to do that at the time.  

The Alden empire hadn’t been challenged on the battlefield in decades. Being a soldier was no more difficult than putting on a suit of armor and walking around. Even the training they did had laxed over the years. In the eyes of both the military and the people, there was no one that was a threat to their sovereignty. There was no one to rival their military strength. They had the ultimate weapon, the ultimate deterrent. So when the Imuru Empire invaded, they were both baffled and unprepared.

In only two weeks they took villages and small towns left and right. They quickly swept through the east. It wasn't long before their march collided with one of the big cities, Arkthur. Pieter’s squad was one of the many tasked with defending its walls. They didn’t need to engage the Imurians, they only had to hold the city until reinforcements arrived. Unfortunately for Pieter, things would never be that simple. The Imurians were battle hungry and even worse, they were well prepared. They didn’t attempt to siege the city, as one would be inclined to do, they instead brought out weapons he had never seen before. Catapults. In the age where sahir was still dominant, creating tools of war separate from it was largely considered a waste of time. Imurians didn’t share that belief.

When the catapults rolled up, it bemused Pieter and the rest of the men on the wall. Pieter’s captain, having a bad feeling about them, instructed them to prepare for an assault. His men were far more lax than he was while they found the new structures odd they didn’t fear them. Years of what they believed to be dominance had made them arrogant. They only half-heartedly listened to their captain’s instruction. Pieter however, shared that bad feeling in his gut. He prepared his arrows, checked to make sure his bow was in good condition. It was his routine before training and with his survival instincts telling him the large rocks they carried with them weren’t there for no reason, it comforted him. Halfway into his preparations, Pieter and his captain’s premonitions would prove even worse than true. The arrival of catapults on the battlefield wasn’t bad for them, it was dreadful.

The catapults flung rock after rock at Arkthur’s walls. The soldiers manning them weren’t prepared, they couldn’t have been. As the rocks crashed in one after another, large chunks of the wall fell apart. Men all around Pieter were being crushed or flung off the wall to their deaths. After the first volley, none of the archers had the gull to peak their head out to take a shot. It gave the catapults free reign. Under that constant fire, the eastern and southern walls fell in a matter of minutes. Then began the massacre.

Imurian warriors poured in unabated. They were all malsirs, the blue glow of their sahir barriers was impossible to miss. From Pieter’s elevated position it looked like the city was being invaded by the sea. It was a flood. He had never seen so many malsirs in one place. While malsirs were the crux of any competent army, there were always a fair few regular soldiers. He was just a regular soldier himself, he couldn't use sahir in the slightest. His arrows wouldn’t even qualify as a nuisance to a malsir. Understanding that, he ran. Even if reinforcements got there in time, he wouldn’t be one of the survivors. Dying for his country wasn’t an idea he cosigned. Skipping down the stairs as fast as he could, the sounds of war were getting louder and louder. When he reached the bottom floor, he headed north. The Imurians were attacking from the south-east, heading north-west was the safest bet. Plus, the next closest city was in that direction, anyway.

Pieter ran frantically. He had dropped his bow at some point; it was impeding his running motion. As he ran across the edge of the city, he could see glimpses of the battle taking place. They were horrifying. The Imurians were winning in both skill and numbers. Every time he got a glance he saw tens to hundreds of his countrymen dying. The streets were not just covered in blood; they were absolutely flooded by it. The Imurians, either unaware or well accustomed to bloodshed, paid it not mind as they marched confidently through. The contrast between the blue of their sahir and the red of the blood burned a vivid image into Pieter's eyes. It would have been an enchanting image if he couldn’t see the bodies laying in the red. Instead, it only injected his legs with adrenaline. He ran faster than his body knew was possible. He was not alone. The closer he got to the northern wall, the more people he saw running with him. Most of the runners were civilians, but many of them were soldiers like him. He could even see a malsir trying to make an escape. They were all people who believed Arkthur would fall that day. They were all wrong.

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In the skies above him Pieter noticed something. A single line of lightning was streaking across the clouds. He wasn’t the only one to notice the odd phenomenon, many heads were titled up in the same fashion as his. Soon almost everybody around him was looking up into the sky, none of them had stopped running though. Intent on ignoring it, Pieter looked down and quicken his pace. Lightning would not distract him from what he had just witnessed. A few moments later he caught up to a group of people that were standing still. When he got closer, he noticed some even knelt. At the center of the crowd the malsir he had seen earlier was screaming something at the top of his lungs.

“We’re saved! We’re saved!”

Pieter didn’t know how the man had reached that conclusion, but he wasn’t keen on sticking around to find out. That being said, he was far enough away from the city that a quick break wouldn’t be the worst idea. As he was contemplating stopping or continuing, the crowd beside him started cheering. Turning to see what they were cheering at he saw that the streak of lightning was now falling towards the city.

What the f—.

Before Pieter could finish the thought, he paid witness to one of the most well-documented events in history. The landing of Emperor Weynken Olivier Augustijn Alden. His landing was a thing of legend. It had supposedly caused an explosion so massive that the radius of it was larger than the city of Arkthur. The height of the explosion was said to have rivalled small mountains. Even those who didn't turn in time to see it, they heard it, felt it. It was an otherworldly feat. He had decimated the bulk of the Imuru empire’s fighting force in one move. Thousands and thousands of the most well-trained soldiers perished without even being given a fighting chance.

Emperor Weynken was the Alden empire’s ultimate weapon. His unrivaled strength was the reason their military had been so lax. He was beyond a master malsir. He was power itself. He was a legend.

He was the last legend.   

—————

Modern day, White Wolves’ Headquarters

A tall, bulky man strolled through the halls while rolling and stretching his shoulders. He had just spent the entire morning training with the two guards that now flanked him. They were two of the brightest prospects in his groups and they were twins. Their teamwork was second to none. Alas, they were still a ways off from being anything more than a workout for Wolf. While their defence was airtight, their offence was far too weak to truly test him. They did make for great bodyguards though.

As they headed for the door that lead to Wolf’s office, Wolf noticed a short man in an all white suit waiting by it. The man smiled upon locking eyes with him.

Wolf addressed him, “You’re in a good mood Tess. Have Saber and Zar reported back?”

A slight frown crept onto the man’s face, but he replied immediately all the same, “Yes sir, they have.”

“Good,” He unlocked his door and called the man in, “Come. Update me.”

Wolf poured himself a glass of water. The twins were outside guarding the door; he didn’t like having more people in his office than was absolutely necessary. Leaning on his desk, he addressed the man, “So tell me, what is this good news?”

“Zar is progressing well. He has successfully recruited most of their malsirs, but there are a few that are proving to be rather loyal to their captain. They also have a number of in-house blacksmiths and doctors that he has managed to agree to defecting.”

Wolf smiled, “Good, he can leave the loyal ones alone. As long as their overall fighting strength is crippled. And Saber?”

The man lost a bit of his enthusiasm, “Saber’s report was mostly the same as last months, he is successfully galvanizing the people. There is a growing sense of ‘us’ among them.”

Wolf felt like Tess was leaving something unsaid, “And?”

They locked eyes for a moment, but the man quickly looked away. “And my spies speculate that there might be some movement from the west. We don’t have any concrete proof, but there have been reports of seeing new faces showing up then disappearing soon after.”

“Hmm,” Wolf placed the glass of water down and walked behind his desk to take a seat, “Then we move quickly. Vrzli is coming.”