Chapter 24
April 18th, 1663. In the wilds of Holenstadt.
Forty thousand Bszerci slowly maneuvered around the Komorowski estate, completely encircling it in a ring of steel and shot. Cannons were dragged ever so slowly by horses to their positions, and men steadily inched closer and closer.
Mercenaries and Imperials manned their makeshift defenses, massive barricades and deep trenches snaked around the estate, slicing it into smaller, more defensible sections. Even if the fight could not be won, the Imperials were planning to go out in a blaze of glory, and take as many rebels with them as they could. They would be rewarded for their bravery in the next life.
The mercenaries were far less eager, but they knew that the Bszerci would not be kind to them even if they decided to leave, as emotions were high and anyone working with the Komorowski family was considered a traitor of the highest order.
Krysia sat atop her horse, watching from a respectable distance away. She could not wait to see the life drain from Erwin’s eyes. She had had to deal with his stupidity, incompetence, and ignorance for far too long. He had even made a pass at her when they first met, something which she has never forgotten nor forgiven.
Her hand raised in the air and dropped a second later.
“Cannons! Begin bombardment! I want that prick to spend his last moments in complete and utter devastation!”
Emplacements lit up and shot massive plumes of smoke into the air as the rhythmic chorus of booms began. Cannonballs smashed into barricades and knocked over fences, killing and maiming individual men as six pound hunks of iron tore through the makeshift defenses.
“Turn them into mulch! I want to water the earth with the blood of the Komorowski family and all who side with them!”
Imperials ducked involuntarily as shots screamed overhead and smashed into the buildings behind them. They settled down into their spots and simply waited for the tide to pass, as there was nothing else they could do.
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The bombardment continued for nearly an hour and a half, with hundreds of cannonballs shot into the Komorowski estate, reducing large portions of it to rubble. Arms and legs of servants unfortunate enough to get caught up in the rubble stuck out at odd angles, and blood pooled in any low place it could find.
The fencing around the state was completely in tatters, it would provide no defense against the incoming attack. Their barricades would slow them down, as would the trenches, but the outcome of this battle was already decided. All the Imperials had to take comfort in now was that the gods take a liking to brave souls who lose their lives in glorious battle. The mercenaries, many local Bszerci, had no such comfort. They would die for nothing, and be remembered for all of time as traitors to their people.
Imperials gripped their muskets hard and thought of their ancestors as they saw the massive force of Bszerci begin to advance. Terrible knots formed in their stomachs as hordes of angry men marched forward in their columns and lines.
The Imperials fired from far outside their effective range, but because of the sheer amount of men advancing on them, many of the bullets hit their marks. Men stepped over and on the bodies of the fallen, stomping them down into the cold dirt. The Bszerci did not slow, the men in the back were motivated, and their mass kept the front moving forwards, whether they wanted to or not.
Imperials fired as quickly as they could load, sending plumes of acrid smoke drifting up into the air and Bszerci crashing to the ground. Wind whipped up the smoke, dispersing it and allowing for clear vision of the impossible odds in front of them.
Men steeled themselves as the Bszerci drew closer and closer, knowing that they were going to die this day whether or not they fought. And so, they resolved to fight.
When the Bszerci entered 100 yards the first row took aim and fired, killing few men as the Imperials hid in the trenches and behind still standing barricades. They handed their muskets back and the third row passed a loaded musket forward before beginning to load the spent one.
At 75 yards the first and second row stood packed as tight as possible, raised their muskets, and fired a singular, devastating volley. Dozens of men were killed and wounded in less than a second, and a few seconds later some began to scream at the top of their lungs as they slowly began to bleed out on the cold, hard ground. The thousands strong army closed the distance as quickly as possible, breaking out into a full sprint a few dozen yards away.
Bszerci hopped over barricades, bayonets and sabers flashing as they laid into the lightly armored Imperials. Imperial bayonets scraped off hussar armor, while Bszerci szabla and bayonet easily pierced and slashed through their padded gambesons.
In mere minutes the defenders were being pushed back from barricades to trenches, then to more barricades, then to the destroyed buildings themselves. Imperials retreated into the large mansion which made up the centerpiece of the Komorowski estate. It had long hallways with no cover in between the barricades, perfect for defending with firearms.
Bszerci flooded after them, waves of humans crashing against the crumbled walls of the mansion as they chased after their enemy, desperate to cleanse the land of these traitors. A Bszerci flew back as bullets ripped through his chest, killing him on the spot. Men quickly leaped the barricade after him, knowing that their best chance of survival was to overwhelm their enemy because they could reload.
A mercenary swung his greatsword down on a charging Bszerci, displacing his thrust and chopping deep into the stock of his gun. A second later an Imperial approached and ran the Bszerci through, twisting his bayonet and kicking him off. The greatswordsman barely managed to duck another thrust, scraping his cheek and causing him to wince.
They were slowly and steadily being pushed back. Every step the Bszerci took was paid for by blood, but if the lands of Holenstadt had one thing in abundance, it was blood. More and more bodies tore through the hallway, some stopping to grab anything that caught their eye.
As more ground was taken by the Bszerci more people began to notice the shiny things around the estate. The Komorawski were a rich family, and their estate was covered from top to bottom in shiny jewels and polished gold. People snatched away necklaces and other various goodies lying out in the open, abandoned by their former owners. Soldiers began to break off into rooms to look for goods, and officers looked the other way. Afterall, the Komorowski were traitors, and their wealth came from the Bszerci which they ruled over.
It only made sense to return this wealth to the people whom it was extracted from, or at least that's what the soldiers told themselves as they stuffed their pockets.
The flow of men into the defender’s line began to lessen somewhat as Bszerci looted the Komorowski estate, but the pressure never stopped. Officers shouted orders at their men, urging them forwards through the hail of bullets.
“Pchać pchać pchać pchać pchać! Mamy ich kurwa w biegu!”
Bszerci cheered as they charged headlong through the barrages and over barricades, steadily pushing the defenders farther and farther back. Soon, defenders found themselves back to back with allies supposed to man different parts of the estate, having been pushed back by the unstoppable horde of rebels.
Knots of defenders were completely wiped out as they were encircled, and within the hour the entire estate had been taken, with only small pockets of resistance in any nook and cranny they could find to condense the Bszerci down into a chokepoint.
Krysia smiled from atop her warhorse as she watched a man dragged over to her, kicking and screaming all the way. By the time he was at her feet he was a mess, crying, sweating, and thrashing around wildly like a cornered animal.
“You have fight left in you, that I can respect.”
He looked up at Krysia, rage burning in his eyes.
“You killed my family! My daughter was just eight! My son was thirteen! You’re a monster!”
His voice broke as he spoke.
“She was just eight! Eight years old! You’re not human, all of you Bszerci are not human!”
Erwin broke down into a sob, simply sitting back on his haunches and allowing the tears to flow down his cheeks. Krysia stared down at him, a stoic expression on her face. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her aide averting his eyes from the broken man. Krysia sighed and shook her head.
“This is not nearly as fun as I imagined it. Boy!”
She drew a pistol as he ran over to her.
“Do you think you are ready?”
She flipped it around in her hand, leaned down, and handed it to him handle first. He stared at it for a moment, then at Erwin, then back to the gun.
“Um, I-I-I…I…um…”
Krysia drew the gun back away from him.
“If you are not then I will not make you. A man should only take a life when he has prepared himself for the consequences.”
The boy looked between the gun and Erwin again before looking down at his feet. Krysia jumped down from her horse and flipped the gun around again before patting his head.
“There is no shame in not being ready at your age. I was not. However, you must watch. I am grooming you to be my successor, you must be prepared for grisly sights and harsh reprisals.”
She put the gun to Erwin’s head. He tensed up and looked up at her with his eyes, an expression of fury and grief written clearly across his face.
“Any last words, Erwin?”
He grit his teeth as he spoke, shaking with rage and sorrow.
“I will find you in the next life, and I will strangle you with my bare hands! And mount your head on a fucking pike!”
Krysia smiled.
“Good luck.”
She fired and Erwin dropped down like a rock. His blood and brains sprayed out of his skull, blanketing the boy in gore. The boy watched on, a neutral expression on his blood spattered face.
Krysia holstered her gun and drew her saber.
“Boy, pay attention to where I shot him.”
She gestured to the hole with her saber.
“I shot through the side of his head, not the face. It’s so when I do this…”
She swung her enchanted saber down and his head rolled away from his body. The cut was clean and beautifully done, her aide had always admired her technique.
“...I can mount his head on a pike, and his face will be legible.”
She grabbed the head by the hair and mounted her horse. She gestured for him to come and helped the boy up onto the saddle.
The estate was in complete ruin. Anything wooden was set alight, and anything stone was ruined by the cannon fire. All of the goods were being swiftly shoved in pockets and sacks, and every person not associated with the Bszerci army was slaughtered without question and without mercy.
It was a grisly sight that the two rode into, causing the boy’s stoic expression to falter slightly. He had seen some horrible things, but not complete devastation like this. Kryisa rode over to a soldier and handed Erwin’s head to him.
“Here, put this on a pike at the entrance. I want to see how well his ugly mug compliments the destruction.”
The soldier nodded his head and ran off to find a pike. Krysia took a deep breath and sighed contentedly.
“Ah, I almost missed the smell of burning settlements. It smells like victory.”
Soon, the entirety of the Komorowski family’s heads, from father to daughter, were on pikes stuck into the ground at the front entrance, a grisly warning to anyone who would dare oppose Krysia in her quest to free her people from the Empire.
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Apron 28th, 1663. Leibenstadt.
The Baron smiled as he looked through his telescope. He saw a massive army setting up in the distance, having chosen the exact spot he thought they would for their final attempt to keep the rebels from reaching Bergzitadelle Frederick. He estimated around ninety thousand men and women from all over the Empire were coming to engage with his combined force of eighty five thousand.
Behind him his own army marched in neat columns through the tall grasses of Leibenstadt, stomping them flat with the force of tens of thousands of footfalls. Horses pulled cannons and their crews kept them straight and steady. Wagons carried equipment and supplies, protected by Anarchic Horsemen and their special camouflage magicks.
Waffenstadt troops in their brown Litewka and gray sashes marched alongside Bickenstadters in their blue and orange Puff and Slash. Red and gold Brayherds marched alongside both groups, their massive caprine bodies sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the group of regular humans.
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Over the course of the next hour the forces began to move troops into position, massive lines containing hundreds of companies snaked around the surrounding area, and horsemen rode dangerously close to each other and the enemy, looking for the weakest spot in the enemy’s lines.
The Waffenstadt army made up the left flank and half of the center, with the Bickenstadt forces making up the other half of the center and the right flank. Brayherd legions stood in reserve, waiting for the signal to attack with their famous running testudo, and their human auxiliaries filled in gaps wherever they were needed. Some of them were given firearms, extras that the coalition forces had brought with or captured, but many were still equipped with melee weapons only.
Some companies were obscured from cannonfire by hills, tall grasses, and knots of trees, while others stood tall and confident at the tops of hills, looking across the field at their enemy as they slowly maneuvered into place.
The human auxilaries morale was low, as they were the only troops on the field armed with melee weapons and javelins, but they would at least absorb enemy fire that could be used for killing those that could shoot back. A grisly position for anyone to be in, but any who survive their twenty fivce year military service would be given full citizenship and a plot of land to cultivate.
The Imperials were a little shaken. They had so far only lost ground, and the city of Leibensburg had fallen far faster than anyone had anticipated. Many of these men thought they wouldn’t be seeing combat for at least another few months until they received the orders to move out.
The cannons on both sides were in place, and soon enough their chorus of death began to sing. Cannonballs flew over the heads of soldiers, providing very little assurance as they whizzed past harmlessly. Everyone here knew that missed shots simply meant the next one would be more accurate.
Then, the first casualties of the battle began. A cannonball ripped through the line of a rebel company at an angle, killing and maiming over a dozen men at once as it skipped past into other lines. Men stood up, dazed from the impact of their comrades being shoved into them, but they quickly got over their shock and filled the gaps in their lines.
An Imperial was knocked over by the men next to him. A second later he looked at his sleeve and noticed it was soaked with blood, the cannonball had taken off his head, and that of the man behind him as well.
Anarchic Horsemen crept dangerously close under the cover of their camouflage magic, getting with fifty yards of the frontline to look for any opportunity they could take. On the flanks cavalry on both sides began to probe for good opportunities.
On the right flank, Udo’s dragoons emerged from behind a thicket of trees and rode to the top of a nearby hill. He could see two companies of light cavalry approaching, carbines pointed to the sky and reins in their off-hands. He whistled and his men began to ride forward towards the enemy.
They rode within a hundred yards and Udo ordered them to stop. The three units had a staredown, and Udo stood up on his horse. He took off his helmet and began to bounce in his saddle as he waved it, shouting at the top of his lungs.
“Heyooooooo! Weak boys with the weak horses! Come heeeeeeeere!”
His men began to mimic him, mocking the enemy and daring them to come closer. After around ten seconds he saw the frontline of the cavalry take aim.
“Duck boys!”
They laid down on their horses as a flash came and plumes of smoke rose in the distance. The shots whizzed past harmlessly and the riders sat up tall in their saddles. Udo and his men laughed and began to taunt them more.
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“Oh, can’t hit from 100 yards? You don’t got rifles? Not important enough?”
Soon the light cavalry began to draw closer and Udo grinned from ear to ear. Udo drew his carbine and aimed, and any of his men with a clear shot did so as well. He fired and they did the same, dropping a handful of horsemen. They whistled and laughed as they holstered carbines and drew sabers.
“I think they’re coming boys!”
Udo turned and shouted at the top of his lungs.
“‘Bout time you make yourselves known Anarchs! Get around ‘em and close the gap! Ok, let’s get going boys!”
He whistled once and got moving, followed by his men.
“Let’s get ‘em boys! Charge!”
His men cheered as they began to ride forward, seemingly a single company of dragoons against two light cavalrymen. Udo was doing something he was especially good at: getting hot-headed units to break away from the safety of their allies and attack him.
As the two sides smashed into each other Udo raised his saber and slashed down onto an enemy, breaking through his mundane weapon with his enchanted saber, courtesy of the Baron, following through and slicing his head off in a single strike.
A dragoon allowed a slash to bounce off of his chestplate and caught the neck of a light cavalrymen with his saber, ripping him down off his horse. Another dragoon screamed as a saber found its way into his armpit. He slashed down but hit nothing, the momentum of the swing pulling him down flat onto his horse, bleeding out quickly and staining hios beautiful saddle red.
Udo tilted his head to allow a thrust to glance off his helmet and returned a thrust of his own, piercing the heart of an Imperial, twisting and pulling it out before lopping off his head. He turned his torso and slapped another thrust out of the way, leaning forward and sliding his saber up the length of the Imperial’s blade and up clean through his neck, sending a jet of blood into Udo’s face.
He spit out the blood and wiped his eyes, a second later feeling the impact of a slash on his back, thankfully protected by his armor. He wheeled around and managed to block another slash before thrusting forward and flicking his wrist down, catching the soldier’s shoulder but not going deep enough to do any damage.
Suddenly, from behind the light cavalry, a company of Anarchic Horsemen appeared less than fifty yards away and slammed into them, killing over a dozen men on impact with their gun lances. The two companies of light cavalry were surrounded and swiftly slaughtered, with just a handful of men able to slip away back to friendly lines.
Udo raised his saber and cheered, followed soon after by his comrades. He ordered a retreat and they safely made their way back to rebel lines, laughing and cheering the whole way. They had only had a handful of casualties, and most of those injured men could be saved by Geidpfeld.
Imperial and rebel skirmishers began to exchange shots. The highly accurate rifles of the rebels meant that more of their shots hit, but the slow reload meant that the Imperial smoothbores could keep heads down far more effectively.
The Bickenstadt skirmishers began to retreat back and rejoin their formations, while the Imperials kept up their constant fire.
A cannonball flew through the air and ripped through a line of advancing rebels, and a few seconds later the gap was filled. A man ducked as a cannonball screamed towards him and felt hot liquid splat against the back of his head. He looked behind and found two men with missing heads lying still on the ground, and a few others trying to crawl their way out from under them to stand back in line.
A few Bickenstadt companies on the right flank began to advance, dauntless despite the artillery fire tearing small gaps in their lines. Udo’s dragoons began to advance as well, poking and prodding around to find a good opportunity.
Imperial skirmishers fired and retreated, not wanting to engage in a fight with line infantry. Bickenstadt skirmishers returned fire before crouching down to make themselves smaller targets and literally hammering their rounds down the rifled muzzle.
Four companies of Bickenstadt line infantry and a Grenadier company marched together to the top of a particularly long hill, the front row firing a volley at 200 yards out. Very few of the shots wounded targets, let alone killed any, but that was not the point of firing from so far out. They were mostly just seeing how the enemy would react.
The Imperials only responded using cannon fire, so the companies decided to advance further. The Waffenstadt forces began to follow suit, moving forwards and probing for weakness all along the line.
The Imperials held firm, none of them wanted to be caught out of formation, especially after witnessing the complete destruction of those two cavalry companies. With the existence of the Anarchic Horsemen, the Imperials had to be very careful with how they maneuvered.
As the rebels crept closer the Imperials fired and retreated. The thing they had the most over the rebels was land and supply, so they could afford to trade ground for time. Each passing second was more time for the Imperials to fire upon the enemy.
An order came down the line and the Imperials began to fire by platoon, just two men at a time aiming and firing. It created a constant stream of bullets that peppered the approaching enemy with shot. By the time the men at the end of the line fire, the ones at the opposite end have loaded and are ready to fire.
Cannonballs crashed into the Imperial lines, killing and injuring over a dozen men at once, A man crashed back into his comrades hard enough to knock them all over, a cannonball having impacted him dead center in the chest.
The rebels drew closer and closer even under the heavy fire, the Bickenstadters holding their fire and the Waffenstadters firing at 150 yards, downing handfuls of men. At 100 yards the Bickenstadter’s first row aimed and fired, and at the same time a group of cannonballs smashed through the center of an Imperial company, temporarily scattering the men.
Udo’s men immediately began to charge forward when they noticed the weakened formation. They rode knee to knee, sabers raised, screaming war cries into the air as they approached the enemy at great speed.
Udo’s dragoons slammed into the disorganized company and scattered them almost immediately, sending men flying through the air or slamming into the ground. The Bickenstadt Grenadiers began to charge as well, cheering as their allies destroyed their enemy and encouraging nearby companies to advance as well. They ran forward as a single, solid block, a wall of men screaming up the hill at their enemy.
The remaining Imperials held firm, presenting bayonets forward to absorb the charge. Bickenstadters thrust up at the Imperials as Udo’s cavalry began to sweep around them. They couldn’t quite get a charge off, but they trotted into the enemy and began to lay into them with sabers.
A Grenadier slapped a thrust out of the way and returned with one of his own, twisting it as soon as it entered his chest and ripping it out roughly. A thrust flew right next to his head and impacted the bottom of his helmet, nearly taking it off of his head if not for the strap holding it on. He thrust into the man who tried to kill him, withdrew his bayonet, and swung upwards hard, hitting him in the jaw with the butt of his gun.
The right flank bent and warped as units moved to support or fill in gaps, and the Imperials drew on their reserves to shore up their defenses. Udo spotted two units of lancers screaming towards him and ordered a retreat. The infantry began to back off as well, as Imperial reinforcements were nearly there and they did not want to fight outnumbered.
Imperials reorganized their lines and fired into the backs of the retreating rebels until they exited their effective range. The first push had been stopped, but they had come out ahead of the Imperials, who had lost three full companies in just five minutes.
Cannons roared and more men were killed and maimed. Smaller engagements continued to break out along the massive battle line, but for the next hour nothing like that large push occurred as the two sides simply probed for weakness and looked for good opportunities.
An Anarchic Horseman officer rode his men dangerously close to the enemy lines. There was a cannon emplacement that he had been eyeing the entire time, but he had yet to find a good time to be rid of them.
Waffenstadt infantry to his left began to advance, and he noticed a few companies repositioning slightly farther away from the cannons than before. He licked his lips as he watched them inch farther and farther away until, finally, he was satisfied with how far they had gotten. He turned to his men and raised his gunlance.
“In and out boys! In and out! Kill the crew and retreat, we’ll be there for twenty seconds then pull out!”
His men silently acknowledged him and they began to ride forward. A cannon picked a target behind the horsemen and fired, breaking their camouflage spell and killing a few horsemen by sheer luck before smashing through some poor infantrymen.
The Horsemen continued to ride forward, undaunted by the loss of their camo and comrades. Fifty men fired their lances at once, wiping out nearly half of the Imperial cannon crew in just a few seconds. They tore through the emplacement with ease and, just as quickly as they came, they retreated back to their lines, and the officer recast his obscurement spell.
The Waffenstadt forces of the left flank began to advance across the field, one of the few bits of relatively flat land in the surrounding area, despite cannonballs gouging up great chunks of dirt. They jogged the distance in formation, taking shots from all around. Men fell back into their comrades or straight down into the dirt, but still they marched on.
At 125 yards from the enemy they reached a hill, struggling to stay in formation as their legs pushed them forward and up. A cannonball audibly scraped against the top of a soldier’s helmet, sending a spart flying through the air and just barely managing not to kill him. They advanced through a hail of bullets, held together through determination and momentum.
Their opponent held their fire until the Waffenstadters crested the top, and as soon as they did a single, thunderous boom echoed through the hills for miles around as an entire battalion fired at once. Dozens of men were dropped like rocks as bullets cut off signals to brains. Others lay or crawl on the ground, screaming in agony. Still, the Waffenstadters marched on, stepping over the bodies of their fallen comrades.
Waffenstadt officers raised sabers all throughout their line, the entire battalion readying to reply with shots of their own. Sabers swished through the air and hammers dropped, disunified in their timing. Large chunks of the formation fired within a few seconds of each other, creating a stuttering effect which broke up the sound of the volley.
A loud horn was blown and the Waffenstadt officers ordered a retreat, they were disorganized and shaken by their losses. The Imperials were showing great discipline, and their volley fire was immaculate as well as highly accurate. It was terrifying for the inexperienced Waffenstadters.
Imperial and rebel cavalry rode within a dozen yards of each other, each one daring the other to charge first. Imperial light cavalry fired into the backs of the retreating infantry and fled before the retreating men could return fire, and before the dragoons could catch them.
Two companies of dragoons got close enough to see each other’s eyes and fired pistols into each other, impacting plate and flesh with deadly force. The two sides stared at each other, considering what to do, before the Waffenstadt officer raised his saber and ordered a retreat. The Imperials briefly gave chase, but broke off soon after. Too exposed, not enough support.
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So far, the battle was fairly even. Despite the failed pushes, the rebel artillery had done its grisly work and shook the Imperials to their very cores. Their lines had thinned slightly, and their reserves were all concentrated around their flanks.
The Baron looked through a telescope from atop his horse.
“I think it’s time we break them, gentlemen.”
He collapsed the telescope and put it in his saddle bag. He turned to Tiberius and spoke.
“I’m going to break through the middle. I suggest your Brayherds come with. Show us your famous running testudo.”
Tiberius chuffed in approval and the Baron nodded.
“Then I guess I’ll see your boys out on the field.”
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After another hour of staring and getting shot by artillery, the left and right flanks of the rebel forces began to move forward, while the center stayed relatively still. The Imperial general ordered the flanks be strengthened, so many of the reserves near the center were redeployed. They marched into place near their comrades and tried not to think about all the corpses at their feet.
The flanks marched within 125 yards and stopped. They ordered platoon fire, every two men of the company firing as a pair. Soon, a constant stream of shots crashed against the Imperial flanks, which they responded to with their own platoon firing.
The two sides fired at each other over and over, trying to soften each other up as much as possible. Artillery pierced through the formations of Imperials trying desperately to reload, knocking men over and forcing them to climb over the bodies of their fallen comrades.
The Baron drew his saber and looked back at his dragoons. They were all wearing the same thing as him, beveled cuirass with the etching of a ship docking in a port in gold across the chest, morion helmet, and of course multicolored puff and slash. He nodded his head and looked at his allies.
On either side of him were Brayherds in their Roman armor, standing with shields locked together. Brayherds held massive scutum to protect the front, top, and sides of their formation, nearly impenetrable to small arms, at least from the front and sides.
The Baron figured their artillery had to be running low, since the coalition was as well. So his plan was to just charge into the middle, followed by the combined Waffenstadt/Bickenstadt center. He was going all in on a single, dashing maneuver that would, hopefully, scatter the Imperial army.
He sat tall in his saddle at the front of his formation and took a deep breath before raising his saber.
“Everyone! Forwards! Match the Brayherd’s pace!”
His men shouted to acknowledge his orders, and the Brayherd centurions ordered their Brayherds to march. As a single block the Brayherds moved forward, in perfect lockstep the entire time. Their shields hardly rattled against each other lightly even as the massive men moved at a near jog.
The Baron’s dragoons trotted alongside them, keeping pace with their slower infantry counterparts. Even if they weren’t charging at full speed being attacked by horses was always a terrifying and deadly endeavor. Horses are massive creatures, and the men on top of them carried very sharp and pointy weapons.
The men in the center noticed the movement and immediately prepared themselves. While they hadn’t seen much real combat yet, they had been getting blasted by artillery the entire battle. The men in the center were shaken, and they knew that reinforcements were on the flanks.
The Brayherds and dragoons picked up their pace and began to eat up the distance. The Imperials began to fire upon them, their bullets harmlessly deflecting off of enchanted metal. At 125 yards the Brayherds began to run, their shields clacking against each other loudly as their disciplined march began to pick up speed.
Bullets flew and bounced off enchanted scutum, and the Brayherd’s pace only increased. Their famous running testudo was now pounding towards the Imperial lines, and the massive wall of shield and horse was beginning to get bigger and bigger relative to them.
A man, rushing to load as quickly as possible, swiped his hand down his sword bayonet on accident, creating a nasty gash. He continued despite the pain, knowing that the only thing that could possibly keep him safe was driving off the enemy.
The Imperials fired as quickly as they could load, despairing as their shots continued to have no effect. They gripped their muskets and tilted bayonets forward as they began to make out the detailed patterns on the Brayherd’s massive shields.
“Purus, capras, dis!”
The Brayherds let loose a single, unified Caprine bray as their shields smashed into Imperial bayonets. The Baron’s dragoons trotted into the enemy, laying into them with saber and shot. The Baron slapped aside a thrust and slashed down onto his enemy, opening a massive gash from left cheek to right shoulder.
A bayonet scraped off of the enchanted face of a scutum and a second later the wall of shield pushed forward, smashing into their bodies and knocking them back. An Imperial was shoved to the ground and trampled by the caprine hooves of the Brayherd Legion, having his brains violently stomped out of his skull before he could even react.
“Expande eos!”
The Baron caught on to the shouting centurions and gave his own orders in Reikers.
“Spread them out men! Break them into little knots! Get them disorganized!”
His men shouted and began to fan out, physically separating the Imperials from each other. Sabers flashed and dozens of men dropped to the ground. Brayherds shoved Imperials into each other, dazing them before finishing them with lightning fast thrusts from their gladius.
The Imperial center was in complete chaos as horsemen and Brayherd spread out and overwhelmed their smaller human infantry counterparts. In just thirty seconds nearly the entire Imperial center had been scattered, and reserves from the flanks rushed over to assist.
Then, the rest of the rebel forces began to advance, both flanks and the humans of the center marching forward in near unison as quickly as they could. They crossed the distance in the blink of an eye, running and screaming the entire way.
The remaining weakened Imperials could not handle the sight, and many of the newer or less experienced companies began to break. Officers tried to get men back together, but there was nothing they could do. The army was beginning to rout.
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Imperial grenadiers protected their comrades as they retreated back to Bergzitadelle Frederick. Even as Brayherds slammed into them the brave, disciplined, and experienced fighters of the grenadier corps kept them at bay. Three men worked together to push back and unbalance a Brayherd legionary. Two of them stood on his scutum as the third thrust into his caprine neck, twisting and ripping it out before getting back into the line with his comrades.
For the Imperials the past week had been listening to their superiors talk about how the Brayherds were not invincible, that they could be killed. While that was true, killed a few Brayherds here and there hardly contributed anything besides moral boosts.
The terrain was becoming rougher as they made it farther up into the mountains. The Baron’s dragoons were beginning to become disorganized and exhausted, as were the Brayherd Legions. The Baron looked at his men, leaning on their steeds and breathing hard, and raised his saber.
“Men! Let’s leave them be for now, leave them for the skirmishers and light cavalry to harass! We must rest!”
He turned to his Brayherd allies and shouted in Latin.
“Defatigati sumus, Amicus! Regredi debemus!”
The centurion nodded and retrieved a horn from his belt, blowing a single, sustained note into it. Soon the rest of the centurions followed suit, and the Brayherds began to retreat, maintaining their testudo and walking backwards as the Imperial grenadiers fired into them.
The grenadiers did not stop loading and firing until their enemy was far outside their effective range. They did not cheer, simply turning and retreating with the rest of their army. If they stayed behind for too long the enemy light cavalry would begin harassing them. Or, gods forbid, the Anarchic Cavalry.
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Bergzitadelle Frederick was a massive fortress complex that spanned almost the entirety of the southern Leibenstadt mountain range. Hundreds of smaller sections dotted the mountain, moving up to the very peak where the citadel’s main structure itself was located.
Taking Frederick would be extremely difficult. They had to take every single sub-fort and watchtower along the thin path up to the citadel itself, then they had to breach the walls and take the multileveled citadel step by step, resisted at every turn by motivated and angry Imperials.
The Baron observed the fortress complex from a distance, watching men snaking up the winding path carved into the mountain which was the only way in or out of Bergzitadelle Frederick.
He spoke to the man next to him, Ludwin, who was looking through a telescope at the marching columns of Imperials.
“This is going to be extremely bloody work.”
Ludwin nodded.
“Yes. Ideally we could get them to surrender, but, that seems unlikely.”
The Baron sighed.
“Yes, I know the garrison commander. He would rather be flayed alive than betray the Empress.”
Ludwin sighed as well.
“Yes, his reputation speaks for itself. All we can do is hope everything goes well, and that we can minimize our losses as much as possible.”
The Baron stared off into space.
“...I will be writing a lot of letters to grieving mothers.”
Ludwin nodded solemnly.
“Yes. The only thing we can do is remind ourselves that our cause is just.”
The Baron smiled.
“Yes. We will take Bergzitadelle Frederick. We will reduce it to rubble, in the name of freedom.”
The Baron took out an elaborately etched flask and raised it in the air.
“To heal the Empire’s wounded moral heart.”
Ludwin smiled and raised his fist, as he had no flask to sup from.
“Yes. To bettering the world.”
The Baron drank from his flask and offered it to Ludwin, who gratefully sipped from it before giving it back. The Baron looked solemn suddenly, solemn yet determined as he stared at Bergzitadelle Frederick.
“Ludwin, I am an old man. I have only a short time to live, only one death to die, and I will die fighting for this cause.”
He gripped his flask tightly and looked Ludwin dead in the eyes.
“I will bring holy hell upon them. There will be no peace in this land until slavery is done for. I will end it, with bayonet and shot, if it’s the last thing I do.”
Ludwin smiled.
“Baron, I know this already.”
The Baron smiled, slightly embarrassed.
“Well, I just felt it should be stated again. It sounded good though, right? Compelling?”
Ludwin lightly punched his shoulder and turned his back to the mountain citadel.
“Come, Baron, we have work to do.”
The Baron nodded and turned to follow him.
“Yes. We have divine work to do. Moral work.”
End of Book 3