Leonard swung his sword, and another man died.
It was apparent by now that Treon’s rearguard was trying its best to stall for time, hoping that if they held on just a little longer, General Locke would come tearing down the marsh and send the rebels fleeing, but that worked just as well for Leonard’s purpose.
Not bothering to dodge a blow coming directly for his neck, he stepped forward, the enemy’s lance shattering upon contact with his armor, and thrust his fist through the unfortunate man’s chest.
Usually, such a brutal display would have been enough to halt the fighting. Leonard had even expected it to be another delaying tactic. If the royalist soldiers surrendered en masse, processing them would have taken precious time, but Luke Smith knew better than to be too clever. Or at least, he was subtle enough in his plotting that Leonard couldn’t figure it out.
Another swing of his sword, another man died.
The revolutionaries behind him pushed forward gleefully, taking advantage of the unstoppable wedge that he was forming with his butchery and forcing the royalists to bunch up.
Just as they were waiting for Locke to save them, Leonard had sent the call for the main army to break camp and join him, and if he had to hold the position by himself to guarantee the General couldn’t set up his defenses, he would do it.
That is all contingent on Locke abandoning his fortified hill to save the advance force he sent to slow us down. If he was really so callous to send them to their deaths, then this will be a needless carnage, but I don’t think he can afford to stay back.
It was a big gamble. The intel division seemed confident that while the General was a cautious man and would prefer having as many advantages as possible before fighting, Treon’s nobles were much less patient. It all came down to whether he could afford to ignore a direct order from Count Luster-Treon to take the field and fight the rebels once and for all or if he had the balls to usurp command.
That would require that he deliberately go against an order from his superior. Of course, if he does that and then wins, he could spin it as a simple misunderstanding, but he can’t afford to wait too long. If he stays back, he gambles that we’ll be more pressed for time than he is and attack us. We’re both relying on luck, but I have more advantages this time.
The loyalist morale would plummet if they learned that one of their best commanders, Luke Smith, and hundreds of others were left to their deaths simply because their General didn’t want to fight in an open field.
Locke might have been a good tactician, but the rules of nobility bound him. He couldn’t allow his name to be so besmirched.
A wind blade flashed his way, strong enough to cut through a tree, and Leonard angled Dyeus up, redirecting it with ease. Behind it, a hail of bullets followed, not harming him but forcing him to stop his advance momentarily, giving the cringing soldiers before him a few seconds to reorganize.
Leonard allowed the diversion to work, if only because time was on his side, unlike what the poor men facing him believed.
As soon as the barrage ended, he stepped forth again, crashing into the hastily constructed shield wall with a bellow.
He kicked the first tank, bowling him over and creating an opening that the nearby soldiers swiftly plugged.
Leonard was pleasantly surprised that these men were made of sterner stuff than most other loyalists he had encountered so far. Especially because he intended to recruit them once the battle was over. [Resurrection] was handy like that.
Another wind blade screamed through the air, intending to force him back. Leonard took it head-on this time, unflinchingly marching through it and cutting down another man.
The enemy ranks opened up, seemingly in response to the sudden death. Immediately after, a hail of mana bullets followed, doing more to obscure Leonard’s vision than to harm him.
And yet, once the attack was over, he found himself once more beset by enemies, seemingly untiring despite the certainty that clashing with him would lead to their deaths.
I can respect that. This is obviously Smith’s handiwork, but the men are dutifully following along.
Another skull was caved in. Leonard abruptly changed direction, aiming away from the backlines and toward the cluster of enemy soldiers, who he was sure hid the enemy commander. That sent the soldiers into a frenzy.
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Much like an ant colony, they swarmed him, sacrificing their lives without care to give their leader time to flee. Men died one after the other, their discipline forgotten in the frenzy.
It was enough to cement Leonard’s idea of resurrecting them all. It was something he had done less and less with how large the overall conflict had become, as he couldn’t be present everywhere, and even for him, there was a time limit.
But these men, enemies they might be, had nothing but pure dedication and devotion for their captain in their hearts as they died. There was no spare thought for their homeland, no loyalty to distant nobles. Only for the man who had spent weeks, if not months, forging them into a force to be reckoned with when he was expected to send them to their death.
Once again, after the frenzy abated, Leonard found himself facing away from his initial target, having been successfully redirected.
The battle had been going on barely for thirty minutes, and yet more than a hundred men were already dead, with more injured being pulled from the frontline to be healed and sent back into the thick of it as soon as possible.
Leonard’s men were eager to prove themselves and assured of victory thanks to his presence. This meant more injuries than average, but also that the enemy was on the back foot, not having expected to face such a determined assault.
All of this happened against the backdrop of the sleepy village of Hillcrest, a town worth noting on a map only for its proximity to Treon, which usually served as a rest stop for merchants and travelers. The local population had long since been evacuated, so Leonard felt no remorse for what would happen should his prediction be correct.
Rivulets of blood ran through the marsh, mixing with the mud and turning the battlefield into a hellish landscape.
At one point, Leonard was forced to abandon his assault to relieve the northern flank, where the enemy fire was concentrated. It risked buckling, and while the soldiers would eventually fall to his blade, any loss of life he could spare was worth taking a few seconds to address.
All in all, the battle was remarkably organized. Leonard was facing desperate resistance wherever he turned, and each time he made for a target, he was redirected by Smith’s machinations. While he wouldn’t say he was being curtailed—his kill count was beyond stunning by now— he was halfway between admiring and frustrated at how efficiently the enemy commander was handling the chaos of the battle.
I’m almost tempted to force my way to him and put an end to this, but momentary satisfaction is not worth risking the overall plan. That’s become my motto as of late. I’ll have to earmark some occasion to let off steam sooner or later; this is just too annoying.
A flicker in his own shadow told Leonard that his gamble had paid off well before anyone else realized it. Hidden under his helm, a grin spread, and his eyes crinkled.
General Locke had taken the bait.
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The bulk of Treon’s army was mostly made up of infantrymen, with two Corps of elite knights astride majestic horses—creatures bred and raised as companions that required constant care and training to maintain but that were known for their unflinching disposition before enemy blades, and that could easily charge through a crowd of rebellious peasants without suffering a scratch.
One wouldn’t be remiss in thinking that so many mounted knights thundering toward a single target would be enough to turn any battle’s tides. Indeed, historically, whenever a company of mounted knights appeared—unless faced with equal opposition—little but the most prepared enemy could hope to win.
Leonard had been expecting and preparing for this charge since he first decided to rebel against the crown.
He had seen firsthand the level of damage these elites could wreak on an unsuspecting enemy. Armies of thousands of voidling had been scattered and chased down more than once by them. Unless a Scourge was around, their appearance sentenced the end of the monsters.
Thus, the moment the first knight crested the eponymous hill of Hillcrest, Leonard was ready. He sent a tiny ripple of mana through his passenger, who shuddered at the contact but dutifully departed.
As more and more of them appeared at the top from behind the houses, the men around him began to take notice. While still extremely wary of any movement from him, their cheer was visible. It was evident they believed the tide would now be turning.
To be fair to Luke Smith, who was undoubtedly the architect of the pressure campaign around this move, it should have worked. Six hundred mounted knights, all Journeymen and Experts, with possibly a Master leading them, were more than enough to handle the three hundred men Leonard had brought along, especially with how tired they were after such a long fight.
He was at the hill’s bottom, in a strategically viable position to fight Smith’s men, but somewhere that would become a death trap with the knights’ appearance. He should have been exhausted fending off hundreds of men, leading the charge, and receiving several direct hits from mages and riflemen alike.
Having eyes in their camp really is unfair. I could have blown up the hill by myself, to be honest, and called it a day, but being able to prepare in advance is such an advantage that it makes me almost feel bad. Almost.
The earth began to shake as hundreds charged down the hill. The horses’ hooves thundered, a sound that should have sent the rebels fleeing into a panic.
And yet, no one moved.
It was the first sign that something was wrong. It was also already too late to do anything about it. A shield flickered around the charging knights, but nothing could hold back what was coming.
BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM!
Entire chunks of the hill vaporized on contact as three [Titanic Jets], spells of the fourth tier powerful enough to fry a griffin in one blow, struck down.
Tons of debris momentarily obscured the sky. The earth shook with enough strength to topple the few houses that had survived the barrage, and whatever wildlife had stayed around for the battle overcame their instinctive terror to flee as far away as they could.
Having never displayed such might before, and certainly not without Leonard’s intervention, the enemy cavalry was entirely unprepared to face the Revolutionary Mage Corps’ wrath, especially when they were led by the youngest Archmage in Haylich’s history.
With a wave of his hand, Leonard caused a ripple in the air that grabbed hold of the tons of earth, stone, and flesh still suspended in the air and brought it down beyond the battlefield.
The loyalists’ shock couldn’t be overstated. Men struggled to understand what their eyes told them had happened. Weapons slid off suddenly slack grips. Mouths hung open.
Leonard’s mages had eliminated the most mobile force under General Locke’s command in a single stroke. It was such a devastating loss that he wouldn’t be surprised should the man immediately call for a retreat rather than take the field.
Leonard didn’t allow him the chance.
A low horn echoed through the sudden silence, dispelling much of the shock and replacing it with dawning horror.
Thousands of men emerged from the eastern swamp, the mud under their feet solidifying in time with their every step, crafting a stone road where there had once been none.
The revolutionary army had arrived.