The fire dance of death continued throughout the night, burning thousands of dead bodies and thousands of living breathing Albanian soldiers. With the fire burning their skin and bones, the soldiers desperately cried for help. Screams of pain pierced the ears of the survivors. It sounded like a soothing melody to the people of Bali calming their vengeance-full hearts. To the ears of the Albanians, it pierced like a dagger scaring their hearts again and again. Some young Albanian soldiers rushed out to save their comrades from the flames in turn received some burns. The few soldiers who were close to the flames yet still managed to survive had half of their bodies completely burned. Their painful cries echoed in the camp.
Sertar a young noble who came to the battlefield for the first time could not believe his eyes. His father the duke of Clemon, told him it will be an easy win so he came to garner some merits for the duchy. But he had to struggle beyond his limits just to stay alive on this horrible battlefield. The young aristocrat who looked down on commoners, and rarely mingled with them had formed a bond of comradery with many, during this tough time. Through fighting desperately to stay alive and guard each other's back against the enemy attack, they have formed a deep relationship of trust and mutual respect. The friends, he just found for the first time, burned alive in front of him. He tried his best to go in and bring them out but, was stopped by his personal guards. His eyes teared up looking at his burning comrades. The red flames intensely burned in his eyes, and so did a small but fierce flame of vengeance that got ignited in his heart.
The light of the fire started to diminish, smokes of the dying flames formed huge dark clouds and covered the sky over the city, blocking the light of the sun. The stone wall of the city was still glowing red from the heat, making it impossible to go near it. The wooden city gate was burned to ashes leaving behind an open path. The flames in front of the gate slowly extinguished, reviling the remaining Albanian army of 5000-strong standing outside the city, ready to rush in and exact vengeance on the enemy and wash away their humiliation of last night. While inside the city stood the sword saint, bravely facing the enemy with a single sword in his hand and the rest of the defenders behind him. Each of them held a simple weapon with no protective armor and stood strong, ready to face the enemy. With the sound of the horn, both sides rushed to meet each other in the middle of the gate marking the start of the battle.
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Swords and spears clashed in the narrow space. The small opening where the gate previously stood allowed a confrontation between 30 men side by side, the rest of the people acted as support. While the attacker tried to push inside, the defenders tried to keep the enemy out. The heavenly squad showcased its bravery as they fought alongside Dickon stopping the flow of the enemy. Their swords moved as one, killing hundreds of enemies in the process. Basik had to intervene and send his elite soldiers to meet them and draw a stalemate. The fight continued on and on with each passing second becoming more and more intense and bloody. The insanity grew and with every passing moment, the Albanians slowly started pushing the frontline forward. The defenders soon started feeling the pressure, memories of their struggle for the past few days flashed in front of their eyes. Yet, the hope of victory and creating a place in history kept their heartbeats going. Every citizen of Bali fought bravely not fearing their own death. Disregarding their condition they fought as the last words of the sword saint echoed in their minds. With all their might they stood their ground not allowing the enemy one more step forward, their hearts combined, their spirits united as they made their last stand, and collectively roared,
"Remember the name."