Chapter 20: Veronica Black
THE MONTH OF NINSUM DAY 25 YEAR 675 OF THE SECOND HOLY CALENDAR
Lucius Alvarius had positioned 10,000 soldiers on the opposite side of the preliminary moat. Because they couldn't all fit on the other side without entering archer fire from the walls, there was no need to put themselves in unnecessary danger. He positioned his other 10,000 soldiers on the other side of the preliminary moat. Soldiers primarily from the Kingdom of Estaberg assaulted the walls of the fortress itself. This was common according to standard practices of warfare. One would send the soldiers of their allies to do stuff like assault the walls of a fortress. It almost always ended in death, so it was better to have the soldiers from the Affiliated kingdoms do it. He left a skeleton crew to guard his camp.
Lucas commanded from the rear and sent Major General Philip Westerdale to command the assault unit. Of course, they weren't exactly going to send a major general up the ladder. However, one of the motivations for this decision was that Lucas knew Andrew secretly wanted Philip to die or be disgraced in this war. Philip had been a thorn in the side of the golden stallion for most of his reign, which was made worse because he was left with the defense against the kingdom of Jax while Andrew and the rest of the generals were off earning glory by defeating the Kingdom of Triton.
Lucas was taken off guard when mist emanated from the Northeast wall. It spread too rapidly for naturally occurring mist, and besides, it was a sunny day, so there shouldn't have been any mist in the first place. Lucas's instincts began blaring at him, saying that something was wrong. Lucas didn't entirely trust his instinct and spent a second thinking about it, realizing what was likely about to happen. The Blacks were trying to attack his men in the mist.
He ordered his 10,000 soldiers to start crossing the moat, sending a messenger and telling Philip to advance his forces without moving them into the mist. After all, going into the mist would just expand the problem, not make it better. He did have a concern that Philip wouldn't follow his orders. Lucas was only newly appointed Lieutenant General, while Philip had been a Major General for 10 years. However, he couldn't worry about that now.
Lucas sent the three brigades of the third division to start moving across the bridge. The First Brigade was followed by the third, followed by the second. This should have created a logistical nightmare for everyone trying to squeeze through the bridge simultaneously. However, Lucas had arranged this order ahead of time. Although this didn't entirely remove the commotion, it did make it far easier and safer to cross the moat. Lucas himself crossed after the first brigade.
As Lucas was crossing the bridge, his Aide to Camp pointed behind them and frantically explained, “General, the camp.”
Lucas turned around and saw that smoke was emerging from his camp. “What the fuck?” Lucas shouted, his mind racing, trying to figure out what was happening. “Is it the Uscan Union?” Lucas thought they wouldn't send reinforcements as they were busy dealing with the Kingdom of Jax. “Turn the second Brigade around and have them reinforce the camp.”
“I'll send a message to the Colonel immediately, sir,” his Aide to Camp said. The orderly he sent first tried to ride his horse through the pressing tide of soldiers on the bridge but found it challenging. The orderly couldn't walk through either; instead, he desperately tried to push through the crowd of armed soldiers.
Lucas has realized his mistake far too late. Even if the Third Brigade could get the message and turn around, They were either on the bridge or next to it; meanwhile, the camp was already on fire. The skeleton crew wouldn't be able to hold off a determined attacker if it was the reinforcements from the Uscan Union. Then, his units would be smashed between the moat and the enemy army. With that fear, Lucas rescinded his order, sending another messenger to the Third Brigade, telling them to continue pressing forward at all costs, effectively abandoning the camp.
While Lucas was busy worrying, the soldiers continued carrying them across the bridge. Arriving on the other side, he was relieved Philip had followed his orders. Philip advanced his line of soldiers, primarily from the Fourth Division, and positioned them in an inverted crescent, sending their heavy cavalry to either wing. The First Brigade had already arrived and moved into a reserve position to maintain the existing formation. Philip had set up a new layer of anti-magic barriers. The existing ones were pressed up against Lepetra's anti-magic barriers.
Lucas couldn't help but nod in approval. Philip Westerdale hadn’t been an officer for over twenty years for nothing. The Cavalry would help deal with any attacks from the flanks, and any soldiers stupid enough to dive into the inverted crescent would either need a plan or have a death wish.
Just then, soldiers emerged from the mist wearing uniforms from the Kingdom of Esterberg. They began retreating toward the Antlatur line. He was somewhat relieved, as the entire assault team had been wiped out. They had probably already taken heavy casualties in the earlier assaults. Although the Kingdom of Esterberg was a former enemy and an Affiliated Kingdom, it was best to save as many troops as possible. About a thousand soldiers entered and passed through the formation fairly quickly; Philip thought the same thing as Lucas.
But something strange happened after they passed the anti-magic barrier and reached the other side of the line. Lucas saw the faint flash of magic before explosions hit the rear of the Fourth Division. The words false flag flashed in his mind. A false flag was where enemy soldiers dressed in uniforms engaged in sabotage and subterfuge. More explosions hit the rear of the Fourth Division, which slowly turned and started attacking the soldiers from the Kingdom of Esterberg.
Lucas ordered the First Brigade forward to attack the soldiers not from the Kingdom of Esterberg. Chaos ensued as soldiers from the Kingdom of Esterberg were attacked from two sides. Some fought back, but some threw down their swords without a fight. This confused the soldiers from Antlatur, who thought they were soldiers from the Kingdom of Black. The soldiers from the Kingdom of Esterberg were even killing each other. But the absolute chaos started when a soldier dressed in an Antlatur uniform attacked one of his comrades. Chaos assumed the line as soldiers from the Kingdom of Antlatur began killing each other for seemingly no reason. Although the chaos quickly passed, it didn't end before the actual soldiers from the Kingdom of Black activated their remaining magic scroll, blowing themselves up and even more soldiers.
Leonhart felt his sword rip through the body of the soldier without much resistance. The body of the soldier he just killed fell to the ground, the sickening thwack and clanking of armor. “This sword cut well. I need to thank the Captain later.” His sword was an enchanted mithril sword, which the Captain had gifted him before this mission. Looking around for his next enemy, he noticed the thin defensive line the Antlaturs had set up in desperation. It had been destroyed, and everyone in it either died or was currently running away.
“Torches to these tents now!” the Lieutenant yelled.
“Relax, sir, they're not running anywhere,” said the knight,t bearing the torch languidly.
“Just do it, and don't talk like that. This is a military outfit, even if you're not formally a part of the military yet!” Shrugging, he did as he was bid and pressed the torch to one of the nearby tents. The unit needed to move on before the fire spread. The fire smoke would spook the horses even if they were trained Horses, not to mention putting their lives in peril. The detached unit was made up of roughly 900 Apprentice knights. They hadn't yet received their official Knighthood. Some hadn't even turned 16, the official age of Adulthood.
A handful of retired and active-duty knights led them. The unit had hidden themselves in a nearby forest until they received the signal, which was the mist rising from the wall. That was their cue to attack. Initially, Leonhart waited anxiously to receive the signal. He and most of his underage compatriots heard the stories of the legendary Marshall saints of the Black Kingdom, Thomas Oswell, Richard Blank, and Luca. As well as the legendary generals Francis “the Liberator” Black, Harwin Tawind, Carolina Magenta, and Veronica Black. They had all envisioned themselves as similar figures taking their place in the pages of history. But now, he was wishing that a signal had never come. His arms hurt from swinging a sword, and the sheer atmosphere of the battlefield and the awareness that this wasn't a drill started to wear down his mental faculties.
Things were going quite well despite this being the first battle for most of their soldiers. You can say things were going perfectly. The group had almost no resistance and set fire to most of the camp. The group moved to the next area that had yet to be set on fire. Leonhart felt that the fire would consume the entire camp and that they should withdraw. Their mission was only to set fire to the camp and everything in it, not to kill everyone in it. However, after the Lieutenant snapped at the previous soldier, he didn't dare to.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Under normal circumstances, a platoon led by a Lieutenant would number roughly 50 soldiers; however, the current platoon only numbered about 20. The reason was that a regular platoons Lieutenant would have several officers to aid him, such as squad captains and team leaders. Even if they weren't commissioned officers who graduated from the military academy, they could still help him hold the unit together and pass orders. On rare occasions, a non-graduate from the military academy could become an officer. However, the unit didn't have enough actual knights to do something like that, so instead, they could divide all of their troops into units of 20 and pair them with a knight, even if he wasn't a military academy graduate.
As they moved along, they spotted a unit of knights approaching them. But they weren't wearing the black armor and red capes of the Kingdom of Black and weren't carrying a flag. “Lance's,” Lieutenant called. Leonhart's military training kicked, and he subconsciously pulled Lance from its holster. He usually preferred to use the sword, but it was an order. The lieutenant shouted at the top of his lungs, “Charge.”
As they approached, he realized that they were wearing the uniforms of the Kingdom of Esterberg, a light green and blue mix. On top of that, they were worse for wear. Their armor had many dents and scratches, some were still bleeding. They either didn't have a healing Mage, or their healing Mage had run out of Mana. There were only about 15 of them, while there were 20 from the Kingdom of Black.
The enemy knights had responded to their charge by drawing their lances and charging, although many were broken. They didn't have an option but to charge if a Cavalry unit was charging at you, then they had already gained full momentum attempting to retreat, would just resulted in you being stabbed in the rear. Leonhart felt his heart racing as the distance between the two started shrinking. They ran in a gap between the tents, meaning only about five knights could pass shoulder to shoulder. He wasn't in the front rank, so he could only follow behind the flapping red coat in front of him.
“I think that's Jorah Cornelia." The Cornelias were a titled and noble family. They had a long and prestigious military track record, including their current patriarch, who served as a Brigadier General in the first division. Jorah was the most eager for this mission, as it was an opportunity to earn his Knighthood and prove himself. The two groups of knights passed each other, hitting each other with their lances. Jorah’s lance missed, passing by the enemy knight. The knight from Esterberg’s lance connected directly with Jorah's mana shield, destroying it instantly. Jorah reined up his horse. He could not follow the typical knight strategy of wheeling back around due to the lack of space.
The two passed by each other Jorah heading for the knight behind him and the knight who had attack Jorah heading for Leonhart. The two thrust their lances at each other. Leonhart skillfully deflected Lance off his shield while thrusting his Lance toward the enemy Knight's skull, shattering his mana shield. He felt the eyes behind the helmet narrow slightly and the atmosphere around the Estaberg knight shifting. He was unable to identify the shift. The two continuously traded lance strikes, and his mana shield was quickly broken, and he could not land another blow. So he shifted backward and dropped his lance, going for his sword instead. The enemy knight seemed relieved and casually thrust his lance at Leonhart.
It only made sense, the weapon with more reach had an advantage to the extent that two swordsmen would have to take on a spearman of equal skill. This was common sense, so knights used lances rather than swords. They use swords when they are close or when their lance is broken. The Esterberg knight thrust his lance toward Leonhart. His sword made a hissing noise as it whistled out of his sheath and chopped the head off the lance, knocking it off balance. That was right before the sword slashed straight toward a gap in his armor for his rotator cuff. He slice, Didn't to take the arm off, but it did severely injure him. Blood pouring out of a gaping wound in his arm, the knight shouted, “I yield,” while dropping the broken remnants of his lance.
Glancing around, he noticed Jorah was now battling with a particularly fierce knight. “Give me your crest,” Leonhart told the captive knight. When taking prisoners, it was traditional to take their crest, marked with their house seal and name. If you lost your crest but came back alive and uncaptured, it was considered a dishonor as you were defeated and handed over your crest but refused to pay Ransom. It wasn't like it never happened, especially in recent times when honor was valued less, and Nations had deep hatred for one another. When the knight of Esterberg handed over his crest, Leonhart felt relieved until he heard a scream.
Looking over, he saw Jorah sliding out of his saddle, blood flowing from a wound that punched through his neck. Before he knew what he was doing, his horse was already moving straight towards the knight who had killed him. His Mana flowed into his sword as he rushed forward. He slashed his sword full force, and the opposing knight casually blocked it with his sword, causing Mana to explode.
The opposing knight laughed. “You're stronger than your friend here.” He gestured at Jorah’s corpse. “But you're not as strong as me. I'm the Marshall Saint of Esterberg.” Leonhart ignored him and attacked again, only to be easily deflected. “I already told you, boy, you're no match for me. The difference between our mana and our Skill is just too big.” Although sword duels weren't just determined by how much Mana one side had, having more mana was an advantage over having less. Also, having more control over one's Mana meant more options and more things to do. That was why a Marshall Saint stood above everyone else in terms of these things. Leonhart was no match for a Marshall saint. He wasn't even knighted yet.
But Leonhart continues to attack anyway with all his might. The Marshall Saint continuously blocked until finally counter-attacking. He deflected the strike with his shield before attacking Lance's head with his sword. The lance moved like a snake pulling back and striking forward again, making it impossible to hit. Leonhart was slowly worn down from the flurry of lance strikes and eventually started bleeding from multiple minor wounds. He slowly felt his rage cooling and finally felt something click inside his brain.
His Mana flowed more smoothly, and his attacks got more fluid and quick. Slowly, it wasn't him. He was being pushed back by the Marshall Saint, who seemed shocked when he received a nick to the arm. Leonhart could tell the Marshall saint of Esterberg was panicking. What Leonhart just experienced was the process of a Second Awakening. His life-or-death circumstances forcefully stimulated his Mana. Second Awakenings were sort of like skipping the steps to grow stronger as a warrior. As a result, many noble families intentionally try to stimulate their children to get a second awakening. Many noble children die every year as a result of this. “Wait, I–” his words were cut off when Leonhart's sword sliced through armor bone and brain, chopping off half of his head.
“That's strange. I couldn't punch through armor before.” Leonhart didn't have time to think about that too much as one Esterberg knight attacked him, although this time, his comrades aided him, and they quickly defeated them together. The battle ended in a bloody victory for the Black Knight. Their platoon had been essentially decimated, losing over half its members, capturing ten enemies, and killing the rest. Among the prisoners were the Queen of Esterberg and her son.
Andrew had dispatched multiple messengers and aids to understand what was going on. First, the mist began rising from the northeast wall, then an explosion started, and a fire started from the opposite camp. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they were under attack from two directions, straight on and from behind. Andrew had already dispatched his reserves to the opposing camp to repel whatever lurked there. He thought it was reinforcements from the Uscan Union; however, he needed clarification on whether they were in the northeast. The Uscan Union was in the West. So we turned the rest of his reserves around and got them into a defensive formation, waiting for an attack from that direction.
After taking this action, Andrew unleashed a string of curses, including, but not limited to, cursing the Gods, the ancestral spirits, the Dead, the ancient Heroes, and just regular curse words. “I'm impressed, elder brother; your language is as colorful and vibrant as ever,” Linnea commented from her horse.
“I try my best to impress at all times,” Andrew said, trying to make a joke out of this fucked up situation. Before he could continue, his instincts warned him of oncoming danger. Subconsciously drawing his sword, he barely deflected a knife hurled straight at his face.
“Huh, I missed.” The indifferent voice of a young girl sounded right next to him. Shocked, he turned to look at her. A few seconds ago, no one had been there; now stood a little girl dressed in a black cloak and wearing a mask. “Whatever.” She said before throwing two more knives at him this time. He blocked with ease, having expected it. Linnea and his companion cavalry all drew their swords and charged at the girl.
“Protect the king!” the Companion Cavalry shouted as they rushed forward, intent on killing the girl. Some of them stayed behind to protect him personally. But as they approached, the girl vanished into thin air. Andrew heard several clanks from behind him. He turned to see his sister blocking multiple daggers thrown out from nowhere. But before he could even figure out where they were coming from now, he heard a scream as one of his companion cavalry breathed his last where the man used to be. He saw a giant man over 7 feet tall standing on his horse, wearing a cloak and mask similar to the girl's and carrying a huge sword. The giant brought down his sword on Andrew, and only one of these companions could move into the trajectory with a crunching noise. The man died more crush to death rather than sliced to death. Andrew was shocked for a different reason than his man's death, which was that his mana shield seemed to have no effect whatsoever.
Before the giant could bring his sword down again, he was speared, stabbed, and shot through with spells by the remaining companion cavalry. More knives targeted Andrew, but the remaining companion cavalry all deflected them. The mages of the group also cast a defensive spell around him, protecting him from projectile and physical attacks. The voice of the little girl came out of nowhere, seemingly indifferent to her comrade's death. “I'll see you later, Golden Stallion. Try to stay alive until I can kill you.” One more knife was thrown at his face as a parting present.