21. Caravan In The Rain

The rain fell heavily on their shoulders. A metallic patter filled the area as if countless pebbles and debris were falling upon the men waiting in the shadows of the forest. The Everheart soldiers pressed their bodies against the thick trunks of the ancient oak trees and gazed downward at the winding dirt road.

It had been an hour since the downpour started, and the roads were now covered in slippery mud that hindered the movement of supply wagons and their escorts. The rapidly warming spring days and cool nights mixed together, creating the perfect conditions for water vapor to rise into the air and form fog.

Most were used to the changing temperatures, but for men of the Empire, constantly moving back and forth to deliver supplies, that wasn’t the case.

The plan was simple. Nathanial played out the various scenarios in his head after inspecting the caravan routes. Compared to the supply depots back at the first landmark, the guards were far too lax. No knight accompanied their ranks, and he could only conclude that the Empire’s forces were spread too thin.

But how was that possible?

Why would they assign dozens of knights to guard materials heading to the depot, but not assign any to guard materials traveling from the depot to the front lines?

The more he questioned it, the more his head hurt.

Was this some sort of elaborate trap that the Empire created to pull in the stragglers between the lands?

Or was it some sort of weakness the men could exploit?

Nathanial clicked his tongue while adjusting his visor one last time. He kept his body low, just like with the others, kneeling on one leg and ready to break through the foliage at any moment. All the other patrol members followed his lead, watching as the escort traveled further down toward the road.

Closer toward them.

“So, that’s our target?” Fredrick quietly asked.

“Indeed. It doesn’t seem like there are any knights in sight,” Nathanial mumbled. “I count roughly fifty footmen in sight. Ten per wagon by the looks of it.”

“Roughly three for each of us,” Richard said with a grin.

“Don’t worry about kills; that’s not our goal. Prioritize destroying their supplies and surviving this ordeal.” Nathanial looked over his shoulder. “Is everything prepared for our retreat?”

“Yes, sir,” one patrolman with a blue armband replied. “We’ve riddled the path with traps, as long as we follow the same way we came from, everything should go smoothly.”

“Well done, Percy.” Nathanial gave a firm nod after meeting the golden eyes through the visor. He looked at his men. “That means we have nothing to worry about except for execution. Stay close and stick to the plan. Remember, from this point onward, not a sound is to escape our lips. Support each other and fight as one.”

All the men nodded while clutching the cold hilts of their iron swords. The rain grew louder, hammering against their shoulders, and the men kept their bodies lower so that the leaves of the bushes masked their figures. Even through the fog, Nathanial could see the blazing torches fighting to stay alight.

One wagon passed, then another, and another.

But that was exactly what they wanted. His palm pressed against the frozen hilt of his blade. The heavy thuds of hooves and the creak of overladen wooden axles grew louder, breaking through the curtains of the storm that wished to drown every trace of noise.

He couldn’t see their silhouettes, but there wasn’t a need as he stared down at the road with the fog limiting his visibility.

Once they were certain the last wagon was about to pass, Nathanial rose with the other men close behind. Their steps pressed against the blades of grass. Each step started off slow before gradually picking up pace as they pushed closer.

Nathanial’s heart raced in his chest. Pounding half with fear and half with a strength he didn’t understand. His palms, covered in sweat, washed away with the rain, and in his steady eyes was a gaze that remained clear.

Why? He asked himself.

Why wasn’t he afraid when he was marching to near certain death? When he was running into a battle where the odds weren’t in their favor?

He held the end of his scabbard in one hand and the hilt of his iron sword in the other. Ready to draw the blade in an instant. There wasn’t a need to look around him; he could hear the faint scraping of iron plates growing stronger. His men were behind him. Trusting his call without a shred of doubt.

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And knowing that, it gave him strength.

The enemy figures at the end of the caravan drew closer. He heard faint whispers reaching his ears. Voices of the unsuspecting about to meet his blade. He emerged from the fog as his figure broke through like a slow-motion shipwreck. Bits of smoke clung to his body, and the end of the caravan appeared right in front of him.

A heavy wagon with its canvas tops sagging under the weight of the deluge. Dozens of soldiers were shivering, torches hissing while frantically dancing in the wind against the impenetrable mist.

The dying light was the only thing they had, and they were blind, oblivious to the impending chaos inches away from ending their lives. All the Empire’s men focused on the muddy boots of the man in front of them. And seeing that, a smile crept up Nathanial’s face.

His blade freed itself from the scabbard with an azure aura flowing around the end. The bright color arced toward the nearest foe, drawing their attention as they turned their heads toward him. Yet, Nathanial didn’t release a battle cry. All he did was deliver a single decisive cut that ended the man’s life before him with a trail of blood splattering across his armor.

The rain swallowed the man’s dying breath. Torches fell to the ground as Nathanial’s men slaughtered the other unprepared foes at the end of the caravan. He focused on what was ahead, at the enemies drawing their clean iron blades, and stepped forward with the dirt pressed beneath the soles of his boots.

Cold droplets seeped through the gaps in his armor as he sprinted through the mud and over the fallen bodies. Not a single one could escape. For their plan to work, they needed to kill everyone.

Slaughter as many of their foes as possible, and as Nathanial deflected the downward strike with a single swing of his blade, he could see the fear in the man’s eyes clearly reflected along the edge of the cold iron. Just moments before plunging straight into his skull, with the sound of pierced flesh echoing in his ears.

Everything seemed to slow down around him, and he was already locking onto his next target. An Empire’s footman rushed at him with fear, spewing curses that Nathanial couldn’t make out with the clashing of blades.