40. Straight Into The Fray

Beads of sweat formed on Nathanial’s palms as a soft ding entered his ears. He could feel the wind rush past his face. The warm air from the smoldering flames seeped through the narrow gaps in his iron armor. Around him, the men in his company readied themselves.

The banner of the Sixth Army was still standing.

A banner bearing the symbol of an unyielding white phoenix.

Between the smoke, Nathanial could see the fragments of the Sixth Army desperately holding their ground, trading pound for pound in flesh for each inch of blood-soaked soil under their feet. There were shattered shield walls, archers getting cut down from lines that failed to hold.

Companies have been reduced to fractions of their original strength.

Yet, the survivors fought with their backs against each other.

Every step forward by the Seventh rejuvenated their morale as cheers erupted from the trapped soldiers. Nathanial saw wounded men standing in formation. Soldiers who were far too injured offered their bodies as shields for those who could still fight.

During their march, they had seen the fallen bodies of their comrades.

Messengers who desperately rushed out to send word only to get caught in the Empire’s outer net and to suffer a miserable fate.

One that Nathanial would have suffered if not for John’s sacrifice.

He could feel the sudden jolt of the wagon as one of the wooden wheels struck a rock. Horns roared with a thunderous rumble, one after another. The men of the Seventh released a mighty battle cry, and far beyond the second wave stood a long figure at the front of the cavalry on horseback.

His words struck courage and heroism into the hearts of the mortal men readying themselves for the charge. Only the best entered the ranks of the first wave, and with the Commander himself leading the charge, Nathanial knew that their next battle was going to be hell.

Commander Cronia’s aura alone made every fiber of his being tremble from the sheer pressure exerted from the depths of his soul. When he rode forward, the knights of various orders lowered their heads, with veterans standing straighter before his presence.

Every aura user went silent, waiting for a single command as if he were delivering a sermon.

And yet not a word came as he made his way to the front.

“That’s him?” Fredrick whispered.

“It is,” Chris answered. “The very man who marched an entire army into an encirclement.”

The surrounding men held their breath as Nathanial focused on the mythical figure.

“I want everyone to brace themselves,” Nathanial ordered. “We’re going to be entering the fray with enemies ready to slit our throats. We’ll stay close together and aim to rejoin the other men of the Seventh.”

Fredrick fastened a second sword to his belt. “It’s going to be utter chaos with the smoke and flames blocking our vision.”

“Then we’ll have to make it quick,” Nathanial said. “Kill whatever doesn’t look like us.”

“And rescue those who do,” Chris added.

“Sounds like a plan.” Percy held out his thumb as the wagon jolted once more.

It slowly groaned to a halt with the wooden wheels creaking. The horns roared one final time, and from afar, Nathanial saw the lines of knights lower their spears with Commander Cronia standing at the front.

Their black iron armor shone beneath the sun.

Their mounts stepped forward with a synchronized thud, hammering the soil with one beat, then another. Aura flared along the ranks with a powerful violet light emitting from the commander’s body like a ray of sunlight.

Men trembled in anticipation, with tension humming through the line just as the commander raised his heavy long sword, created from a rare lumenite metal, high into the sky. The blackened blade caught the pale afternoon sun as silence fell over the ranks.

“We ride for glory! We ride for the realm!” His voice rang out, resonating with the hearts of his men.

Then, with a single order, the line rose like a wave.

A powerful surge of energy erupted. His warhorse reared back on its hind legs as the massive front hooves climbed the air with a signal understood by all.

Nathanial watched as a thunderous roar exploded from their ranks as they surged forward behind him. The ground trembled beneath their raw might as thousands of men behind the line thrust their weapons in the air. A deep vibration signaled the impending collision, and the men on the wagon felt their hearts race.

Some with fear.

Others with courage.

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The charge had begun.

Dust rose to the sky, and Nathanial gripped onto his blade. He saw a streak of pure energy emitted from the lumenite blade as the commander held it beneath the sunlight.

Their wagon, along with all those from the second wave, rushed forward behind the cavalry. Thousands of men were moving.

All with a single goal: to rescue their comrades from the Sixth.

Nathanial held back the awe beating in his chest and clung to the wooden board.

Jetson steered them with ease, aura flaring from his body and onto the powerful steeds to increase their momentum and speed while Nathanial drew his blade. The men in the wagon readied themselves. Some carried shields to protect the group from projectiles, and others steadied themselves before reaching the drop-off point.

The loud rumble sounded like a mudslide tearing through loose terrain as rocks tumbled down, ripping trees from their roots.

Nathanial held on, taking a deep breath as flaming spheres of magic soared through the air. He glanced back, watching as the mages formed magic circles with characters engraved in the center. The outer rings ticked away, with one serving as a catalyst for repetition and another enhancing velocity.

In the blink of an eye, they fired hundreds of spells. Mages from both sides worked like clockwork to dispel and counter each other, but against an army like the Seventh, which had dozens on reserve, they had met their match.

The first wave of flames slammed into the disorganized ranks of the Empire, launching limbs high into the air as the Commander released a devastating aura slash to cut down flocks of skilled aura users left and right. The sheer pressure emitted from his body radiated forward like an unstoppable wave.

Those who were too weak died with their hearts rupturing. Blood spilled from their lungs as their mortal flesh failed to withstand the pressure, while those strong enough to endure met a swift end by the commander’s blade.

Nathanial watched as the commander tilted his head upward—toward the pitch-black sphere that loomed over their heads as if the world could fall at any second.

The domain of the gods, where mortal men attempted to ascend, and in his head, he wondered if one day he too would reach those heights.