42. The March Forward

The Empire’s men trembled in disbelief. They stood before the Everheart Army, tightly clenching their weapons after realizing their mistake.

They thought that if the banners fell—that would break the Kingdom’s spirit. Yet another rose in the place where hopes and dreams should have been buried. In the blood-soaked quagmire of the battlefield. Bodies littered the ground of those who had given their lives to keep it standing.

Nathanial held his head up high with the standard of the Seventh Army thrust toward the heavens.

Blood dripped from his armor.

The declaration of defiance grew stronger with each second, and the banner snapped in the wind.

Men turned. Soldiers from the Kingdom, who moments ago had been fighting desperately for survival, suddenly saw the standard rise once more.

A horn blew from the Seventh Army, then another responded from the Sixth. The low rumble, like thunder, resonated in the hearts of the Everheart soldiers.

Both sides were still standing.

Both armies were still fighting.

They saw Nathanial standing beneath it, unbroken and unyielding. A living promise that the battle was not yet lost.

His eyes scanned the terrain. The sound of arrows whistling through the air echoed through the surroundings. High above the smoke, as they arced down and pushed holes through the clouds, reaching for the warmth of the sunlight.

Yet none of them reached him.

Before Nathanial came Richard and Fredrick running up from behind, each raising a large rectangular metal shield shrouded in aura to absorb the projectiles. Their bodies skidded to a halt right before their leader. Mud piled beside their feet as they braced the shields.

The sheer weight of the barrage that blanketed the battlefield leading up to them left behind a forest of bristles. They shattered against their defenses with arrow shafts protruding from the metal frames like spears in a monstrous beast.

Richard and Fredrick stood tall with their blades in hand. They swung downward and sliced the wooden shafts as if they were snapping twigs.

More men from the Everheart side rushed forward with their shields in hand, joining their ranks as a metallic clang reverberated through the area. One after another, they slammed their shields together.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

The sound echoed through the smoke and carnage like the ringing of a great bell striking noon. Their numbers kept growing, and soon, spears lowered one after another while pointing at the enemy. What started as two men protecting their leader had now grown into a wall of iron and pure grit.

Veterans of the Seventh Army stumbled forward through the mire. Some limped from the wounds that should have taken them out of the battle. Others had blood-soaked bandages wrapped around their limbs in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

Yet not a single one of them hesitated as they took their place in the growing shield wall.

Nathanial stood there and gave a firm nod at one of the veterans who responded in kind.

They had all seen the standard rise and who carried it.

Nathanial remained at the center of the formation without taking a single step back. The torn banner of Everheart snapped violently overhead as he planted it in the ground, as if declaring that this land still belonged to their kingdom.

Blood stained the cloth.

Holes riddled its surface.

Yet beneath the darkened sky, it remained standing, just like the men heroically rallying around it. Nathanial’s gaze drifted upward at the next volley darkening the sky from above.

“Shields!” he roared.

The men around him braced, with aura flaring down their ranks. It was like a flame running down a path of oil. Arrows crashed against the iron with a barrage that rattled flesh and bone. One that struck fear into mortal hearts, but not into their resolve.

Wooden shafts splintered. Sparks erupted from the glowing barrier. Several soldiers grunted as the impacts traveled through their arms, but Nathanial knew that the men forming the line would hold firm.

It wasn’t just a belief but a conviction that he had realized when he saw the hell before him.

Because in the eyes of the Everheart soldiers, they were all making their stand. Gritting teeth and pushing forward to scream that they were still here. That in the lands before their home, they were declaring to the world that their armies wouldn’t fall so easily.

Behind Nathanial, more Everheart soldiers emerged from the chaos. Some carried wounded comrades over their shoulders, while others dragged fallen banners from the mud.

What had been a scattered pocket of survivors from the second wave had now turned into a proper formation.

The Empire’s soldiers watched in disbelief. Before it was nothing more than isolated groups merely fighting for survival, but now those same soldiers were all converging toward a single point.

Toward a single banner.

Toward the azure-caped soldier beneath the standard.

Nathanial felt the weight of every gaze on the battlefield fixate on him. He had made himself a target, but no matter how many threats came his way—the Everheart soldiers held the line.

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Wounded soldiers stared at him before rushing forward. Those who wanted to run stopped in place and turned around to rejoin the ranks. Men who had collapsed from exhaustion rose once more.

Nathanial couldn’t believe his eyes. He saw an injured spearman who had lost his helm dragging himself through the mud. Blood covered half his face, but he forced himself back to his feet.

Then, another soldier grabbed his shoulder, and another before marching toward the line.

A voice rose from behind him and somewhere in their ranks.

“EVERHEART!”

Another joined.

“EVERHEART!”

Then another, until hundreds of voices thundered across the battlefield. The cry rolled over the front lines like a tidal wave, drawing the attention of knights, wyvern riders, and mages from the entire battlefield.