Chapter 16: Battle of Arthenburg Part2
The battlefield had turned into chaotic —a loud mix of thunder-like blasts and the screams of the dying. Thick, sharp-smelling smoke from the muskets hung low over the Plains of Ash, like a man-made fog that burned the eyes and throat.
Alexius stood on the wall, his hands gripping the frozen stone until his gauntlets creaked. So this is war. The smell of smoke and dead bodies from both sides hit him hard. This was the first time he had ever seen real war, in either of his lives. It was cruel, chaotic, and bloody.
His stomach churned. For a moment, he almost threw up from shock and inexperience. But the sovereign aura he released—to strengthen his soldiers and gave buff—also helped him hold himself together. He forced his face to remain calm. A ruler could not break.
The changed plan had worked. The trenches had stopped the infantry charge. The crossbows had torn apart the mercenaries. The muskets had wiped out the mages the hidden forces he also had to reveal his trump card the musketeers to annihilate those forces.
By all reason, Duke Vetus's initial first wave of army should have broken by now.
They should have turned and run.
Instead, they kept moving forward.
The reason was clear—a single storm of violence tearing through the middle of the battlefield.
Der Gnadenlose.
The Merciless.
The Rank Eight Imperial Sword Master advanced, his dark red aura bursting outward like a living force, even through the thick white smoke, it was easy to see. Easy to feel. The true terror of a Sword Master was not speed or skill alone, their very presence and existence alone was terrifying.
At Rank Eight, the soul's power became real. The aura was solid, heavier than steel, hotter than fire. It crushed fear into the ground and dragged soldiers forward whether they wished to move or not.
Der Gnadenlose led the second wave himself, cutting a path through chaos as if the battlefield existed only to be broken beneath his steps.
"Reload! Fire!" Viscount Comwell shouted order again and again from the tower.
Two hundred muskets thundered again. A storm of lead flew toward the charging red figure. These were the same shots that had smashed magic shields and punched through iron armours of enemy forces like paper.
But a Sword Master was something else.
The bullets struck the crimson sphere around Der Gnadenlose and flattened instantly. They crumbled into gray dust, their force swallowed by the crushing weight of his aura.
Der Gnadenlose did not slow down, nor did he even flinch.
He rode through the storm of bullets as if it were nothing more than a light spring rain.
Alexius felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter. This was the reality of this world. Strategy, technology, and numbers could bridge the gap between armies, but the gap between mortals and high-tier existences was an abyss.
The Sword Master reached the first trench.
The militia, brave from their earlier success, lowered their long pikes. Five hundred sharp steel points aimed at the charging monster. They dug their feet into the mud and shouted in defiance, trusting the wall of wood and iron that had stopped the mercenaries before.
Der Gnadenlose lifted his sword. It was a huge slab of black metal, carved with glowing red marks that pulsed like a living heart.
He swung.
The strike of a wide cut across the air.
A red wave of energy flew from the blade, growing larger as it moved. It sliced through the thin air with a sound like cloth being ripped apart.
Wood exploded into splinters. Iron tips broke apart. The front three lines of the militia—almost two hundred men—were cut in half at the waist. Their upper bodies were thrown backward into the mud, while their legs stood for one terrible moment before falling.
The force of the strike did not stop there. It tore through the frozen ground, ripping open the earth and destroying the zig-zag trench. Dirt and broken walls crashed down onto the men who were still alive.
Panic spread at once.
The people of Arthenburg had fought bravely against soldiers. But now they were facing something far worse—a walking disaster. Fear took over. Men stumbled back, dropping their weapons. Their minds could not understand what they had just seen.
The Imperial heavy cavalry, encouraged by their commander's terrifying power, rushed into the opening. They rode over the bodies of the fallen militia, using them like a bridge. Their armored horses jumped the broken trenches and charged straight at the fleeing crossbowmen.
Behind them came Grand Duke Vetus.
Blinded by impatience, the traitor Duke threw away all caution. He stayed in his golden carriage, surrounded by his household knights, pushing it forward until it was close to the shattered trenches. He screamed at his soldiers to advance, to storm the city.
He saw the gap in the defense.
He saw the pikes destroyed.
And in that moment, Vetus believed the battle was already won.
"Go!" Vetus shouted pointing at the city gate.
The line had broken. The enemy was flooding into the narrow opening.
Alexius turned to the giant in golden armor standing beside the gate controls in the courtyard below. The Captain of the Royal Guard. His helmet rested under his arm as he watched the red trail of death draw closer.
"Fidus," Alexius said, his voice cutting clearly through the magically chaos.
"Go!"
Captain Fidus placed his helmet on his head. The visor snapped shut with a sharp metal click.
"Open the gate fully!" Fidus roared at the men turning the winch.
The massive iron doors groaned as they swung wide, exposing the slaughter on the plains beyond.
Fidus climbed onto his white warhorse, Aegis. At his side, Centurion and the two hundred elite loyalists of the Black Legion drew their weapons, ready to fulfill their duty.
"Ride," Fidus commanded.
The Royal Guard burst from the gate tunnel, a sharp wedge of gold and black steel driving straight into the heart of the enemy charge.
At the front rode Fidus.
He released his aura.
Light exploded around him. A tall pillar of bright gold fire rose into the sky, cutting through smoke and shadow. Unlike the Imperial Sword Master, wild or cruel red aura it was calm, heavy, and unyielding.
This was the Aura of the Guardian.
At the very mouth of the Western Gate, the two forces collided tech other.
The impact shook the world.
When Fidus met Der Gnadenlose, a powerful shockwaves burst out from where they struck. The stone arch of the gate cracked and split. Nearby Imperial cavalry and Royal Guards were thrown from their horses, flung away like dry leaves caught in a violent storm.
At the center of the battlefield, the two giants of battle were locked in place.
Der Gnadenlose's black greatsword pressed hard against Fidus's glowing golden shield. The red aura hissed and burned, trying to swallow the light, but the gold did not give way either. Sparks of wild magic sprayed out from their clash, scorching the frozen mud and setting it alight.
"Move," Der Gnadenlose thundered. "You stand in my way, little shield. I will kill you."
"The one who will die is you," Fidus growled back, his neck muscles straining as he pushed forward.
Fidus roared and shoved. His horse, strengthened by his aura, reared up and kicked. Der Gnadenlose was forced back, his black horse sliding on the stone ground.
The duel truly began.
It was too fast to follow the eyes could see. To the soldiers watching, it looked like two blazing stars crashing again and again. Red flashes and golden light tore through the air, each clash shaking the ground with loud booms.
Der Gnadenlose fought like a wild beast. His strikes were heavy and brutal, meant to crush armor and bones together. He swung again and again. The force of his blows cut the air itself, sending sharp waves that smashed into the city walls and carved deep marks in the stone.
But Captain Fidus did not fall either.
He was the Shield of Leo. His fighting style was simple and firm.He blocked strikes that could have destroyed buildings. He turned aside deadly blows by the smallest margin. Every time the Imperial Master tried to break past him toward the gate, Fidus was there—a wall of gold that would not move.
All around them, the battle for the broken gate raged on.
Commander Centurion and the loyal soldiers of the Black Legion formed a desperate shield around the duel. They stood back to back, making a tight circle of steel inside the gate tunnel. Their task was almost certain death: stop thousands of Imperial heavy cavalry from reaching their captain.
"Hold the line!" Centurion shouted. He smashed his shield into an enemy's face, then drove his short sword into the man's throat. "Do not let them pass!"
They were outnumbered ten to one. They were tired. Their armor was cracked and torn. But they fought on with fierce resolve. They knew the truth—if they fell, the monster would break through.
Meanwhile Alexius is riding horse with 250 Royal Guards through the city.
"He's buying us time," Alexius whispered. "We must not waste it."
He turned away from the clash of giants. He ran down the stairs of the inner keep, past frightened nobles blocking doors with furniture, and plunged deep into the East Wing.
Into the tunnels.
In the dark space below, five hundred men were waiting. The Royal Guards who had stayed behind. The elite elves of the Venator Order, freshly returned from their shadow war. And Vane—quietly wiping his daggers with a cloth already soaked in blood.
They all looked up as their Prince arrived.
"The enemy has committed everything," Alexius said. "Vetus has pushed his household knights to the very edge of the trenches. All their eyes are on the Titans."
He drew his swords.
"Now," he said calmly, "we drive the dagger into their heart."
"Open the sally port."
Hidden gears and chains began to move behind a false stone wall at the base of the eastern cliff, overlooking the Plains of Ash. With a low rumble, the stone floor split apart, opening wide.
Cold air rushed in.
Beyond it lay the edge of the snowy forest.
The noise of the battle of the front line was still loud. However, Right ahead of them was the enemy's rear, now wide open. In his impatience, Vetus had pushed too far forward. His supply wagons and personal guards were no longer safely behind the army. They were packed near the edge of the killing field, all eyes fixed on the gate, completely unaware of the forest on their right.
"Venators," Alexius said quietly. "Remove the scouts. Magic only. No noise."
Aelrue gave a short nod. She and ten elves with wind magic moved at once, fading into the shadows of snow and trees.
Bodies fell into the snow—sentries crushed by sudden pressure or cut down by silent blades of air.
"Clear," Aelrue signaled from the trees.
Alexius stepped out into the winter air. The cold bit into his face and sharpened his focus. Ahead, only fifty yards away, he could see Duke Vetus, surrounded by five hundred household knights, who were cheering loudly as their soldiers forced their way through the gate.
They had no idea what was about to strike them.
Alexius lifted his swords.
Lightning sparked to life along the blades, bright violet lines snapping and cracking. Wind rushed around him, faster and faster, wrapping his body in a skin of roaring air. His hair lifted, his cloak snapped hard, and the ground beneath his feet trembled.
"Royal Guard! Venators!" Alexius shouted.
His voice was carried by the wind, exploding across the battlefield like thunder.
"CHARGE!"
Alexius surged forward, becoming a streak of lightning and storm, racing straight toward the heart of the enemy.
[Skill: Flash Step]
Alexius vanished.
He reappeared twenty meters ahead in a flash of purple lightning, cutting across the snow—then vanished again. He was faster than a running horse, closing the distance to the enemy's rear in only seconds.
The sudden noise from the side made Vetus's household knights turn in shock.
Five hundred elite fighters burst out of the trees like a crashing wave. At their front was a figure wrapped in lightning, moving so fast it looked unreal.
"Protect the Duke!" a knight shouted, dropping his lance and rushing forward.
He was too slow.
Alexius hit the enemy line.
[Sword Art: Imperial Tempest]
A burst of violet sword light exploded out from Alexius's body, a single wave of power rushing out in all directions, filled with mana and steel.
The fifty knights nearest to him were torn apart in an instant. Armor split. Weapons shattered. Bodies were ripped to pieces as if they had been thrown into a giant grinder.
The ground beneath Alexius collapsed. Snow was blown away, exposing the hard, frozen black earth below.
With his left hand, Alexius cut through the air. A long blade of wind flew out, slicing a supply wagon in half and setting the oil barrels inside on fire. With his right hand, he struck forward. A bolt of lightning shot ahead, piercing three knights in heavy armor and killing them inside their steel shells.
He is a one man army.
Behind him, the Royal Guard and the Venators charged in, finishing off the broken enemies and clearing the chaos Alexius had created.
Duke Vetus stood atop his carriage, frozen in place. His eyes were wide as he watched the violet nightmare tear through his best soldiers. He could feel it now—the crushing, terrifying presence of a Rank Six warrior.
"Impossible…" Vetus stammered, his legs shaking as he fell back. "Rank Six?! A Sword Lord?! When?! How?!"
Alexius cut a straight path toward the carriage. A knight rushed him with a lowered lance. Alexius caught the lance tip with his bare hand, mana hardening his grip, and snapped the steel shaft in two. In the same motion, he struck the knight with the back of his hand, crushing the helmet and sending the body flying from the saddle.
Alexius stopped at the base of the carriage. Fire from the burning wagons lit his armor, blackened with soot. His violet eyes blazed with the authority of a king.
"VETUS!" Alexius roared.
(Continue....)