The hit-and-run tactics were working. Twice, Kael's army, a small storm of fury and defiance, had struck at the King's supply lines, causing chaos and bleeding the royal legions. Their success, and the ease with which they had retreated, had filled Kael and his men with a dangerous confidence. The young leader, full of a righteous fury, saw not a cautious campaign, but a series of quick, decisive victories.
The King's general, a cunning and experienced commander, had allowed this. He saw the Vexin's hubris growing with each successful raid. He knew the Vexin would try the same tactic again, and this time, he was ready for them. He had feigned a retreat, leaving a tempting weak flank in his army's line.
Kael's army, full of fire, charged headlong into the King's legions. They saw the weak flank and, believing they could once again strike and retreat, they pushed deeper. But they were met not with a retreating army, but with a strategic feint. A hidden unit of heavy infantry erupted from the trees on Kael's flank. The Vexin force, now caught between a rock and a hard place, began to crumble.
Kael watched in horror as his men, once so full of fire, were cut down. In a matter of minutes, a third of his army—over 300 men—were lost to the general's trap. The battle was over before it had truly begun. A young captain, his face streaked with blood and mud, screamed the bitter truth. "My lord, we must retreat!"
Kael, standing firm in the chaos, gave the order to pull back. But he knew they would not all make it. The King's general was pressing his advantage, aiming to completely annihilate them. He needed time. He needed a shield.
"Withdraw! Now!" he roared, his voice a sound of fierce desperation. With a grim resolve, he and a handful of his most loyal men charged back into the fray, a final, heroic act to save what was left of his army.
The King's general, watching the desperate charge, was impressed by the young man's defiance. He dismissed his guards and stepped forward. "Let me have this one," he said, his voice a low growl.
The duel was swift and brutal. Kael, a whirlwind of youthful fury, fought with a desperation born of a lost cause. He landed a vicious blow, and the general reeled back, a gash bleeding above his left eye. Kael followed with another strike, cutting deep into the general's hand. Kael was good. He was better than the general had expected. For a moment, the general was on his back foot, and a flicker of doubt crossed his face.
But this was not a fair fight. The general, seeing an opening, gave a small, almost imperceptible signal. As Kael moved in for the final blow, a soldier from behind, unseen by Kael, plunged a spear into his back.
Kael's eyes widened in shock. The fire of his rebellion, the passion of his cause, faded into a single, cold, crushing finality. He fell, a grim silence falling over the battlefield.
The general stood over Kael's body, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had won. But he was marked. The scar above his eye and the wound on his hand were a permanent reminder of the young man who had dared to stand against him. The Vexin army was broken, but their ferocity was now a known and respected threat. The war had just become a much more personal and dangerous game.