Chapter 74 – The Wolf's Fangs Noticed
The third day of war dawned with a blood-red sun rising over the misty plains. The battlefield stank of iron and decay, littered with the corpses of those who had fallen in the first two days. The crows had already gathered, their cries mixing with the drums and horns that called men once again to kill.
On the right flank, the banner of the Crimson Wolf stood tall, torn and stained, yet unbowed. Fenrir Eisenwald stood beneath it, helm shadowing his young but unyielding eyes. Behind him, his soldiers reformed their lines.
From the 3,500 who had marched out of Eisenwald, only 3,000 remained ready for combat. Five hundred were dead or too badly wounded to rise again.
The loss weighed heavily, but Fenrir's expression betrayed no despair. He stood calm, cold, his presence alone keeping discipline among men who should have broken.
Viktor Redmane glanced at the thinner lines and muttered, "They've lost brothers, yet look at them… not a hint of fear."
Fenrir's voice was steady, quiet but cutting.
"They're not peasants anymore. They're wolves. And wolves fight on, no matter how much blood they've lost."
---
That morning, the order came down from Helbrecht's command: Eisenwald would be pushed forward on the right, not as a wall but as a shock force. Their task was no longer to hold ground but to strike where the enemy least expected.
Fenrir watched the enemy carefully. The opposing count who commanded this sector had shifted more cavalry toward the right, clearly wary of the Crimson Wolf's maneuvers from the previous day.
A small, cold smile touched Fenrir's lips.
"So… they finally see us as a threat."
---
The trumpets roared.
The enemy surged forward in waves—thousands of infantry pressing the center, cavalry sweeping toward the right, arrows streaking the sky.
"Shields up! Hold them!" Viktor's infantry braced, shield walls locking. Spears thrust out like a forest of thorns.
"Archers, ready—loose!" Selene Aestra's voice cut sharp.
A storm of arrows hissed down, ripping into the enemy cavalry as they charged. Horses screamed, tumbling into men behind them, the charge faltering.
Fenrir's sword lifted high, lava-red aura sparking around him like a flare of molten fire. His men roared at the sight.
"Garrik! Now!"
Eisenwald's cavalry thundered forth, 450 riders smashing into the staggered enemy flank. Spears tore through armor and flesh, scattering riders who only moments before thought to trample them.
---
From the enemy command tent, panic rippled.
"It's that wolf cub again! Those damned marsh soldiers are ruining the flank!"
"Impossible! They're only three thousand—how can they be holding against us?"
The commanding Count's eyes burned with fury.
"If they truly think themselves wolves, then I will crush them myself."
---
The clash grew more vicious. Eisenwald's infantry fought shield to shield, spears plunging into bellies, blades clashing, boots slipping on bloodied mud. Every step forward was paid for with blood.
Fenrir himself carved a path through the melee, his blade cleaving through a halberd, then sinking into the man behind it. His aura burst in controlled flashes, enough to cut down enemies and inspire his men.
"Stand firm! Eisenwald does not yield!" His voice thundered over the chaos.
And his men answered, striking harder, pushing back when they should have fallen.
---
High above, Helbrecht's generals watched.
Magnus Varholt, the supreme commander, spoke slowly.
"Not reckless. Every strike is calculated. He reads the field like a book."
Ulrich Falken, who had nearly been broken the day before, nodded.
"He's more than a baron. That boy is a spark, and sparks can burn fields."
Reinhart Solberg smirked.
"His cavalry hit like veterans. Whoever trained them… knew exactly what he was doing."
Erika Von Sturm's eyes gleamed as she traced the arching arrows.
"Volley in V-pattern, shifting to wedges mid-flight… discipline like that is rare even among legions."
And Marquis Helbrecht himself said nothing, only watching as the battered Crimson Wolf banner cut through the smoke of war. You've shown me your fangs, little wolf.
---
By sunset, the horn sounded a halt. Both armies pulled back to regroup. The ground between them was a charnel pit of blood, broken steel, and corpses.
Eisenwald's soldiers returned to their lines, fewer again. They had lost more men that day, but their banner still flew. Their reputation had grown louder than ever—small in number, yet unbreakable in spirit.
Fenrir wiped his blade clean, his eyes hard as stone.
"They've noticed us now. From this day forward, Eisenwald will not be ignored. We are wolves… and wolves hunt until the prey lies still."
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