The banners flew across the soaked red plains as minstrels, physicians, and priests, guarded by heavy infantry, approached the battlefield's edge. The heavy cavalry was finishing off the few surviving barbarians, their hooves churning the mud and blood into a dark, clinging paste.
White-haired and wiry, Akiel led the last ten to twenty warriors, their numbers dwindled from the hundreds who were encircled beside him. Horses halted around them, breathing heavily, flanks slick with mud and blood.
Akiel ducked under a swinging saber, spinning to throw a fallen knight's spear through a rider who had strayed too close. The spear hitting the knight's helmet, simply bounced off as the throw was too weak. Around him, his few remaining men moved with desperate coordination, slashing and kicking, holding the line even as the ground around them became a churned river of red mud.
"Akiel-" Suddenly ten knights jumped down from their horses having enough of their last stand facade, simultaneously they jumped at Akiel "Don't kill him!" one knight yelled, "Ser ordered him to be caught alive!" The remaining ten barbarians seeing their last figure of hope throwed against grass, barely breathing, threw their swords down and kneeled.
Hours earlier, Otto had ordered an all-out retreat. Adelaide's central and left armies, along with Friedrich's eastern forces, pulled back toward the northern forests. At last, Prince Aldren stood before Jouragend's castle walls, just thirty to fifty Jules from the open portcullis.
The Governess, followed by a handful of guards, stepped forward and bowed her head. "Prince Aldren, we are grateful for your immeasurable grace."
He lowered his helmet. "Juliene. It's good to see you."
She smiled, lifting her head. "We have prepared the guest mansion for you and your officers. The army may camp just outside the city."
Aldren shook his head. "We appreciate it, Governess. But I must humbly refuse. Our duty is to purge the barbarians from the central lands; we cannot allow ourselves to rest—"
A fully armored knight raised his visor. "M'Lord, perhaps a short rest would benefit the knights. My advisor has finished estimating the barbarians we encircled—the news is encouraging."
Raising an eyebrow, Aldren guided his horse toward the advisor. "Sir Luthar, how many?"
"Around two to five thousand, M'Lord. Many cried out the name 'Adelaide' while fleeing. We suspect this flank belonged to Adelaide Van Zekiel."
"Adelaide… doesn't ring a bell. A famous general?"
"No, M'Lord. But our spies report she commands one of Otto Zekiel's eastern armies—the war chieftain of the eastern clans."
Suddenly, a knight on horseback dropped to his knees, bowing. "M'Lord—we have captured several prisoners. One boy stands out; he cut down multiple knights. He refuses to talk."
"Is it that white-haired mutt? You managed to chain him?" Luthar asked, prompting Aldren to frown not knowing what they were speaking about.
"Mutt?," he asked, looking at Luthar, "A barbarian boy, ferocious as they come, ten knights were needed to apprehend him.. On command of Ser Delien." Luthar raised his arm dismissing the knight "You're free."
Yes, M'Lord," he replied, taking his horse's reins and stepping back.
"What's special about him, that Delien wanted him alive?" Luthar shook his head, "Not special, it's just that he created some havoc as he took several of our knights. probably thought he'd be useful for questioning."
Luthar's eyes flicked skyward as dark clouds gathered. "Even if not to rest, having a short pause would be smart for questioning. I'd advise the army to stop and rest for the night, M'Lord." Aldren sighed. "Juliene, I will take your offer. It seems my men have earned their rest—if only for one night."
Her eyes glistened as she guided him with a gesture. "Follow me."
"Ah—bring me that 'Mutt'," Aldren called. "I'd like to speak to him personally."
The army filed through the open portcullis in orderly formation. Knights' hooves clattered against stone, banners fluttered, and behind them, chained barbarians walked limply. Servants hurried to clear the halls while guards took positions along the corridors. Soldiers lowered weapons, exchanging glances at the lingering iron tang of blood. Some exchanged stories about a barbarian boy who had cut down knights—someone they would question that night.
By the time the army passed the inner castle's city and settled in the courtyard and stables, Aldren was escorted toward the guest mansion. Juliene walked beside him, her curiosity evident.
"How many were sent to the north?" she asked.
"About fifteen thousand. ten thousand remained behind, roughly eighty five Jules south from here." He adjusted the tilt of his sheathed sword which the cover of was blue.
Her eyes flickered with worry for a quick beat then she smiled. "Hurried up with worry for me-"
"Of course! being at the other side of a siege is always a pain in the.."
She laughed softly "So not because of me.." and led him toward his room. "A feast will be ready soon; the servants will inform you."
He nodded and entered.
No more than an hour from the castle, the forest opened onto the barbarian camp, shadows of tents dancing in firelight.
A large, tattered tent stood in the center, its entrance flap swinging in the wind. Inside, Otto knelt over a broad piece of parchment, black ink streaking lines, symbols, and letters only he could interpret.
Three to five shamans moved in measured circles, chanting in low, rhythmic tones. Their voices rose and fell like wind through the grass, while small fires flickered, casting shadows along the canvas and walls.
One shaman stepped forward with a bowl of red liquid. Otto glanced up, nodded, and returned to his drawings, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "The night is yours," he murmured. "Tomorrow, the world will remember why the eastern clans do not kneel."
The chanting grew louder, shadows deeper—but then everything froze as Adelaide marched through the tent's entrance, arm raised, eyes blazing.