The Rock Fortress Falls
“Block them! Hurry! Everyone who can move, get to the courtyard! The final battle awaits us!”
“Uwooo! Setanta!! Bahb! Conhbar!”
“What a day to die!”
Ned waited until the flames rising from the inner courtyard spread into even greater chaos.
“...”
“Let's go! Let's go kill those Roman bastards!”
“Cut off the traitors' heads and toss them to the crows!”
Surprisingly, even as defeat loomed plain as day, the invaders burned with fighting spirit to the end. Perhaps they had nowhere left to return to. Everyone knew what Magister militum Artorius Ardry sought by crossing into this land. Dominus Artorius's goal was none other than revenge. To utterly crush and subjugate them, thereby fulfilling the hour of reckoning. And astonishingly, he had all but achieved it already. Today, the Rock Fortress burned, and all who opposed Artorius within its walls would die here.
And Ned sought to complete his own small epic of revenge, riding atop this far grander tale of vengeance from a being on a whole other level.
“...Let's go.”
The place was called the Rock Fortress because everything was built of stone. Naturally, the inner keep was too. There should have been a warrior guarding the side door Ned now entered, but with the outer walls breached, the inner courtyard ablaze, and the gates slowly creaking open, the warriors thought only of their final, desperate stand and rushed out.
Thus, Ned and his twenty Muwa warriors entered the familiar inner keep. Even before Ned's father had overthrown the previous king, Aril, and ascended the throne, Ned had spent long years here as a kind of hostage. The fortress's thick walls, with fewer windows and doors than most, made the darkness within all the more welcoming now. Exaggerating a bit, he could navigate blindfolded from this side door, through the corridor linking to the grand banquet hall, up the stairs and more stairs to the guest floors, the retainers' floors, and finally the king's chambers.
“...”
“Those filthy bastards...”
But there was another reason the darkness was welcome. As he'd thought earlier, the invaders were men with no way back—cut off completely. They were the ones who had thoroughly plundered Britannia's western coast last year, cowards who had hidden away rather than face the terror of the Hibernian seas, Pendraig-Artorius, that summer. When those beastly scum seized the Rock Fortress and beheaded his father... He'd expected something like this, but the path was littered with headless corpses. Dried blood crusted the floors, walls, even the ceilings. Among them were women whose clothes had been torn away, faces twisted in horror. Some faces seemed familiar to Ned—the inner keep's servants. The slaves who did menial labor weren't allowed here. These were all Muwa folk from nearby villages, working in the palace. Not warriors.
And it seemed they'd been slaughtered to a man. Why? Soon, he'd meet the one responsible and ask.
“Hm? ...!? What the hell are you lot doing!”
“...Ardry said no one lives today.”
“We'll kill you all. Ned Ru.”
“Attack!”
“B-block them! Muwa scum! Kill 'em all!”
“Yaaah!”
“Uwooo!”
The warriors had all rushed out to die, so why had these kings and their kind hunkered down with guards, clinging to life to the bitter end? Revulsion rising like bile, Ned raised his shield and thrust his sword.
[Squelch!]
“Gack! Guh... You filthy— ”
[Squelch! Squelch!]
In tight spaces, thrusting beat swinging. Even as rage boiled to his crown, Ned stayed cool, plunging his blade repeatedly, shredding the soft flesh and organs inside the armor.
Sporadic light from the long corridor's windows occasionally illuminated crimson sprays of blood.
“Die!”
[Thud!]
“Gaaah— ”
“Where you goin'!”
[Clang! Clang! Squelch!]
“Aaaagh!”
“Uraaaah!”
“Ughhh— ”
“Uwaaaagh!”
“Push!”
“Uwaaaah! Knock 'em down!”
After the clean first kill, it devolved into pandemonium. Shoving aside a foe foaming blood from punctured lungs, eyes bulging, Ned hurled himself into the fray without hesitation. Now fists, kicks, bites, headbutts, and grapples ruled over swords.
[Crack!]
Oof.
[Thud! Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!]
“Ugh! Kk! Guh— Gyaaa— Gack— ”
Stars burst before his eyes as Ned's head snapped back, but reflexively he drew his wrist dagger and slashed the man's throat. Hot something poured over Ned's face—no time to care. Shoving the gurgling beast aside, Ned ignored his throbbing wrist, stabbing, slashing, thrusting onward relentlessly. Warriors beside him fell or pushed forward together. The king's corridor, built of fine stone and lavished with care by generations of rulers, reeked of blood.
[Squelch!]
“Gurgle— ”
No time to think—pure training and instinct drove Ned's blade into the last man's nape. The edge had dulled; it wouldn't sink in, so he sawed like a saw until it came free. Shoving the beast's rolling eyes away with his dagger, Ned realized he was panting like one himself.
“Hah— Hah— Hooo— Haah— Hah— ”
His senses screamed, head throbbing. Heat rose from his body; he wanted to hurl his armor away, wash off the sticky gore. But Ned steadied his breath, eyes on the massive door ahead.
“Huuu— Huuuu— Huuu— ”
He'd be in there. The king's private study and office, where Ned's father had summoned him for talks. With its wide southwest window and terrace, no king of the Rock Fortress had disliked this room.
[Creak—]
No bar on the door. It slid open slowly, Ned's bloody handprint stark in the light spilling out. Two men inside.
“...”
“...”
“...”
Precisely, two survivors. Three corpses sprawled, tongues lolling in grimaces—signs of a fierce fight already past. One clutched his shoulder, glaring; another his gut, face pale. The gut-clutcher rasped at Ned.
“I thought the face beyond that door was my brother's. Who the hell are you?”
They'd hoped for someone else, it seemed. Identities needed confirming anyway. Ned asked.
“Ned. Son of Conall Ru. Are you Ende?”
“Kuh... Heh heh. Son of the man whose head adorns the gates.”
The shoulder-clutcher sneered instead.
“Your father made such a pathetic death rattle... Shame I couldn't let you hear it. Pity— ”
[Whish— Whish—Whish— Thunk!]
“Ugh!?”
A warrior beside Ned hurled his handaxe—no need to hear more—splitting the man's forehead clean.
“Ugh— ”
Staring incredulously at the blade in his brow, trembling hands grasped the haft. He tugged—
[Thud! Crash!]
Eyes rolled back; he pitched forward, still. Blood gushed as his face hit, driving the axe deeper.
Watching it all, Ned raised his head. The other man did likewise, rasping again.
“Quierfre just died. Yes, I'm Ende, son of Nial. Ned, son of Conall.”
“I'll hear your last words.”
“...”
Hibernians were famed for milk-white skin, but this was ghostly pallor. Calmer now, Ned saw the blood pooling at his feet—not little. He'd die soon untreated. Ned stepped forward to finish it.
Ende turned to gaze outside instead.
[Uwaaaagh!]
[Aaaagh!]
All dying screams. Fading now. Was this—just this—worth living for? Laughable.
“Your father died fighting to the end.”
Ned paused; Ende raised blood-smeared hands from his gut, gripping his sword one last time.
“He was as good as dead before we took his head. So he fought till death—not wrong. Took ten of our warriors; the gods won't chide him.”
“...Last words? Family?”
“Family abandoned long ago. What more for a warrior but his final battle?”
Something besides blood leaked from the gash. Grimacing in agony, Ned nodded lightly.
[Slash!]
His longsword, sheathed at his waist, flashed out, severing Ende's neck. Eyes dull with futility dropped; light faded slowly.
“...Now you can see Father.”
Revenge done, yet Ned felt his soul sinking deeper, into some black mire.
You can't survive hits from front and back. Not just in battles or wars—same in street brawls. Even the toughest fighter's done if surrounded. That's why they say fight with your back to the wall. Of course, against a guy like me, the surrounders are the ones in danger.
But normally, you're dead meat. Nial's second sons, who held the Rock Fortress, and the kings' warriors allied with them knew they were doomed. Reports confirmed: all secret passages succeeded; infiltrators completed their missions. The inner courtyard fell to chaos; without proper wall defense, ladders scaled, gates opened, heavy infantry poured in. After that, brave death was their only option—and surprisingly, they chose it.
Given the inner keep's horrors—sacrifices, massacres—we couldn't accept their surrender anyway... But their final courage impressed. Though impressive doesn't mean effective. Steel armor, helmets, spears, swords, and sheer numbers turned their last throes into mere annoyances.
Our losses: ~300 dead, double wounded. Theirs: of 1,500 defenders, most dead, half the rest mortally wounded; only a quarter survive as future slaves.
This insane exchange rate? Caius's vanguard charge breaching the gates first, and my second strike cleaving their tight square formation in the courtyard head-on. But the infiltrators succeeding from three directions was fatal. This was their walled inner keep—somehow, we'd sandwiched them.
Enemy annihilated, routed. Another unbelievable victory on this soil.
“This is Ende; that's Quierfre. Magister militum Ardry.”
Blood-soaked, Ned—who'd clutched the box with his father's head, our first trophy at the gates—presented two heads like spoils.
“Maune's already dead and buried outside; I'll dig him up and take his head.”
“No need. Good work, Ned Ru. Take your father and do what you must.”
[Snap!]
“Thank you, Magister militum Artorius Ardry.”
Half-mad already, I sent Ned off quick. How could I know a son's grief for his father? Especially beheaded, body dumped in a bog... Might not see his face for days.
“Clean the battlefield first. Notices later... Busy till spring, this.”
“Yes, Magister militum!”
[Snap!]
Victory-flushed faces saluted in unison. Roman, Hibernian—didn't matter. All saluting as one now. Cheers and pipes filled the blood-red sky and earth.