228. A Season Full of Red (2).
228. A Season Full of Red (2).
"Warriors of Saxony! Blow the horn! Those who block the way! Kill them all!"
[Buuuuung-!!]
"Yaaaaah-!"
"Kill them all!!"
The sound of heavy footsteps trampled the grass. The endless line of footprints never halted, and the Saxon men who shouted to death and God followed their lord and ran looking only ahead.
After all, life in this world was a fleeting thing that ended with a single whim of God. In a way, the men of this land who lived meaningfully to die well had finally found the place where they would die.
With the man running ahead, Duke Bruno of Hamburg, even if they could not reach it, they would at least touch the edge of heaven. Later, someone would say they had lived a life worth mourning. Because of their unsightly death, someone inside the fortress walls would survive.
Such desperate hopes blended together, kindled a momentum that had overcome death, and with one heart determined to break through the enemy blocking them, they kicked off the familiar Saxon land they had trodden all their lives.
[Tchak! Tchak! Tchak! Tchak!]
So that on this meadow where they had played as children, their sons, grandsons, great-grandsons, and the children after them could play just the same.
So that where I sowed the seed, my son could eat and grow, and his descendants could sow again.
The men who had been shouting the names of God, Death, and Bruno until their throats burst and running forward, saw the enemy rank momentarily stepping back and harbored hope.
Could they be retreating?
Had God heard our prayers?
Had our lord, the ruler of Hamburg, Bruno, done something?
"Spjót!"
"Javelins!"
[Hwoong! Hwoong! Sshwik— Sshweeeek!! Puk!]
"Kheug!"
The Hamburg men who had been charging hard at the very front of the formation had no time to wonder at the Northmen's action of lowering their shields and swinging their Örn-arms; struck in the center of the chest, the waist, or through shield to heavily wound the left arm, they plunged their heads to the ground one after another.
[Ppeok! Ppeo-ppeo-ppeok!]
"Kkuk!"
"Aak!"
"Don't stop! Keep running!"
"Never stop! Kill the enemy—!!"
"Uwaaaaah!"
The charge that had clearly begun with courage became filled with crazed shouts to hide fear, and before yet another javelin attack and arrow attack, a line of the formation melted into the ground.
[Sswaeek— Sswaaeeeek!! Hwoodudduk! Hooduk! Peo-beok!]
"Kkuk!"
"Kkureuk— kkeuk—"
"Kkeuk!"
Those struck by javelins stopped and fell on the spot; those hit by arrows, depending on the wound, either staggered a few more steps or, with trembling hands, cut off the gruesomely protruding arrow shafts.
If they overcame all that and ran forward with bloodshot eyes and leg muscles already trembling from excessive exertion,
at last they faced the sight of enormous shields, large enough to fully cover the Northmen's bodies, stretching out in a long line.
'What the...'
How could they use such enormous shields? Weren't they heavy? Why had we never thought to use such things? Could we break through? Wouldn't we also need the catapults they had been launching day and night?
The moment they faced the breathtaking sight, all sorts of thoughts swirled in their heads, sowing hesitation.
The moment you threw yourself into that blunt, solid mass of Northmen, your life would end— your instincts constantly warned.
It was true they had charged out with great momentum, ready for death and summoning courage, but before the enemy's formation that seemed to embody death itself, their minds had gone completely blank.
In front of that inevitable helplessness that any human would feel, it was ultimately the leader, Duke Bruno of Hamburg, who wrung out the last courage.
"We must break through them! Hamburg—!! Charge forward!!!"
Where to strike, what to do, where the enemy's weakness was.
It was not a tactical cry like that, but merely the irresponsible cry to overcome the enemy.
But at the same time, the sight of Bruno charging ahead first told the warriors of Hamburg who had run with him far more than a hundred words could.
It told them that there was no longer a place to retreat for the warriors of Hamburg, and that this might be the place where their lives would end.
"Aaaah!! God wills it! Let's go! Men of Hamburg!"
"Follow Duke Bruno! For Duke Bruno—!!"
"For Saxony! For Hamburg!"
"God wills it—!"
"Uwaaaah!"
Finally, the courageous men who had severed even their last attachment to life howled and ran, forcing ragged breaths into bodies that no longer obeyed after running such a long distance, begging them to move just once more.
[Hwoong! Hwoong! Sshwik—! Puk! Ppeo-puk! Sswaeeaek—! Hwoodudduk! Ppeo-beo-beok!]
"God—! Kheug!"
"Duke Bruno—! Duke— Agh!"
[Tchak! Tchak! Tchak!]
Some shed tears without knowing it only to be hit in the eye by an arrow and fall backwards; some screamed madly and then were struck in the chest by a javelin and sent reeling backwards.
Yet there were warriors who overcame all of that and, treading on the fallen bodies of their Hamburg brothers here and there, pushed their bodies up against the giant enemy shields.
They then drew hand axes from their waists and hurled them over the shield wall with all their might, or they twisted, swung, and stabbed large axes and spears to scratch, claw, pound, seize, and shake the enemy shield wall, trying to create any opening, but—
"Yaaaa!"
"Die! Die!"
"Push! Push them!"
"Uwaaa!"
[Kung! Taeng! Chaeng! Kwak! Puk! Kung!]
That shield wall, silently enduring all manner of desperate struggles, showed not the slightest sign of moving.
"Iyaaa!"
"Don't stop!"
"Keep pushing and knock them down!"
[Tchak! Tchak! Tchak! Tchak! Kkwang! Kkwa-kwang!]
But the wave of men pressing in relentlessly soon became a heavy mass and crashed against the North Sea army's shield wall like a tide, and the sturdy bulwark of wood and steel that no blade could ever defeat began to slowly give ground.
"It's working! They're falling back!"
"Keep pressing them! Trample them just like this!"
"Let's break through!"
The Hamburg army, sensing that faint movement, threw in everything they had to achieve a miracle. But within the chaos filled with screams, shouts, resentment, and pain, a clear, ringing voice coolly assessed the situation.
"Opinn!"
"Open!"
[Tchak!]
"Stinga!"
"Stab!"
[Hwik! Puk! Pu-puk!]
At the command to open, they instantly tilted their shields at an angle to make an opening for the man behind, and at the command to stab, they mercilessly thrust the long spears they held in both hands into the gap and withdrew them.
[Puk! Pu-puk! Puk!]
"Kkuk!"
"Agh!"
"Ugh-!"
The Hamburg ranks, which had been trying to crush them with weight and mass, suddenly collapsed with a rustle before the spear tips that stabbed in like sharp needles. In the momentary space created when the men in front lost their strength or fell, the still-frenzied warriors of Hamburg surged forward.
"Open!"
"Shields open-!!"
[Clack! Clack-clack!]
"Stab!"
"Stab! If you can't pull it back, just let go of your hand!"
[Thunk! Thunk-thunk!]
"Close again!"
"Close!"
[Clack! Clack-clack!]
Before the movements of the North Sea infantry, which moved like a well-oiled machine, the front rank of Hamburg and the rank behind them, who had just rallied their spirits, were completely neutralized.
"We must keep going! I said we must keep going!"
"Stop! We must fall back! Stop!"
"Push them! Kill them all! God wills it-!!"
"No! It is time to halt! It would be better to climb over the shields-!"
The Hamburg warriors who witnessed their comrades fall in an instant and blood spurting everywhere called for a halt, while the warriors in the rear, who could not see the sight, tried only to push forward, taking shelter from the still-pouring rain of arrows.
Naturally, their momentum broke and confusion arose. Amid the pushing force and the resisting force, men stumbled everywhere, tripping over the armor, weapons, or shields of the wounded and the slain that now carpeted the battlefield.
[Bwooooooo-!]
"Norðursær! Halda áfram!"
"Brothers of the wolf Garmr! Sons of Hel! All of you, prepare for battle-!"
"Awooooooo!"
"Awoooo!"
[Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack!]
The sound of horns and drums, the howling of beasts and the shouts of men's commands rang out all at once, shaking the eardrums of the Frankish warriors who had entered a state of frenzy.
The ranks of the Northmen advanced as one body, striking their shields with the weapons clutched in their Eagle-hands in rhythm with their footsteps.
The warriors of Hamburg who beheld this sight could no longer think of moving forward. Just as their ancestors had done for ages past, they instinctively drew into a circular formation, standing and guarding all sides like a flock of sheep, occasionally shouting to threaten their foe as they huddled closer into a circle.
[Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!]
Watching this, the North Sea warriors, who had just tightened their encirclement, at last slammed their shields with all their might, exuding a ferocious spirit like a pack of wolves that had succeeded in cornering their prey against a sheer cliff.
[Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Ih-hih-hiing- Clack!]
The moment all the shield-beating, foot-stomping, and beast-sounds uttered by men's mouths ceased was when a man revealed himself with a long horse's neigh.
[Clop-clop- Clack! Clack! Clop-clop- Clack!]
The North Sea warriors, who only moments before had seemed to be holding a heightened festival and performing a ritual sacrificing a living offering to the old gods before the Hamburg warriors right in front of them, now held their breath as the pitch-black horse passed and stepped aside from its path.
Maybe this was a chance to reverse the situation for the Hamburg warriors, but Bruno and the last suicide squad of Hamburg could not tear their gaze from the man sitting atop that pitch-black horse even for a single moment.
It was the feeling of facing a savage bear moving through a dense forest, leaving only pale shadows.
The feeling that the moment you turned your head, it would spring from your blind spot and tear out your nape in an instant. The feeling that made every hair on your body stand on end, that made you too afraid to even wipe away the bead of sweat sliding down the bridge of your nose.
[Clop-clop- Prrrr! Prr! Swish- Chalreuk! Clack!]
Finally, the giant who appeared in the space between the North Sea army's encirclement and Hamburg's desperate circular shield wall dismounted from the pitch-black horse.
Though he had dismounted, his stature and presence only seemed to grow larger. Death lurked around that man. A death that courage, resolve, or an oath to God could never overcome.
That atmosphere choked the very air, making it a struggle even to breathe, and froze even the North Sea warriors so that they dared not move recklessly.
In this moment, which felt frozen solid, the giant of the North Sea, the only one who moved freely, stroked the neck of the pitch-black horse he had ridden a couple of times, then soon drew from the saddle a massive sword as large as a full-grown man.
[Ssssss- Sring-!]
The blade and scabbard, well-maintained with oil, revealed the faint green-tinted sword body to the world without any undue friction, and only at its very tip did it produce a clear, ringing sound.
The sword, which looked large and heavy at a glance, was held in the giant warrior's hand and pointed at the ground.
It looked exactly as if it signified the death of the one standing opposite him, so a chill ran down the nape of every man watching.
"Warriors of East Frankia! Descendants of the old lands of Saxony! You have already proven your valor and loyalty!"
The Fylkir of the North Sea, Helgi Ragnarsson, who had drawn in the souls of all who shared the space with him, shouted in a great voice. That voice stretched out endlessly through the silence-filled air, as if it could reach Hamburg and beyond, to the North Sea army's new fortress.
"Therefore, throw down your weapons now! Surrender to me! If you do, you will live! If you resist, you will die-!!"
They say a human voice can hold power.
It was a tale that sounded like superstition, yet Helgi Ragnarsson's voice truly held power.
Woooong- The voice that rang in the ears did not stop there, but vibrated through every piece of steel and wood held in the warriors' hands.
Everyone here could feel the cry of the Fylkir of the North Sea truly with their whole bodies.
Likewise, feeling the weight of the sword trembling in his own hand, Bruno closed his eyes for a moment.
His proud father, his loving mother, his ever-brave younger brother Otto, his adorable younger sister. The people of the house who believed in and followed him since he was young, the good folk of Eastern Saxony and Hamburg.
When he opened his eyes again, the traces of all those people were gone. Instead, there were eyes gazing at him from all sides.
Blue eyes, brown eyes. Every single one of them was full of concern. The eyes of the brave ones who had overcome their fear of death with courage and followed Bruno himself into this place to find a place to die.
Carrying on his shoulders the hearts of these foolish men and the wishes of those already dead, Bruno walked slowly.
He unfastened his helmet, picked up a shield that still looked to be in decent shape, and threw off both of his gauntlets, soaked with sweat and blood.
And at last, when there was no one around him, only the giant warrior before his eyes remaining, Bruno raised his sword and pointed it at his enemy.
Many Northmen would have died or been wounded in the fighting. They might kill the captured Hamburg warriors to vent their rage, or perhaps they would even kill the people of Hamburg and Otto.
"I am the Dux of Hamburg and Eastern Saxony! Bruno!!"
Who shall be the one to grant me death?
"Helgi Ragnarsson. Fylkir of the North Sea."
The Fylkir of the North Sea. Was that name not far too great for a mere Dux of Saxony to end his life against?
I prayed that just this time, the Ruler of the North Sea would show mercy in exchange for my life alone.
Bruno dashed without hesitation across the familiar earth, and soon felt something flash.