Madrosa Civil War (2)
Calix's detachment, having turned Al-Bran completely upside down, immediately set off toward their original target, Kayaat.
And then, one week later, in the early hours before dawn.
It was about three hours before the sun would rise.
Krout and Laila had wrapped black cloths around their leather armor to avoid detection, crouching low as they raced toward Kayaat.
Behind them followed elite fighters from each tribe—handpicked Class 4s and above.
Kayaat's structure was much like Al-Kanak's.
Square buildings two or three stories high stood densely packed around the oasis like a wall.
On the rooftops, sentries stood watch in pairs, spaced out here and there.
Krout lay flat on the sand, quietly observing the enemy's movements.
Discipline's a mess.
Being in the rear, one was dozing off with his head nodding, while the other had his back turned to the desert, warming himself by the fire.
The other watch points were no different.
Hardly one in ten was properly scanning the desert side.
Krout glanced at Laila.
Though still sworn enemies, after fighting side by side so much, they could read each other's intentions with just a look.
Take care of that one.
Laila nodded faintly, unslung her bow from her back, and drew the string taut.
Twang—thunk!
"Huh? What...!"
Thud—
"Gurk!"
Ironic.
The one most diligently on watch was the first to die.
Those who sensed something off and looked around met the same fate.
Whoosh—thunk!
"Krrk!"
Another sentry took an arrow and tumbled from the rooftop.
Laila aimed precisely for the throat to stifle any cries of pain.
It was a feat possible only because she was confident in her marksmanship.
A Class 5 archer of her caliber was exceedingly rare, even drawing awed stares from the desert warriors.
While Laila worked her magic, Krout slipped right under the building and stomped lightly.
In an instant, he leaped to the second-story height, grabbed the window ledge, and vaulted several meters up using just his arms.
Thud.
"Wh-what...!"
Slash—
The guard who spotted Krout opened his mouth to shout, but a silver arc sliced his throat.
"Grkk..."
Bright red blood gushed out in a spray. The guard clutched his neck desperately, but the bleeding wouldn't stop.
As the half-decapitated man gasped his last, Krout was already onto the next target.
The dozing guard by the fire was next.
Krout crept up silently, seized the man's head with both hands, and twisted.
Crack.
The neck spun 180 degrees, tongue lolling out in death. Rifling through the corpse's pockets, Krout found the throwing daggers favored by desert warriors.
No separate hilt—just for hurling.
Moonlight glinted off the smooth blade.
With the moonlight trailing like a tail, the dagger flew in a blink, piercing the mouth of a wide-eyed sentry staring their way and out the back of his neck.
The desert warriors gulped dryly as they watched the pair breach a defense line spanning dozens of meters.
Only after locking eyes with Krout did they snap to, remembering their mission, and hustle to their tasks.
Behind a large dune a short distance from the city, Calix's main force lay in hiding.
They'd buried all heavy gear in the sand, lightening their loads as much as possible.
At last, the appointed time arrived. Calix raised his hand high, then dropped it.
A silent charge began.
No one spoke.
Only the camels' harsh breaths and the dull thuds of hooves on sand echoed through the dark desert.
Finally, the city loomed close enough to touch.
On the rooftops, light orbs signaling the infiltration team's success flickered.
Calix drew his sword and bellowed.
"Attack!"
"Attack!"
"Yaa! Charge!"
"Whiiieee—"
With war cries, the main force surged forward. Passing the outermost buildings that served as walls, they whirled jars bound in cloth and hurled them.
Boosted by the camels' speed and centrifugal force, the jars flew far, smashing into inner walls.
Crash—
The jars shattered, filling the air with a sharp oil stench.
A single torch spun through the air, igniting the oil.
In moments, dozens of buildings blazed.
Someone engulfed in flames who couldn't escape screamed as he burst out, rolling on the ground.
Tortured by the unquenchable fire, he found peace only when a camel's hoof crushed his chest.
As chaos reigned, Calix and Hapez raced toward the largest building.
The communal warehouse.
Hundreds of soldiers guarded it, clashing with Calix's forces.
Most were half-dressed, clutching single weapons in hasty defense.
Flames lit the night red everywhere, corpses strewn about.
Most were cleaved by curving scimitars or charred black by fire.
Calix swallowed bile and murmured softly.
Star's Heart activate.
His pupils slit vertically like a reptile's.
He scanned the area swiftly.
The warehouse defenders, all from the same tribe, held firm amid the turmoil.
"You bastards! We won't yield this place!"
An elderly warrior with ornate decorations roared, white beard whipping.
His swordplay was sharp; three desert tribesmen already lay dead before him.
Calix kicked his stirrup and leaped.
He was no camel expert anyway, and with hundreds tangled in melee, dismounting to fight was better.
He landed and a spear-wielding desert tribesman charged.
"Pluma Cobus."
"What nonsense are you spouting?!"
The man thrust his long spear irritably.
The sharp tip sped toward Calix's chest.
But black feathers scattered, nudging the trajectory slightly askew.
Not much, but enough to create a fatal gap.
Calix lightly extended his blade, piercing the man's throat.
"Krrk!"
He spun, narrowly dodging a sword slicing at his side.
The desert warrior's eyes widened at the oddity.
But Calix's elbow already filled his vision.
Crunch!
A mana-reinforced Class 4 body was beyond normal endurance.
The soldier crumpled, face caved in.
Having dispatched two attackers lightly, Calix scanned again.
Target: the elderly warrior.
He memorized the foes in his path.
"Hya!"
Krout stomped toward a scimitar-and-shield soldier, slamming his shoulder.
Crack!
The wooden shield splintered, exposing the man's chest.
But Calix spun, stabbing first the one behind him.
Stab-stab—
Throat and chest twice, then whirling back with both hands on his sword for a wide swing.
His eyes met the shield-bearer's.
The man was already bisected diagonally from shoulder to flank.
"You scum!"
Calix smirked at the shout aimed his way.
It meant less work clearing to his target.
Clang-clang!
Their weapons clashed fiercely, yellow sparks flying.
The old warrior was seasoned.
He parried Calix's strikes adeptly with flat and edge.
And seized brief openings for quick slashes.
Slash—
In the moment Calix regripped, another sharp cut grazed him.
The black cloth shielding from wind and sun tore wide.
Graham's sword was a bastard sword form—wieldable one- or two-handed.
Versatile power control, sturdy, devastating, but heavy.
The elder whipped short scimitar strikes rapidly, exploiting post-attack stiff moments.
Masterful technique compensating weakened strength with vast experience.
He must have trained relentlessly to reach this level.
Even with Star's Heart muting emotions, Calix felt a twinge of respect.
But victory was merciless.
Each clash chipped the elder's scimitar; black feathers warped Calix's blade path at key instants.
"Hup!"
Crucially, the opponent was in his sixties.
Stamina plummeted soon.
Attack frequency dropped sharply.
Meaning Calix could swing wider without check.
Clang—
The old scimitar finally snapped.
Calix's sword, devouring the weapon, severed the wrist.
Upward to slash the chest long, then down to behead.
"The enemy leader's dead!"
"Charge!"
"Waaaaah!"
Devoid of a rallying point, the foes broke in disorder.
Then the nightmare began.
Talar tribe and Ahmed tribe warriors, who had held back on camels, now charged.
Thud-thud-thud—
With earth-shaking hooves, the cavalry pursued.
"Aaaah, mercy!"
"Run!"
"Uwaaak!"
The enemy fled desperately, but outrunning cavalry was futile.
Most trampled under hooves or captured after collapsing.
Hapez pursued with glee.
But self-aware of his station, he handed off the rest to his men and returned.
Finding Calix waiting, he grinned sheepishly.
"An overwhelming victory, Baron Calix. Congratulations."
"Save the congrats. We need to leave now. Time's not on our side—hurry."
Hapez looked troubled at Calix's curt reply.
"The men are exhausted. Wouldn't it be wise to allow some rest?"
"No. Forgotten where we are? Deep in enemy territory—don't forget."
"But young lord, I can rein in my tribe's warriors by force if needed, but the others won't obey. Desert law: victor takes all from the vanquished. Livestock, cloth, even wives."
"Round them up first. I'll handle it."
"Ugh... Understood."
Moments later, warriors gathered before the warehouse.
But half weren't there on Calix's orders.
Plunder elsewhere was done; this was all that remained.
They growled at Calix and the Szczecin forces blocking them.
"Outta the way! Gotta grab my share inside."
"Step back. Come closer, and it's insubordination—I'll cut you down."
The mood grew ugly.
One drawn sword and blood would spill without surprise.
"Listen up."
Not a loud voice, but impossible to ignore.
It came from the man who turned the battle into a rout.
"Time's short. The enemy knows we're here from the fires and smoke. Abandon all livestock or women—living things. Store the rest in subspatial pockets. I'll distribute fairly by headcount later."
"Don't make me laugh! I looted fair and square—why spit it back?!"
Calix glared at the shouting warrior.
He flinched, then glared back defiantly.
Fayed stepped in to restrain him.
"Enough. This isn't the time to be stubborn."
"You! You're no different! Lured us in sweet at first, now kissing up to them!"
"Wh-what?!"
Fayed flushed red.
"This guy's—"
Calix raised a hand, silencing him.
"Chief Fayed."
"Yes, commander."
"No time. That one's clearly been looting while his brothers bled. No obligation to drag him along."
"Don't play games! This is by desert law—"
Calix cut off the noisy warrior sharply.
"I'm the outsider you all scorned. Don't know your desert laws, don't care to. Only two things matter: enemy reinforcements will hit soon. And anyone slacking mid-battle is a son of a bitch."
"Eek!"
"Choose. Accept headcount distribution, pack minimal gear, and follow me now—or dawdle, meet reinforcements, and return to your precious god's embrace."
Calix's voice was ice-cold.
"Accept: this side. Stay: that. Decide now. I'll split the spoils by the ratio of leavers to stayers."
One warrior clutched his camel-load of loot and yelled.
"I-I can't give this up. Enough here to live off forever. I'll quit and go home to family."
"If that's your choice, fine. Do as you will."
Calix released him readily, and others followed suit.
In the end, about 300 of the 1,000 minor-tribe desert warriors declared separation.
Calix left an eighth of the warehouse spoils without argument and departed swiftly.
As when arriving, most gear in subspatial storage, bodies lightened maximally.