Chapter 25. The King's Bloodline (1)
The Black Forest.
Narrowly speaking, it refers to the lands north of the empire's heartland, encompassing the Ardia Mountains and the pale Aleune Woods.
Of course, that's what the geographers say. To the frontier legions, the Black Forest means all the land where the barbarians live. Everything you see is forest. The soil is black earth, so what else could you call it?
The Black Forest was choked with massive trees towering thirty or forty meters high, so dense that even in broad daylight, sunlight was hard to come by.
In the empire's golden age, the legions had carved narrow roads through the woods and built border fortresses as footholds. But after hundreds of years, nothing remained. All that was left were endless trees stretching into the distance.
We pressed on northeast through the forest, grimacing at the thick blue mist blanketing the ground but keeping our cool as we found the path.
Thankfully, the 11th Cavalry had a few locals—barbarian auxiliaries—who knew the way, so getting lost wasn't a big worry.
After marching steady for two full hours, we stopped to rest and lit a fire. That's when arrows came whistling out of nowhere.
As we raised shields and formed up for a counterattack, the enemy melted away as quickly as they'd appeared. It was a harassing tactic—annoying, meant to wear us down without committing.
Still, it beat getting hit like this from inside imperial territory. If they'd started there, we'd have been exhausted before daring to set foot in the Black Forest.
I figured the enemy was starting to consider a real fight. We'd pushed deep into their turf, threatening their heartland.
The Thunder Tribe and their allies could abandon their bases and shift farther east, but that would be cutting off their noses to spite their faces.
Deeper in the forest, the land grew harsher, harder to survive. It teemed with desperate, savage barbarians. They were no joke.
Better to face us head-on.
I had my men fell nearby trees to fortify the camp and strung up the heads of captured barbarians on poles. It wouldn't do much, but it was a solid way to rattle their hotheads.
Assuming their hardliners took the bait and came at us.
After dinner, we built extra stockades against night raids. Just as we finished our defenses, the barbarians hit us with fire arrows for the first time.
Flames streaked from the shadows, but green wood doesn't catch easily. Putting out camp fires blindfolded was legionnaire basics. The men scooped wet black soil and smothered the spots. Done.
The enemy withdrew without a fuss once it flopped.
But that gave me solid confirmation.
Their attacks were coming faster, harder. They were definitely getting antsy about our advance.
At most, we'd have our showdown in two days.
That's what I thought.
Until the imperial courier found us beyond the border.
"Commander. A messenger from the homeland."
"From home?"
I summoned him to my tent in a hurry. He was young, baby-faced. He said he couldn't hand over the documents right away—he had to "do his business" first.
Had he swallowed the whole dispatch to protect the secrets?
It wasn't impossible.
Moments later, he returned pale and sweaty, handing me a stinking bundle of parchment.
It was sealed tight with wax. Untampered.
Breaking the seal revealed elegant script—professional scribe work, no doubt. But the handwriting didn't matter. The content did.
I read it in one go.
"Heigirt's sent back 20,000 troops."
I was a bit surprised at how fast he'd reacted. From the intel he'd have, there was no reason to see us as a dire threat.
Yet he'd done it. Meaning he was confident enough to peel off that many and still ravage the empire. A fearsome monster.
Rikius asked, "He coming personally?"
"No. His right-hand man, Griham. The general who smashed our rear in one stroke against Creper last time."
"This complicates things. Cavalry—they'll ride fast, as quick as that letter. Probably already north of Sian by now."
Rubiot said it. I agreed.
Heigirt had acted like lightning the moment he heard we were smashing through the tribes on our northward march.
Splitting his irreplaceable army in two to catch us and secure his rear.
Smart, strategic timing. We'd entered the Black Forest, and now we were caught between two forces.
Tactically, you could say he brought this on himself by not striking before his allies like the Red Fox Tribe fell. But we'd cleared his future rivals for him—no loss there.
Snag us too, and he'd invade the empire worry-free.
"What's the plan, Ain?"
All eyes on me.
What he'd want most: me retreating to the border, him pounding us bloody, then mowing us down on open plains.
So the opposite might be best. Even if it meant certain annihilation.
I looked at my officers, face set. "Doesn't matter if he sends an army or not. The 16th Legion advances. We'll pierce their expectations by marching into the jaws of death—and seize victory that way."
The officers nodded, resolute.
At the fateful moment, we chose advance over retreat.
Step by step, we plunged deeper into the dark woods. Enemy raids intensified daily; my men grew weary. Still, I ordered the push without flinching.
Some suggested falling back. Too late for that—we'd crossed the point of no return.
Two days in, we found a barbarian village reduced to ashes. Our first enemy trace since entering the Black Forest. Bigger than expected.
Meant more women, kids, gear to haul.
They hadn't gotten far.
I ordered double-time. Traps be damned—we had no time for caution.
We couldn't guarantee safety without Heigirt's family in hand.
To survive, we had to take them.
"Legion! Maximum speed—march!"
Rubiot echoed the command.
We crashed through the pathless woods like it was a highway. The enemy tried blocking, but we ignored them.
Finally, realizing we wouldn't slow or turn, they deployed in force ahead of us.
In the narrow woods under blue mist, we faced thousands of barbarians.
Instead of charging, they sent an envoy.
Dialogue before adventuring with family at our backs.
The envoy was a middle-aged warrior.
I rode forward. Halting thirty meters off, he spoke.
"I am Brikin, heir of the Thunder Tribe. My father is our king, Heigirt."
His introduction startled me. Ronad's brother?
Brikin was nothing like his impulsive brother—a seasoned warrior in his prime. Calm eyes, face scarred by hard years.
Even without his father, he had the makings of a leader. No wonder Heigirt left the base to him. A formidable barbarian.
He could rule after Heigirt claimed the throne.
I bellowed back. "I am Ain, acting commander of the empire's 16th Legion. I stand here for the imperial eagles, and speak with their authority."
Brikin's green eyes locked on mine.
"Ain, acting legion commander. I haven't heard your name long, but I know you're formidable. You've come uninvited this far—proof of courage.
But your march ends here. Father's army behind you, my host ahead. Kneel now if you want to live.
We'll treat you as brother, grant you glory for generations. We value ability and bravery. You'd stand at my father's side."
He reminded us of our trap, then offered lavish terms. Words he never would've spoken if we hadn't reached this deep. Tempting—but no.
"I'm a legionnaire of the empire. Frontier soldier, border guard, slayer of your kind—that's my life.
The imperial eagle bows not to barbarians, nor grovels beneath them. Its wings never break while life remains. That's our pride."
"Your northern eagles all knelt to my father. Pride or not, you've lost. Reality."
"Yet we didn't yield. The 16th's standard stands. Test our wings if you dare."
"That's your answer?"
"We've crossed the river of no return. Do you beg for life with the enemy before you?"
He burst out laughing.
"Hahaha, Ain, legion commander of the empire. What a brave soul. Your legion must be rare—full of such courage.
Pity to kill men like you. But if it's the gods' will, no choice. Fine, Ain. Let's settle it as fate decrees. For my father and your eagles' pride."
Brikin wheeled his horse.
Unlike his brother, he met my words with dignity and turned.
"16th Legion! Shields up! Rikius! Raise the standard high. Show these barbarians the last northern eagles' pride!"
"Legion—shields up!"
Men raised shields to chins, gripped swords tight. I stood front line, sword drawn, glaring at their ranks.
Then roars—and arrows rained like hail. We held shields steady, weathering the volley.
Meanwhile, thousands of barbarians charged our shield wall at terrifying speed.
No cavalry? Smart for the woods—advantages unclear yet.
I signaled the center to yield one step. Absorb their momentum like water on sand, then widen our front for the edge.
Front lines clashed.
Boom.
Shields and weapons crashed thunderously.
"Hold! Hold! Slip, and your brothers die with you!"
Rubiot's roar. Men gritted teeth. Boots dug in, sliding but holding. Rear hands braced the shoulders.
"Ershiang!"
Archers loosed. Arrows poured over the barbarians.
They shot back. In the fierce exchange, we shoved and yielded meters, piling corpses on the narrow ground.
"You'll follow Karus!"
Sudden bellow—barbarian cavalry surged from the right. Hoofbeats too late amid the din.
I drew and yelled at Rikius. "Rikius! Lend your back!"
He bent; I stepped up, shouting. "Right flank! Form square! Riders, signal!"
Right wing wheeled into formation. Barbarian horse flashed past, hammers and spears striking. We held the shock.
But the flank yielded to cavalry, center pulled back to align—feet tangled. One slip, and it was over.
I leaped off Rikius, grabbed the standard.
"As long as the eagle watches, the legion stands! Front line—advance!"
I charged into the center line, standard forward. Men, unsure before, knew now.
Standard advances—they follow.
The eagle's glory faded, but it was still the legion's heart.
"Legion! Forward!"
Rubiot bellowed at the standard.
We held firm; their push faltered. Not like the initial rush—tangled, their shove lacked power.
"Push!"
Shields slammed forward. Enemy braced with blades, but our wall shoved—they buckled. Front barbarians toppled; swords thrust home.
Center flipped in an instant.
But they still outnumbered us.
A horn blared amid their waver. They turned and fled. Legionnaires chased instinctively.
Roaring men cut down countless backs turned. Targets, not foes.
But far off, Brikin wasn't fleeing. He smirked—oddly satisfied.
As if all according to plan.
No way.
(To be continued)