The Hero's Return (2)
The moment my fingers tightened fully around the sword hilt, my knees snapped forward like a released spring. In an instant, the distance between Griham and me shrank to within three meters.
"Hrah!"
Griham's axe whipped through the air with a savage gust, sweeping toward me. My sword clashed against it and shoved it rightward in a flash. He closed in without pause, throwing a punch.
Thwack!
I barely raised my elbow in time to block the fist. The impact echoed thunderously. His face twisted in pain, but my elbow felt cracked too.
Crazy bastard.
Before I could even register the agony, I dodged his recovering axe and retreated two steps.
Whoosh!
"Commander!"
A soldier whose name I couldn't recall shouted in worry.
I'm fine.
I gritted my teeth and leveled my sword.
"Empire rat. I told you—if you stood before my axe, you'd die."
Griham bared his teeth. His massive frame loomed larger than a mountain. Could I really beat a monster like this?
I have to.
I stepped forward, retorting.
"News to me. And you? Saved up any of that soldiers' pay?"
His eyebrow twitched. In the next breath, his axe— heavier than a hammer—came flying. Same pattern?
I backpedaled, slapping the blade with my sword's flat. But he had other ideas. He released the axe and lunged in.
This bastard—don't tell me?
His fist, harder than iron, slammed into my gut.
"Guhk."
My body folded like a shrimp. Then his iron grip seized my throat.
"Got you."
He grinned wickedly. I'd prided myself as a battle-hardened veteran, but I was no match. He was the ultimate monster forged by the gods for war—a creature from legend.
I grabbed his arm with both hands. Slowly, he lifted me. Air cut off; my head spun.
"I'll kill you first. Then, as promised, your head comes off with the axe."
Heat flooded my face as dizziness hit.
Suddenly, he hurled me aside and sprawled backward in panic. Caught off guard by the surprise attack.
I turned. Boruman stood there, bearlike.
"Commander. Mission accomplished."
"Thanks, Boruman."
"No need. Dying without seeing a fight this glorious? A man needs no greater regret. Haha."
He laughed heartily.
As Boruman leveled his spear, Griham snatched his axe and rose.
The two gripped their weapons in standoff, heavy tension crushing the air around them.
Then, a horn blared from afar.
Griham glared at Boruman, then me, before gripping his axe and bolting. Jarlmal's cavalry had pierced the enemy center, shattering their command.
The foe retreated like the tide, leaving a field thick with corpses in their wake.
We stood amid the dead and wounded, laughing weakly.
Exhausted, battered, ragged—we had won.
Beneath the blazing eagle standard, we proclaimed the legion's victory.
But the cost was devastating.
We couldn't rejoice.
Over a thousand dead or wounded from the night.
With the legion down to two thousand two hundred from endless battles, losses hit half. The enemy suffered too, of course.
They'd lost over five thousand in one clash. Utterly routed by our tiny force.
I looked over my men and closed my eyes.
No face to show those who bled and died on my orders. I was sorry.
But no time for wallowing.
I ordered Rubiot to march. Before the dead, I laid my helmet and sword.
Thankfully, no attacks en route to Belanga. Our display—and the unimaginable toll—made them cautious.
As we entered the city, the mayor, magistrates, and councilors rushed out in droves. They gaped at tales of us storming the Black Woods, capturing barbarian princess and prince, enduring tens of thousands.
Believe it or not, it was true.
I requested rest and food for my weary troops.
Our feat awed even stingy Belanga folk—they offered shelter and drink freely.
I got the mayor's mansion. Briginsa's son, daughter, and niece stayed too—as my hostages.
In exchange, I endured one chattering mouth.
"A feat to stun the empire. With famed legion and Guard commanders crushed, you strike the barbarians' heart and snag hostages? The emperor would rejoice. Indeed."
The mayor's son—a muscle-packed pig—sat before me. His name? Not worth remembering. He fawned endlessly, predicting my rise to central politics.
Empire's crumbling—politics would be grand.
I shook my head and drained my wine.
"Hey, barbarian bitch. What's your name?"
Ignoring me, he turned to Briginsa's daughter. She frowned slightly, ripping into a smoked chicken leg.
"I asked your name."
The pig pressed. She dropped the meat with a clack.
"What business of yours?"
"You, you—?"
He shot up, offended. Flip it, though—she was insulted. Heigirt's granddaughter, empire-shaker. A princess, essentially. Him? Elected mayor's son. Local bigwig at best.
I listened to their spat, pressing my knife into the meat.
Too hard—the plate cracked. Their eyes snapped to me.
"Slipped a bit. Noise grates when I'm tense."
The pig shut up.
Briginsa's daughter calmly chewed her meat. Lion's spawn, through and through.
Her brother? Just watched, despite the insult to sis. Briginsa called him unripe, but he seemed smaller than her.
Dishes grow or shrink with time, though.
I finished roughly and rose. In the lounge, the mayor had gathered locals and councilors. They bowed respectfully.
The mayor spoke.
"Legion commander proxy, sir. Soldiers talk of the 16th's battles, and with captured barbarians... everyone's anxious for tomorrow.
Rumors of Briginsa's revenge, barbarians burning everything. Your view, sir?"
Curious about my thoughts.
I stared them down.
"Barbarians inside borders always do the same: pillage, arson, murder, rape. They treat it like a trade. You know that. Why ask my take? Nothing to say. But one thing's sure—as long as they're here, worry won't end. Fix it? Help the legion."
The mayor clasped his pudgy fingers.
"How, sir?"
"Battles left us short on men and supplies. Obvious if you look."
"We heard you command over ten thousand. Down to a thousand? That's defeat, no?"
A bigwig asked.
"Bluff. Never topped three thousand."
"Three thousand!"
They eyed each other. Storm Black Woods, thrash barbarians, snag Heigirt's kin, shake off hordes—with that?
Now they grasped our legion's might fully.
"Help us reclaim the border, drive Heigirt's dogs out. Please—as a citizen, not soldier."
They exchanged glances, calculations churning.
A councilor spoke.
"Proxy, we'd gladly help. But recession's brutal. Trade halted, bandit barbarians everywhere—merchants ruined. Sold some slaves last time for breath, but pockets empty. Can't give much."
"How much?"
I cut straight.
"A thousand slaves from our pockets. Arm them too. That's our limit, sadly."
I crossed my arms at that.
"As a kid, I loved empire histories. Poor dad, but village library let me read. Glorious past.
Knew crises like now hit before. Barca invasion rivaled Heigirt. Legions fell ten at a time. Yet we endured, beat Barca. Why?"
Silence. I barked at their averted eyes.
"Legions crumbled—citizens volunteered, lords and merchants gave wealth. Consuls knew death waited, still led against Barca.
They believed all shared defense duty, high or low. Now? Empire's fall feels real. Granaries overflow, sons grown—yet no sons to soldiers, no supplies? Hoarding for Heigirt?"
"Proxy."
Mayor tried reining me. Too harsh? Wrong. You're harsh.
"We fight for empire—you—not others. We fall, who shields you? No more free peace without coin or sons. Want it? Aid like ancestors vs. Barca. We'll repay faith, guard the empire."
I scanned them and left. None rose to see me off.
Bitter taste.
Yell all I want—nothing changed.
World doesn't shift easy. Laughable if it did. Aren's mayor and aides? Cooperative compared. Complained just yesterday, it felt.
I wryly smiled.
Slaves in square? Infuriating. Mostly too old or young for soldiers. Safe hoarding.
I scanned slowly. Picked two hundred hidden gems amid chaff.
Sturdy teeth, strong frames, right age—that was it.
Wanted stirring speeches like before, arming them myself—but forces too thin.
Handed picks to Rikius for training, sent rest back.
Even with them, barely thirteen hundred. What now?
Thoughts tangled.
Knock knock.
"Come in."
I straightened at the knock. Could slouch, but legion's face.
"It's me."
Lis entered.
"Long time, Lis. Sit."
He awkwardly took the seat. Not uncomfortable—awkward alone with me.
Eased him with a joke.
"Slept deep, gorged since city? Filled out nicely."
"Didn't eat that much."
He grinned awkwardly. Tension eased.
I speared a grape, offered the bowl.
"Eat some."
"No, sir."
Didn't like grapes? Passed. Onto business.
"Proxy, saw slaves for legion in square."
"Yeah. You too?"
"Yes. Inspected close—lifesavers, after all. Dismal."
"If you say so."
Grapes turned bitter.
I set fork down, eyed him.
"That's why—take in lone wolves."
Lis said.
Lone wolves? Exiled wanderers, shunned outcasts. Blood threats, wrong side, taboos—reasons varied.
They often hated birth tribes. Why empire's ex-barbarian wolves pledged bone-deep loyalty.
"But we swept borders, dried barbarian seed. No exceptions for wolves?"
He wryly smiled.
"Commander, lone wolf means exile. Think they'd stick with kin just crossing border?"
"Then?"
"Banditing with ilk. No law, no legion spots—only path."
"Criminals, then."
"Yes. But history says empire took death-row, gladiators, slaves in crises. Survival first."
He was right.
Not judge—soldier. No weighing sins, justice. Borrow cat's paw to hold border.
I crossed arms.
"If rude, forgive."
"No. Good idea. I'll consider."
"Thank you."
I sent him off. Hard refusing soldier's pitch. But criminals fracture unity. They'd balk at eagle anyway.
Pondered all night.
(To be continued)