Episode 62. Return to the Homeland (4)
Ronad's cavalry charged like a raging wave. Just as they entered the narrow bottleneck of the valley, panting heavily, I realized what Ronad was banking on for his assault.
A spear.
Once he learned our legion had encamped here, Ronad had his men carve trees into spears nearly four meters long. By striking the shields first, even the sturdiest formation would crumble.
Even so, you picked the wrong battlefield.
If we'd faced this charge on open plains where cavalry could maneuver freely, we'd have been utterly routed. Shatter the shield wall, then send in the second wave to trample us—that would have been the end.
But not here. There was no room to throw the spears and wheel around, so they had no choice but to charge straight ahead. At the moment of impact, our men would have to let go of their shields or be crushed.
If it were that easy, infantry would have gone extinct long ago.
Ronad probably wouldn't have picked a fight under such unfavorable conditions if he hadn't been blinded by rage. Even with his preparations, this was the worst terrain for cavalry.
Yet he'd let his emotions get the better of him and come at me. Perhaps he dreamed of crushing me himself—the man who'd ruined him—and proving his worth to his father.
But war isn't waged on whims and bravado.
I decided to teach him that lesson.
"Waaaaah!"
The horses hit top speed in the final approach. Hooves thundered, kicking up dirt. In mere seconds, the barbarians' vanguard was upon our infantry.
"For the king!"
The lead barbarian thrust his long wooden spear forward.
Boom!
The spears slammed into the shields. The barbarians released them to absorb the shock. Our soldiers staggered back under the immense force as the spears embedded. Some shields even bent.
And in the next instant, the wave of barbarian cavalry crashed into our infantry formation.
"Hiiihiiing!"
Horses collided with shields, flinging riders into the air. In spots where the line buckled, cavalry broke through and trampled our men.
"Hold the line! Show these barbarians what the border legion is made of!"
Cogol bellowed.
I noted some barbarians piercing the formation, but it wasn't enough to collapse the front.
That meant everything.
The barbarian cavalry, surging like a furious tide, slowed as their front ranks piled up against our infantry wall. The enemy horsemen bunched up densely before our lines, unable to do a thing.
"Loose!"
Our archers fired another volley.
"Kaaak."
The barbarians flailed atop their mounts, swatting arrows with swords and raising shields, but crammed together with no room to maneuver, their losses mounted inevitably.
As casualties grew, they wheeled their horses about. Quick thinking, but their mounts betrayed them again. Trapped amid the press of horses, they couldn't reform coherently.
I judged their momentum broken.
Time to counterattack.
I drew my sword and stepped forward.
"Legion, advance!"
At my command, the drummers beat the signal. Battalion and legion standard-bearers raised their markers and pushed ahead. Our men roared, shoving with their shields. The barbarians strained to hold, but it was futile.
The soldiers closed the gap, shoving foes back with shields, then stabbed viciously at close range. The enemy reeled helplessly under our counterthrust.
"Kill them! Every head we take today brightens our tomorrow!"
The officers stoked the troops' fury.
Our men butchered the barbarians mercilessly, advancing step by step. The enemy desperately tried to turn the tide, but the battlefield itself was hopelessly against them.
Soon, a few barbarian commanders deemed the fight lost and blew their horns.
Pwoooo. Pwoooo.
As if waiting for the signal, the barbarian soldiers turned and fled in panic.
"Yaaah!"
Our troops broke formation and pursued. If I'd feared traps, I'd have called them off, but we were past that point.
"Rikius!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Send the signal. Call in Usiper to finish this."
"Yes, sir."
I believed in striking when the wave crested. No need to drag out a winnable fight and give the enemy a chance.
Be cautious when caution's called for, but strike decisively when it's time to be bold. Fail at that, and you're no commander.
I watched the fleeing barbarians.
Moments later, Ronad positioned his rearguard in a semicircle at the bottleneck's mouth, aiming to block our pursuit and flip the unfavorable odds.
He'd learned a thing or two rolling in the dirt of battle. But I'd seen one move further.
"Our turn! Kill them all and trample the rest!"
Usiper roared, leading a massive barbarian cavalry force into the enemy's flank. Ronad, fixated on blocking our infantry in the valley, had no preparations against this.
"B-block them!"
Ronad shouted in a fluster, but it was far too late.
"Kill!"
Usiper's men tore through Ronad's nearly defenseless flank. Swords danced, heads tumbling like rotten fruit.
"Aaaak!"
Decapitated barbarians sprayed blood as they toppled slowly. Some dropped weapons and ran, only to catch pursuing cavalry blades to the skull and crumple.
The fight was one-sided. Usiper's cavalry smashed Ronad's force in a single pass, then withdrew.
The barbarians, barely escaping our legion and rejoining their lines, gaped in horror.
"Th-they're coming again!"
As if answering their terrified screams, Usiper's host wheeled, accelerated, and charged anew.
To resist, they'd need a shield wall against the horse charge—but Ronad's men did nothing.
Not that they could in the hellish chaos.
The barbarians were crushed between our legion in the rear and Usiper's cavalry ahead. Ronad thrashed desperately within our encirclement.
"You rat bastards!"
Surrounded by Usiper's horsemen, Ronad spewed curses, swinging his spear left and right. He wasn't much of a commander, but his raw courage deserved respect.
Unlucky foes struck by his spear were unhorsed or bisected.
But as Usiper's men hurled lassos, ropes snared Ronad's limbs, slowing him. Loops flew onto his arms and legs, binding him tighter.
"Y-you filthy cowards! Fight like warriors!"
Ronad snarled like a enraged tiger, but soon tumbled from his horse, trussed up.
"Waaaaah!"
His fall unleashed a roar from our troops.
With Ronad unhorsed, the barbarian army was all but annihilated. A few escaped on horseback, but that hardly mattered. Thousands dead, a handful alive? That's annihilation.
Leaving the mountain of corpses, I stood before Ronad.
Step. Step.
I halted, and he glared up, grinding his teeth.
"Dog bastard."
I smirked at his curse, then deliberately sheathed my sword. Leaning close, I murmured,
"No matter how you rage and rampage, this is eagle land. Empire land."
Ronad gnashed his teeth and spat at my feet. I signaled my men to drag him away.
Capturing an enemy officer unexpectedly was a boon, but facing Heigirt's full host was impossible.
Without rallying our scattered forces along the Drvina and summoning every legion being reformed in the imperial heartland, we'd shatter the moment we clashed.
I skipped cleaning the battlefield and hastened the withdrawal. If Heigirt learned of the fight, he'd pursue immediately.
Marching the highway, we encountered late refugees—folk who'd enjoyed peace until the sudden barbarian invasion forced them to grab their belongings and flee.
They begged our protection, but burdened with their baggage, they endangered us.
When we refused, they cursed and complained.
They should've lent a hand to border defense ages ago.
After brushing past several such groups, we reached Rance, the capital of East Libitus. The city lay in ruins, thoroughly razed by Heigirt's army. Staring at the wreckage, my thoughts drifted to a slender woman.
Is Rica safe?
As East Libitus's capital fell, had she been caught in the chaos? Worry gnawed at me. Knowing this, I should've checked on her when passing through Rance.
But with my endless campaigning, keeping her close was impossible. Even if things had gone smoothly, taking her to Briton was unthinkable.
I quelled my anxiety by fooling myself that she'd escaped somehow. I had to believe that to endure.
At the city walls, I let the men rest and gazed at what had once been a thriving hub.
As I pondered the ruins, a man approached, escorted by legionaries. Studying him, I recognized the young face from before.
Grimy and ragged, but unmistakably Gaius, the envoy from the East Libitus governor. His handsome features, sharp eyes, and delicately tapered face—women's favorite—matched my memory.
I brushed off my clothes and rose to greet him.
"Envoy Gaius. Long time."
"Yes, Governor."
He saluted crisply, arm to chest. Glad to see him, yet puzzled.
"I heard Rance fell, but didn't expect you here."
"Nor I you, sir."
"How'd you survive?"
Gaius's face soured bitterly.
"Before the fall, Governor Labirando gave me a plea for aid and ordered me to flee."
"Lucky."
"Hard to call it luck."
He shook his head.
Fair enough. Home and world shattered in an instant—better to die. The living envying the dead. I understood. I felt something similar now.
I could only smile wryly.
"Did you deliver the letter?"
"Yes."
"Plans now?"
"None, really."
Gaius replied listlessly.
"No revenge?"
"Revenge? If I had the guts, I'd be in the army like you, sir."
His face darkened in unfamiliar gloom. Natural for any man.
"Realism's not a bad trait. But."
I clapped his shoulder.
"Our world allows no time for despair. Rise for the empire. Get to work."
"But I have nothing left to offer."
"Then take a post. Envoy Gaius—how about a bureaucrat in Bellgorod?"
He hesitated.
"Governor Labirando would've wanted it."
At his name, Gaius bowed, then grasped my hand.
"Understood. I'll serve the empire in Bellgorod."
"Good."
We shook firmly. To a man who'd lost all, rank meant nothing now.
Still, better than the agony of impotence amid a crumbling world.
I left Gaius and wandered the ruins.
(To be continued)