Wolf Hunt (4)
Whoosh.
Early in the night, torches blazed fiercely.
"Begin."
"Yes, sir! Everyone to your positions!"
At my command, hundreds of soldiers swung their swords against the iron bars hanging from pre-set poles.
Each strike unleashed a deafening clamor of clashing metal that rang without cease. Then, hundreds of cavalry thundered around the camp's perimeter, shaking the ground.
I watched the spectacle, then raised my hand.
"Archers!"
The bowmen nocked arrows slathered thick with tree sap onto their strings. Decurions passed by, igniting them.
"Loose!"
Whirrr.
The archers launched their fiery missiles toward Griham's distant position—far beyond effective range.
This whole display was a show to trick the enemy into thinking we were assaulting Griham.
I hoped Heigirt would swallow the bait.
'Bite, King of the barbarians.'
I waited for the enemy's horses to come charging desperately from behind us.
How much time passed? A rumbling shook the earth.
The moment I heard it, I clenched my fist.
'Got you.'
I bellowed.
"Boruman!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Go to the Atillca legion commander. Tell him to prepare to support our rear."
"Yes, sir!"
I drew my sword and raced to the infantry lines. The rear of our formation featured deep pits dug for this operation—a trap hard to spot in the darkness.
By the time I reached the officers with torches and the rearmost ranks, the enemy's vanguard cavalry crests were visible in the distance.
Even glimpsed faintly in the moonlight, their numbers were terrifying.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud.
With the ground quaking, the enemy cavalry's front line spread out between the shrubbery.
Assuming our main force was pinned against Griham up front, they didn't deploy widely—just charged with their riders out ahead.
"For the king!"
"For the king!"
They chanted the same war cry, then roared as they spurred their mounts. The barbarian cavalry poured from the shrubs like a raging wave, hitting top speed.
In an instant, their sharp momentum aimed to smash our "sloppy" rear and ravage the whole army.
'But we'd prepared for this fight.'
I waited for their vanguard to hit the ditch.
The barbarians' front riders kicked up dirt, stopping just a meter shy of the sudden crater.
Neighhh!
"Gah!"
The lead group plunged into the earth mid-gallop.
In the dark, the sudden loss of balance sent countless riders tumbling. Horses screamed in agony as they fell into the pits.
"Halt the charge! Halt!"
A few barbarian warriors yelled from mid-formation, but in the chaos of the thundering assault, the order barely registered.
Cavalry after cavalry tumbled into the pits, shattering their lines in seconds.
Some who avoided disaster reached our infantry, but a handful of riders meant nothing.
Only then did they realize their comrades had vanished beside them—skewered on our spears and swords.
Our infantry dispatched the stragglers and raised victory cheers.
The barbarian cavalry finally halted after countless comrades bled out—but only thanks to those screaming mid-pack to stop.
Too late. The damage was done.
They'd screeched to a disorganized halt, bunching up exposed before us.
I drew my sword and roared.
"16th Legion—advance!"
"Victory to the golden eagle!"
Imperial legionaries surged forward like a wave toward the stalled enemy horse.
Cavalry dominated infantry, but halted, speedless, and clustered? They were just targets.
Our foot soldiers butchered them indiscriminately, herding survivors toward the brush.
'Your turn now.'
Pheee! Right on cue, our barbarian cavalry allies swept around the ditch, flooding the enemy's flank.
The foe was now trapped in a pincer, ripe for slaughter.
"Retreat! Retreat!"
Barbarian officers bellowed.
Confused and panicked, their riders wheeled and fled.
I mounted up personally, pursuing their rear while shouting encouragement.
The men were tiring, but every drop of sweat now meant less blood tomorrow. I drove them on.
"Don't let a single one escape. Kill them all. Every one you drop today means fewer charging you tomorrow."
The soldiers bit into their heels like lions.
Infantry alone might've let the enemy slip away with lighter losses. But with over ten thousand cavalry joining the chase, intact retreat was impossible.
Enemy corpses littered every shrub cluster, spilled from saddles.
Some, paths blocked, swung swords at our men—only to be swarmed and cut down miserably.
We pursued nearly thirty kilometers from camp. Relentless.
This strike killed over ten thousand barbarian cavalry, scattering as many more.
I was certain it'd dealt a fatal blow to the barbarian king.
'We won.'
"Victory for the Empire!"
"Imperator! Imperator! Long live Commander Ain!"
The troops chanted my name.
Bloody along the Line River's bank, I declared triumph with head high. But the joy was short-lived.
Returning to camp, reveling in victory, urgent news hit: While we'd chased to the Line River, Heigirt's forces struck our camp from both sides.
Stunned, I raced back.
'We got played.'
Devastated defenses and countless soldier corpses awaited.
Unit banners fluttered haphazardly over the dead in the wind.
'No way. A timed, two-pronged assault?'
I could only assume so. Night battle—we'd assumed the foes before us were all, committing everything.
Atillca legion elites, the 16th, barbarian horse—all flung into the fight.
We'd never dreamed their remnants would hit our weakened camp.
Too elated by our trap's success, we'd underestimated them. My mistake.
I should've known Heigirt wouldn't settle for a single-axis strike.
Staring at the corpses, I clenched my fists.
'I was the fool.'
Nearly twenty thousand.
In a blink, I'd lost five legions (two partial). Dawn's victory rang hollow.
Tactically, factoring cavalry and levies, we'd gained—but before the dead, it was meaningless arithmetic.
I dropped to my knees.
Twenty thousand. Exactly that.
So many dead from my misjudgment. Five legion standards lost. Heart-wrenching.
"Sir!"
Officers rushed, alarmed.
"I... I got you killed."
I ground my teeth. The legion commanders' agonized faces on those poles seemed to judge me harshly. Agony doubled.
"Sir! This wasn't your fault. Unavoidable. War happens."
I shook my head.
I tore my cloak, draping a fallen soldier, and rose.
"Rikius!"
"Yes."
"Remove my armor."
"Pardon?"
"As commander, I erred. To never forget, I'll take fifty lashes myself."
"Sir! Nonsense."
"Let us take them."
"Commander!"
Officers knelt. Soldiers knelt. But the blame was mine.
Legion commanders held camp, but I was their superior—I'd sent them into the grinder. Rightly mine to bear.
"Rikius!"
I called the young officer sternly.
"Defy my order?"
"Sir!"
"Boruman!"
Boruman bowed, feigning deafness.
As officers stalled, I bit my lip and shouted.
"Must I order a prisoner to whip me?"
Reluctantly, Rikius rose and took the lash.
I bared my torso, stinging under my subordinate's strikes. To etch my incompetence.
Crack!
The iron-tanned whip birthed a red welt on my back. Bone-deep pain; I shut my eyes.
Whipping: a lifetime rite for imperial soldiers, once or twice.
Early service, dozing on sentry—barbarian raid allowed. Thirty lashes.
Then, just flesh-pain. Now, heart ached more.
'Sorry.'
Back-flaying hurt less than choking grief for the dead.
Auxiliaries undervalued, but vital imperial assets. Never forgotten.
"Thirty!"
Rikius gritted through counts.
Each crack soured soldiers' faces. Victory-high moments ago, now tearful.
My fault too.
Still, I had to atone.
Only self-punishment could steady the chaos.
Offset legion-collapse shock with my penalty. Redirect fear to the enemy who'd forced this.
That was part of it.
"Forty!"
Already? Back felt aflame. Skin shredded to rags. Fifty's no light dose.
Rikius held back; full force, spine-visible.
I spat the wooden gag.
"Fifty!"
Exactly fifty. Done.
I staggered up.
Officers surged to support; I waved them off.
"I'm fine."
"Sir."
I faced the troops, not them.
"All see? This is Ain, arrogant till yesterday. Victory-drunk, I belittled the foe. Paid in blood."
Silence. Speechless faces.
I pressed through pain.
"I sinned against you. Showed a commander's shame. An Imperator must shine victorious—yet I bared disgrace. No face for the Empire's proud eagles. Sorry."
I knelt on one knee to the men.
Shock rippled.
"Sir."
Officers knelt too.
"Yet I'm the commander tasked with barbarian extermination. Too grave to quit for lost face.
If you grant trust once more, I, Ain, swear on the golden eagle: Victory, or my head to the Empire. Will you fight again for this flawed commander?"
"Ain! Ain! Ain!"
They chanted.
Thank you.
I bit my lip.
"We'll follow your command always. Today, tomorrow. Lead unwavering—we see you as the Empire's wall."
Officers cried.
I vowed never to forget today's harsh lesson.
(To be continued in the next episode)