Unification War (9)
Swinging my sword from horseback sent the enemy tumbling down like scarecrows. One, then two. Before long, dozens lay sprawled before my eyes, and terror began to stain the foes' gazes. Terror. This highly contagious affliction of the mind spread rapidly.
“Th-that’s the War Terminator!”
“God’s punishment! God’s punishment has come!”
“Sp-spare me!”
Dozens of nicknames they hurled at me. The most frightening ones darted swiftly from enemy lips. They clutched their weapons yet posed no threat—like a flock of sheep gripped by fear. As a wolf from the north, I had no reason to spare such easy prey.
“Hraaaah!”
“Gahk!”
The fierce vibration surged up my arm. By the time it faded, the enemy barring my path had lost its head.
“If you fear divine retribution, stay out of my way!”
My words made the enemy soldiers falter and fall back. As they retreated, I spotted those barking orders to hold formation. Adjutants. If an army were a living beast, the soldiers were its limbs, and the adjutants the conduits relaying the commander's will. Strip away what makes the force move as one organism, and even the mightiest host crumbles.
I beckoned Chaur with a gesture, then pointed at the adjutants with my index finger. No words needed—Chaur grasped my intent at once. He and the Turkopolos cavalry plunged into the milling enemy ranks like wolves into a sheepfold. Amid the chaos, the wolves stalked their marks with calm precision.
The adjutants realized too late they were the prey. But veteran hunters never miss a chosen quarry.
“B-block them! Keep those bastards away from me… Gahk!”
The adjutant's head vanished in a blink. Without them to carry orders, the soldiers below ground to a halt. Some even cast aside their weapons and fled the field.
A prime chance to gut the enemy. Letting it slip would be folly, so I signaled Angelos.
His men had held the hill wearily before my arrival, but our reinforcements let them catch their breath. Restored enough for the fray. At my gesture, Angelos' troops surged forward with fresh fury.
Shining brightest were Halvar and the Varangians. Like marines in modern terms, these warriors specialized in coastal raids, rear strikes, special operations. Shifting from defense to offense unleashed them fully.
“Taste Odin’s axe!”
“We’ll make your knees buckle just by staring!”
“Flight’s futile. Take my blade meekly!”
They culled the deserting foes with ruthless speed. Victory tipped inexorably our way.
Yet the enemy ranks remained thick. To shatter them outright, strike the head.
“Hunt the enemy commander! Now!”
The Turkopolos cavalry bounded ahead, sweeping obstacles in a widening fan. My view cleared, revealing the commander abandoning the line for retreat.
He fled seaward to the anchored ships, trailed by a scant few soldiers. It looked craven as his guards died around him, but tactically, it was sound. With adjutants falling, a dead commander meant utter ruin. Retreating to the ships—floating fortresses—was the wise play.
Cavalry couldn’t storm vessels. We had to seize or slay him before escape.
“Coward, whither flee?”
“Think you can slip our grasp?”
The riders herded him like quarry in a beaters’ drive, the fan narrowing to a jar’s mouth. He jammed inevitably at the neck.
Trapped in our noose, he proved his rank no empty title, slashing fiercely with his sword.
“Stand back! I perish not here!”
Even encircled, his defiance stirred reluctant admiration in me for this nameless captain. But admiration ends there. Prolonging the bout would bleed us dry.
“Flank him!”
Chaur’s roar. Two Turkopolos riders closed from either side. The commander dropped low, then sprang with inhuman might, severing the horse’s throat mid-charge. No clean kill, but grievous—the beast crumpled, hurling its rider to the dirt.
One down threw off the other’s strike; he wheeled, seeking another opening.
Chaur bristled, sword half-drawn. I raised a hand to halt him.
“A formidable foe.”
“I’ll claim his head and redeem the Turkopolos’ honor.”
I shook my head. Chaur felled by a blind stroke would cost us dearly.
“Honor’s redemption waits till we march on Constantinople.”
Chaur’s regret showed, but as emperor’s command, he held and obeyed.
With him steadied, now to fell the boar. A mounted charge might crush him, but his superhuman display lingered. Close quarters risked me harm. Better from afar.
“A spear.”
An adjutant proffered a Varangian javelin—deadly iron head lashed to stout wood, piercing to instant death.
Fatal, yes, but heavy, ill-suited for precise throws. For me, no issue.
“Hup!”
Core tensed, I hurled the child-sized shaft.
Whiiiiiish! It screamed like a shrieking wraith toward the commander.
“Guk!”
His final gasp. The man who’d toyed with two riders saw his head pulped by my cast.
The field fell eerily still, as if enchanted.
“One… spear…”
“Lord Amestrius is slain. The War Terminator’s throw felled Amestrius!”
Enemy shock rippled; some noble troops, will broken, dropped arms.
“I-I want to live.”
“No winning against that monster.”
“M-mercy, please…”
Surrender spread. Our men turned to me, eyes mingled awe and dread. As one, they bellowed:
“War Terminator! War Terminator!”
“Long live Emperor His Majesty!”
“Victory is ours!”
Annihilation. Arms thrust skyward, our troops cheered my name in jubilant frenzy.
The clash at Optimatoi. Word of the War Terminator Rogerius slaying Amestrius from afar with a single spearshot spread like wildfire.
Ioannikios dropped his wine goblet in shock.
“I-is it true?”
“Y-yes, Excellency.”
He trembled, incredulous. No wonder—the noble faction had committed their full might: elite troops clad in finest arms and armor. Their capture was calamity incarnate.
“Th-this can’t be. It can’t…!”
Teeth grinding, Ioannikios raged. Alexios, gauging the mood, ventured cautiously:
“Opportunities remain, Excellency.”
“Opportunities? You said opportunities?”
His glare chilled. Alexios shuddered but pressed on:
“Our rout is real, but forces linger under your command.”
“Right… Nestoric’s Bulgarians, the Holy Roman Empire’s aid, and my son the Ecumenical Patriarch’s host.”
Composure returned. Elites crushed, true—but the faction endured. Bulgarians and HRE reinforcements held, plus Georgian allies striking in concert. Hope flickered.
“Indeed, Excellency. No total defeat yet.”
Ioannikios nodded, then queried:
“When do the Bulgarians and HRE arrive?”
“Reports placed them in Thrace five days past—they should be here.”
A knock. A servant hurried in:
“Excellency! The Bulgarian army and Holy Roman Empire’s forces have reached Constantinople!”
Ioannikios rose, fist clenched in undisguised glee.
“The hour of counterstrike is upon us, Rogerius.”