Theme Lazica (4)
A stinging pain coursed through his hand. Since he'd struck an armored foe with a standard spear rather than a lance designed for charges, the recoil had been tremendous.
"Lucky the shaft snapped midway..."
In that moment of tremendous speed and impact, he'd delivered a massive shock through the spear rather than piercing clean through. Had it not broken, his right arm—still gripping it—would surely have been torn clean off.
For now, he wrapped it with a strip of cloth from his gear, binding it tight to dull the pain temporarily.
"The Turkic cavalry are chasing down the enemy who didn't surrender... All that's left is cleaning up the battlefield."
With such thoughts, he recalled yesterday's events.
He'd ridden through the night to reach the field. Upon arriving at the Georgian army's main camp, only a handful of soldiers remained inside. Interrogating the captives revealed that the Georgian forces had launched a night raid.
Leading those prisoners ahead, they'd found the Eastern Roman army on the brink of collapse, barely holding on.
"A little later, and it would've been a disaster."
Had they been delayed, the Eastern Romans would have crumbled for certain. Manuel Erotikos Komnenos and Asakios would have been taken prisoner without doubt.
Manuel was a key figure to the emperor, as he'd mentioned repeatedly. If the Georgians demanded the return of territories lost under Bagrat III in exchange for his hostage, Basil II would have no choice but to comply.
That meant defeat for the Eastern Romans. He'd promised the Turkic cavalry the lands of Lazica—if he couldn't deliver, Arslan would turn resentful, and they'd ravage the borders in fury.
A horrific outcome, even in thought alone. Fortunately, they'd shattered the Georgian army before any harm came to Manuel and Asakios—or the Eastern Roman forces, more precisely.
He let out a sigh of relief as he surveyed the field. Then Arslan approached.
"A warrior rivaling the khans of the steppes."
Arslan's words were as good as acclaim. He bowed his head in thanks.
"Thanks to the valiant Turkic warriors. In a way, it's due to you, who commanded them."
Arslan chuckled heartily, shaking his head as he met his gaze.
"The spirits of the steppe aren't ruled by commands." He tapped his chest. "They move by the heart."
With that, Arslan flashed an enigmatic smile and returned to his place.
"Moved by the heart..."
A thought he'd never considered. He mulled over Arslan's words as he greeted the rising sun.
With all fighting done and the battlefield mostly cleared, the armed Georgians had been hunted down and annihilated, while the surrendered were rounded up in one spot.
All that remained was meeting Manuel and Asakios.
"Impressive work."
Angelos Moselaph approached, his armor splattered with blood—he'd clearly fought hard.
"No issues on the left flank?"
"Of course not. We'd have taken the most prisoners."
He gestured behind him. Sure enough, lines of bound Georgian soldiers were being dragged along.
He nodded. "Outstanding merits."
"Haha. Safe to say the biggest of this war."
Angelos boasted playfully. As they chatted, Ioannis finished his tasks and joined them.
"Everyone's here."
"Cleanup took a while—what happened?"
Ioannis nodded at the question.
"Took time capturing a prisoner named Juvav."
"Fierce one, huh."
Ioannis didn't deny Angelos's words.
"A pain. Turns out he's the aide to Georgia's commander-in-chief, Yohan."
"Yohan's aide! He must know plenty."
Angelos lit up as if it were his own win. Ioannis smiled at him.
"Of course he does. So naturally, I claim the war's greatest merit."
Angelos realized the trap too late, pulling a aggrieved face. As the two bickered...
He mounted up to head toward Manuel and Asakios.
"Where to?"
"Check if Sir Manuel and Sir Asakios are all right."
The pair snapped to attention, ceasing their spat and mounting as well.
Descending the hill revealed the brutal aftermath. Charred earth everywhere. Crows circled over the mangled corpses of Eastern Roman and Georgian soldiers alike.
A gruesome scene. Every soldier looked utterly drained.
Amid them, a man dug into the soil with a wooden club. He gently placed an Eastern Roman soldier's body into the hole, then covered it with earth.
His expression was unreadable. Their eyes met.
An indescribable gaze. A torrent of emotions swirled in those eyes, defying words.
"Brother!"
Ioannis's voice from behind revealed the man's identity: Asakios.
The founder of the Komnenos dynasty. Meeting the man who'd forge an era felt strangely profound—different from encountering Chaur. Chaur burned with fiery ambition; Asakios felt steady as the earth.
Asakios approached, extending a hand.
"Pleased to meet you, Lord Uranus."
His grip was rough. But the emotion it conveyed wasn't calm earth—it was fury hot enough to melt hell itself.
The corpses strewn about explained it dimly. He bowed his head in apology.
"Forgive me, Sir Asakios. Had we arrived sooner, more men would have lived."
Ioannis startled, then began chiding Asakios.
"Brother! Lord Rogerius rode day and night to save you and Father—"
He raised a hand to silence Ioannis. Asakios regarded him steadily, then exhaled deeply as if purging something, showing regret.
"My apologies. Without you, Lord Rogerius, more would have died. Forgive my rudeness."
Sincerity rang in his words. That genuineness hinted at how history's Asakios became emperor.
A true emperor—one who cherished his people.
A presence stirred behind him. There stood Sir Manuel, using his sword as a cane.
"Sir Manuel!"
Angelos dismounted and hurried over. Once Manuel's subordinate, he was greeted with a relieved smile.
"Thanks to you, I survived, Angelos."
"Sorry we were late, sir."
"No. It was you, Ioannis, and... Lord Rogerius."
Manuel turned to him. He returned a bow; Manuel smiled back, then addressed Asakios.
"Asakios."
"Yes, excellency."
"From the next battle, I delegate full authority over the Basilikei Hetairoi to you."
A de facto step-down from supreme command. Asakios stared in shock. Manuel sat wearily, indicating his abdomen.
Blood seeped faintly. Asakios paled.
"I'll fetch the medics at once."
"It's fine—just a graze. But this old body struggles even with that."
Manuel quirked a half-smile. Asakios and Ioannis rushed forward, but Manuel extended a hand to halt them.
"The war isn't over."
Ioannis floundered; Asakios, sensing his father's resolve, drew a deep breath and nodded.
"I shall uphold your will, excellency."
Manuel smiled faintly, drawing his sword from its sheath and handing it to Asakios.
The blade symbolizing military authority. Asakios received it with due ceremony, then turned to him gravely.
"You have a plan next, I presume, Lord Rogerius."
His demeanor had shifted utterly from moments before. The determination in his eyes made clear: he wanted this war ended swiftly.
He felt the same. The Turkic mercenaries cost a fortune, and Arslan's loyalty could waver anytime—better to wrap it up fast.
With Georgia's commander Yohan slain, their defeat was all but sealed. But victory demanded a decisive blow.
"As you know, Sir Asakios, this war's aim isn't conquering all of Georgia."
Unlike Bulgaria, where the goal had been total annexation to prevent future revolts. Here, it was reclaiming the lands promised by Bagrat III.
To retake enemy-held territory, two paths existed.
"Our objective is seizing the Lazica region. Two ways to achieve it."
"First: occupy it and garrison troops."
"Correct. But as you know, that takes time."
Speed mattered as much as success. The first option was out.
"And the second?"
"Capture King Giorgi I of Georgia."