Chapter 16

Blue and Bronze Chevron

Coalition Side

Beneath the shade of an umbrella, Viscount Jorge witnessed the battle unfold in front of him. His heart beat faster as the Coalition column slammed into the Korelians line.

“Morton, you see that- you see that?” Jorge jumped from his folded chair as he remarked excitedly. He was so proud of Arius, his most trusted cousin who personally led the attack.

Sir Morton, the Black Knights captain only nodded his head. He wasn’t the type that talk much.

Somehow, this seemingly mismatched master and servant actually had good chemistry. Both men deeply respected their differences. This was quite uncommon.

In the Imperium, the servant who wouldn’t lick the master’s boots was usually discarded early.

But then again, Jorge was hardly normal. So abnormal that his peers mocked him as the big fool of ‘One Hill’ behind his back.

Originally, Jorge’s Viscountcies held four regions: Korimor, South Hill, Korelia, and the capital in the center. Each castle was built on a hill, thus the region's capital was named Three Hills.

Under Jorge's nascent rule, a branch family and an old backing had seceded.

Jorge had launched wars multiple times without a victory. When he won, he installed an untrustworthy person who eventually rebelled.

In the end, he gained none and lost even more.

The young lord was not entirely to blame. His only fault was being naive and idealistic.

Jorge idolized the school of meritocracy. An ideal governing system where people were promoted based on their ability, not by blood relation.

However, not even the best of the Imperium lord was able to implement such a radical system. Family ties and nepotism ran deep and were central to feudalism.

Traditionally, a House placed family members in powerful positions to secure their control. Whenever a lord promoted non-family into high positions then envy and political intrigue ripened.

This led to distrust and contempt amongst the court subjects. Eventually, it usually ended in a purge, assassination, or open conflict.

That very problem still haunted Jorge whose only hope now lay with Arius. The younger cousin was respected by various factions and may solve the instability.

“We’ve beaten them! They’re pushed back," Jorge clamored as he watched Arius’ column gaining ground.

The staff cheerfully congratulate Jorge. Only Morton kept silent.

The cheering contrasted greatly with what happened on the battlefield. There was no glory in the mangled and beaten bodies that littered the field.

Many of the wounded, drenched in their own blood, limped and even crawled for help.

However, for the nobles, this brutal sight was no different than a sporting event.

Tara- taraaa!!

The trumpet signal from the northern column caught them off-guard. The staff looked northward with confused looks.

“What’s going on? It’s one of ours right?” Jorge asked as he squinted his eyes.

They readily sent a scout to ascertain the situation.

“It’s likely a cavalry attack. My lord, please let me have a hundred," Morton calmly requested. By now, they could see an unknown cavalry heading into the northern column.

“No, we’ll move as one," Jorge said with a clenched fist.

His tone attracted the command staff.

“Now we know what Lansius’ intention really is, let's not hesitate. The chance has shown itself. Let’s move out,” the young lord commanded.

The staff readily mounted their horses and relaying the order. The squires strapped back Jorge's cuirass and helped him mount the horse.

Spurred by the lord's wish for haste, two-hundred knights and three-hundred cavalry rode north in full gallop.

***

Lansius

I clenched my right arm against my side and felt the weight of the lance under my armpit. The lance rest on the breastplate helped stabilize the shaft whilst the horse was trotting.

Two years of training and I’m still struggling not to kill myself by plunging the lance to the ground.

My arm and muscles felt on fire as they wrestled against the rocking motion. Minuscule adjustments were made to keep the lance's tip off the ground.

The horse continued to run like a charging buffalo. The rocking motion was anything but gentle. Weighted by the armor, on every up and down, the saddle’s hard leather punished my loins and battered my breath.

I wanted to say I’m used to this, that I’m trained for this, but I couldn't. This wasn’t a thing someone could get used to in mere two years.

And to think that everybody thinks that this is a good idea?

Ooff!

The horse jumped a rocky obstacle and the saddle smacked my gut from beneath. The lance wobbled and I had to exert every ounce of strength to keep it under control.

... not killing myself here will probably be one of the crowning achievements of my life.

I regretted this, but I would still do this out of necessity.

Sir Callahan and Rabanus who rode in front understood my inexperience, so they made small adjustments here and there.

Instead of me following them, I felt that they had centered the whole formation on me. The rest of the one-hundred cavalry spread evenly on my left and right.

Thomson and Sir Renz rode beside me. The latter was a young knight who acted as our bannerman.

The banner was depicting a blue shield with a single bronze chevron.

It was new. It was mine. Felis had designed and knitted the coat of arms just a few days ago. She boasted it would bring good luck and now I prayed hard that it would.

Sir Callahan and Rabanus seemed to pick up more speed.

I tried to keep up with them and realized we were on full gallop. The wind screamed through every open vent on the visor. My sight was a blur.

We rushed the last stretch of land between us and the opponent’s formation.

The Coalition line now looked jagged and uneven. There was no wall of spears or pikes.

We rode loosely, expecting heavy crossbow attacks, but only a few materialized.

This column was supposedly two-thousand, but what was in front of me was just a bunch of men, scarred and witless.

My God, I'm going to trample them to their death...

My conscience screamed, but my trained instinct kept me going.

This is my battle plan, I'm responsible for anyone's death, and I will not shrink from it. Go haunt me if you must, but judge me fairly against your lords and masters who caused you grief and pain.

I settled my mind and the numbness in my arms returned.

The distance was closing in frighteningly fast. Each of the men in line was now in full shape. I could see their faces and reactions as Callahan and Rabanus along with our entire front riders dove into them.

The screaming and horses' beastly noise filled the ears.

No time to observe.

CRACKKK!!

Air was painfully robbed out of my lungs. My right arm, shoulder, and torso felt like hitting something incorporeal.

The horse's loud neighing kept me from being distracted as we slowed to a trot in almost an instant.

The situation was chaotic. Too many things were happening all at once.

I saw men left and right jumped frantically in horror to avoid being tramped.

My lance shaft was gone. I dropped it and drew my blade with a trembling hand.

Before I could swing it, somebody already jostled a spear into my left arm. Instinctively, I clenched my left fist on my chest creating ample layers of steel.

The sharp edge of the spear slammed, but I felt nothing more than a forceful poke.

Another rider swooped in from behind and hacked the man down. It was Thomson, even only in brigandine, he was fearless. His axe savaged left and right equally.

In front, a few of the western men seemed to find their courage and brandished their spears. I slashed my sword but made no contact. One of them slipped and tumbled down against their comrades.

Several more from the other side thrust their spears but they were too far to make contact.

My horse plowed forward despite the threats. The ground was littered with discarded weapons, shields, and bodies.

The riders in front were doing the hard part to open a clear path.

Suddenly only grassy plains were seen.

We're out?

It was so serene and unreal.

... I actually survive that sht?

Smirk formed on my lips.

The column was five men deep, but because of the chaos, it felt like we plowed through ten.

Now, the riders in front slowed down while making a wide turn. Thomson formed up beside me. Callahan followed suit afterward.

“Are you injured, My Lord?” Thomson asked after opening up his visor. Sweats were all over his face.

My hand still clenching the sword since I was too shaky to sheath it back. Using my left hand I tapped the side of my helmet and found the small latch.

It was hard with the gauntlet on, but I managed to open the visor. Having full peripheral vision back and breathing freely was an incredible joy. “I’m good.”

Then situation awareness kicked in. “Are we clear for another pass?” I asked Callahan.

He looked at the horizon and found the Coalition's entire reserve of five-hundred cavalry was bearing down on us.

I saw them too.

“One pass only, My Lord," Callahan answered.

“How many did we lose?”

“A few or none," he said after taking another look at our forces who rode behind.

“Give the signal, we’re going for another,” I ordered.

Callahan grabbed his silver horn-like apparatus and blew the mouthpiece. Unlike Anci’s loud and clear buccina, Callahan’s was richer and deeper.

Buuu- buuuuu!!

Sir Renz beside me hoisted the blue and bronze chevron high. Once again we trot into the enemy.

Nobody retained their lance, so we were at disadvantage. But the enemy had it worse. Their formation was breached, numerous were dead, and many were frightened.

And now we were aiming their rear. Their commander tried to rush their strongest troops to the rear, but it was all in utter chaos. The levied element refused to cooperate.

Only at the last minute did they manage to reform into thicker ranks. Seven or possibly eight men’s deep.

Callahan in front did nothing. If we try to attack the side or encircle the flanks, then we would lose precious time and momentum.

I drew a deep breath and latched back my visor. The sound of my breath echoing inside the helmet was triggering something.

PTSD?

Hundred of hours of mock combat against Audrey had made me into either a fighter or a patient eligible for disability benefit.

Fuck it!

I cleared my head and braced for impact.

My horse was neighing as she knew what going to happen again. She galloped and sent my vision into a blur.

I saw the first wave gallantly dove right into the enemy line.

The line was broken and then mayhem came.

"EYAAH," I yelled, but I entered without any resistance.

Men were cowering left and right. They practically stood still as if frozen. Only their eyes were upon me with teeth chattering.

Their wills had broken, so I did nothing but press forward.

Suddenly more men were shoved into us. Behind them, a group of well-armed men waddled their way to reach us.

I swung my sword to deter the nearest men. I was preoccupied, my left greaves and sabaton were jostled. Nothing more than glancing blows but it startled me.

Before I could do anything, a short frightful shriek caught my attention. A man strayed too close and the horse trampled over him.

Not even a moment had passed, another bumped into me. He was so close that I whacked his helmet with the pommel as there was little room to swing the blade.

The poor man collapsed while the impact worsen the grip in my hand.

The better-armed men from the right reached me. Their pole weapons thrust dangerously close.

Driven by fear, I parried with sword and jostled the rest with my gauntlets. Two or three times the sharp edges impacted my armor. Each time the steel's smooth contour deflected the thrust that grazed without a bite.

I squeezed my knee on my horse and feet on the stirrup to avoid falling. Another thrust glanced on my waist and then I rode away.

The horse picked up more speed and I'm concerned about whether she was injured. Even partially armored, a strong thrust could still wound the beast.

However, she still followed my lead and didn't seem to falter.

To my left and right, the western men seemed to be in disarray. I looked around and saw the riders tearing the Coalition formation like a thorny comb.

“GAAHH!" I choked. Something struck my back. The blow was felt in the guts and my head simultaneously.

I spat. The content of my stomach almost flowed out.

Instinct made me crane my neck. I spotted a man with a bardiche. The big axe-head was ready for another blow, but the man's advance was impeded by many others who were frightened.

His face was full of scorn and he resorted to taunting as I rode away. Then I saw he was swept from behind. His helmet flew and fresh blood spurted from the back of his head.

Sir Renz, even while shouldering the banner on his left, was still able to do that much.

I was too preoccupied with that scene that the change of scenery surprised me. The gory landscape was gone.

The horse's breath was calmer.

Thomson and Callahan formed on me as we trotted slower. Fresh blood coated our armors and mounts.

Suddenly I felt unwell.

“My Lord, are you hurt?” Callahan asked with his visor up.

I frantically opened mine too and breathe as if drowning.

That made the two leap into action. Thomson rode closer and checked my armor.

“My Lord, can you breathe normally?” Callahan asked as they flanked me.

"No, it's hard," I answered and then to Thomson. "Check my back!”

“There’s a dent. You’re hit, My Lord-”

“Get the backplate off," Callahan urged Thomson.

“Pardon, My Lord, I’m going to-”

“Do it, Thomson! Just do it,” I begged him as I'm getting desperate.

After two tries, Thomson undid the latches and took out the backplate. Instantaneously, I could breathe freely.

The coolness from the absence of the backplate was refreshing. The arming doublet underneath the plate was drenched in sweat at this point, like a wet jacket.

“Blimey, the dent is shallow but it bent the waist part inward,” Thomson reported as we rode further.

Then I realized the sword was not in my hand. Likely I lost it when the bardiche man hit me.

We rode slower as we reached a safe distance. I noticed several streaks on Callahan’s armor. There was a bolt head embedded near the shoulder which failed to penetrate.

Blood was also on his legs and saddles. “They’re not my blood, My Lord,” Callahan explained after seeing me noticing the blood.

“Thomson, how about you?”

“Lost the axe and my left arm is numbed, but I still got my sword. I can do another pass, My Lord.”

Thomson’s bravado sent me into a chuckle.

“How many did we lose?” I asked Callahan who seemed to have done his assessment.

“Five or maybe less," Callahan answered flatly.

I couldn't resist a smile at that result.

Unbelievable, this is better than my wildest prediction.

"My Lord, the Black Knights," a rider from the back called out.

We looked behind and saw riders in black armor galloping toward us. The footmen column we had wrecked split into two, giving them an open path.

“You want to have a go at them, Thomson?” I jested as we lead our horses to pick up speed.

“For you, My Lord, I’ll do it,” the man said.

I never felt so proud.

“My Lord, a smoke," Sir Renz called while pointing to the east.

“Good sighting," I commended him and then to Callahan. “Aim for the forest. Get us out of here!”

***