Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 264

Chapter 264: Night Attack(2) Chapter 264: Night Attack(2) “Give them no mercy!” Egil roared, his voice a booming command that fueled the frenzy of his men.

He charged forward, his axe raised high, catching the desperate thrust of a spear with a deft twist of his wrist.

The soldier holding it, trembling and half-naked, barely had time to react before Egil’s weapon came down in a savage arc, biting deep into his shoulder.

The impact severed flesh and bone, sending the man collapsing to the ground with a strangled cry, his spear clattering uselessly beside him.

Egil didn’t pause, yanking his axe free with a sickening squelch as blood sprayed across his face and armor.

Another soldier rushed at him, clutching at a short sword, his eyes wild with desperation.

Egil spurred his horse to meet the man head-on.

The blade came swinging toward him, but Egil deflecting it , avoiding the blow with the ease of a predator toying with prey.

He swung his axe horizontally, its blade catching the man at the side stomach, and cleaving through his ribs and onto whatever was behind them.

Nearby, a pair of riders pursued a man who run between the burning tents.

One soldier lunged with his spear, skewering the runner through the back, the tip of the weapon bursting through his chest.

The soldier twisted the spear savagely before pulling it free, letting the man drop like a broken puppet.

Another rider dismounted, driving his sword through the throat of a man who had been trying to crawl away, gurgling as blood pooled beneath him.

Egil wheeled his horse around, scanning the chaos.

A small group of enemy soldiers had managed to gather, their weapons raised as they tried to form a shaky line of defense.

Egil sneered at their pitiful display of resistance, before calling some of his men to his side.

Their horses surging forward in unison as they charged toward the trembling line of infantry attempting to form a defensive wall.

The soldiers braced themselves, spears angled outward, desperately trying to maintain their formation.

But if they believed they were preparing for a direct clash, they had gravely miscalculated.

As Egil’s riders closed the distance, they suddenly reined in their horses, halting just outside the range of the spears.

With practiced precision, the riders unslung their javelins.

A chorus of sharp whistles cut through the air as the deadly projectiles hurtled toward the enemy line.

The impact was devastating-men screamed as javelins pierced torsos, arms, and legs.

Some crumpled to the ground, clutching at the shafts impaling their bodies, while others fell silent, lifeless before they hit the dirt.

Panic rippled through the remaining soldiers.

The realization that Egil’s cavalry were not merely charging brutes but also carried ranged weapons shattered their resolve.

Their formation dissolved into chaos as men began to scatter, their weapons abandoned in blind terror.

But there was no escape.

Egil’s riders pressed the attack, their horses surging forward once more.

Spears and swords flashed in the firelit darkness as they mercilessly cut down the fleeing soldiers, leaving no room for mercy.

“Burn it all!” Egil commanded, his eyes alight with a savage joy.

His men obeyed, throwing more torches into the tents and storage carts, the flames roaring higher as smoke billowed into the night sky.

Amid the inferno, Egil stood tall in his saddle, his axe dripping with blood.

Around him, his riders shouted their war cries, their voices mingling with the dying screams of the enemy and the crackle of burning fabric.  —————- Far to the south, Sir Mereth’s heavy cavalry was engaged on the opposite side of the camp.

While Egil led his assault from the north with his swift and deadly riders, Mereth’s knights struck with the brute force of armored warhorses, smashing through disorganized clusters of soldiers who tried to regroup.

The enemy had been caught in a deadly pincer, their forces fractured and outmaneuvered.

As the camp burnt into chaos Mereth clearly saw the result of the attack,turning his eyes around just in time to see a knight swinging his heavy mace and with a sickening sound shattering the skull of a fleeing, unarmored footman.

The man collapsed in a heap, lifeless, as Mereth’s steed reared briefly, its hooves pawing the smoky air.

All around him, the camp was a vision of carnage and fire.

Tents burned fiercely, their skeletal frames collapsing into ash.

Mereth’s lips curled into a grimace as he surveyed the scene.

There was hardly any resistance left-just a scattering of terrified, disorganized men, most of whom ran like hunted prey.

This wasn’t a battle.

It was a slaughter.

He turned his gaze northward, where Egil’s men continued their chaotic rampage.

The barbarian, no doubt, was reveling in this madness, as if the blood and fire were some great jest.

Mereth’s fingers tightened on the reins, the leather creaking under his grip.

If only Egil wasn’t the prince’s favorite, he thought darkly,I’d have left him to his rabble long ago.

But Mereth knew better than to entertain such notions.

If Egil fell, the prince’s wrath would not be directed at the enemy but at anyone who had failed to protect his precious pawn.

That fury, Mereth was certain, would land squarely on his shoulders.  He cast another disdainful glance at the burning camp and the pitiful remnants of the enemy’s forces.

With a weary sigh, Mereth muttered under his breath, “This is no knight’s work.” Still, he drove his horse forward.

As Sir Mereth rode closer, the commotion ahead drew his attention.

A soldier under his command swung his sword at a man in polished armor, but the blow was expertly deflected.

The armored man countered swiftly, driving his blade into the soldier’s thigh with a precision that sent the man crumpling to the ground.

Before the wounded soldier could cry out, his opponent plunged a dagger through the visor of his helmet, silencing him with brutal efficiency.

With the death of his enemy , the man’s eyes narrowed, catching the glint of the knight’s finely crafted armor illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby torch.

He turned toward him, and their eyes locked.  “I am Lord Cretio!Commander of this army ” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the dark “I demand a fair fight!” he said recognizing that the man on horseback was perhaps the commander of the knights, given the elegance of his armor.

Mereth reined his horse to a halt, his piercing gaze fixed on the man.

For a moment, the cacophony of the battlefield seemed to fade, replaced by a tense, electric silence between the two warriors.

“So be it,” Mereth said, his voice carrying a grim finality.

With practiced ease, he dismounted from his horse, the sound of his boots hitting the bloodied ground lost amidst the distant screams and crackling flames.

He unhooked his heavy mace, resting its weight in his hand as he stepped forward.

 The two circled each other briefly, studying their opponent’s stance as lions searching for the moment to pounce.  While howerver Cretio focused on the battle, Mereth’s thoughts flickered for a moment.

If he is a lord, then where are his guards?

he wondered.

Are they dead?

Or scattered throughout the camp, too caught in the chaos to regroup around their leader?

Before he could dwell further on the question, Cretio lunged forward.

His blade flashed in the dim light, slicing toward Mereth’s midsection in a precise and forceful thrust.Mereth stepped back, raising his mace to deflect the blow, before countering with a sweeping strike.

Cretio sidestepped as soon as he saw the blow.He aimed a quick thrust at Mereth’s side, but the knight turned just in time, the blade glancing harmlessly off his plated shoulder, given he had no shield he had to use whatever mean he could to defend himself.

Mereth retaliated with a powerful downward swing, forcing Cretio to block with his shield.

The impact rang out like a hammer striking an anvil, pushing Cretio back a step.

The duel continued, the air heavy with the sound of grunts and the screech of metal on metal.

Cretio’s sword lashed out again, this time catching Mereth’s arm and scraping against his armor.

 The lord’s strikes were light and quick, calculated to keep his opponent off balance.

Each swing of his blade demanded Mereth’s full focus to deflect or sidestep, leaving him no room to counter.

Cretio’s footwork was masterful, driving Mereth back step by step .

Mereth gritted his teeth, watching for an opening that never seemed to come, while using his armor to deflect the blow,cursing the absence of a shield .

Every time he considered retaliating, Cretio was already moving, his blade slicing the air with relentless efficiency.

Then, Cretio overreached.

A forceful thrust aimed at Mereth’s side missed its mark as Mereth twisted his body at the last moment.

The momentum of the strike left Cretio’s balance faltering, his sword extended too far.

Mereth didn’t hesitate.

Seizing the opportunity, he swung his mace in a low, punishing arc, aiming for the exposed side of Cretio’s torso.

The impact landed with a sickening crunch throwing the lord to the ground, splattering his armor with the dirt of the ground.

Lying in the dirt, Cretio groaned in pain, his head raised and perhapse for the first time truly seeing what was happening around him.Soldiers screaming in fear and pain , tents burning resembling the hells so feared by pious men admonished by priest.

Seeing everthing , the lord ‘s voice finally rose in defiance.

“Yarzat dogs!

You have no honor!Attacking in the night like thieves” Mereth stood over him, his mace poised for a finishing blow ignoring the remarks as he had no words to give back  “Yield,” he demanded coldly.

“You’ll be treated well if you do.”  Cretio hesitated, his mind racing.

He thought of his prince, who by now should have escaped the camp and made it to safety.

If I die here, the blame for this disaster will fall squarely on the prince’s shoulders, he realized bitterly.

But if I surrender, I’ll bear the weight of this defeat alone as I was the commander of the expedition.

With a heavy sigh, he threw his sword and shield aside, raising his hands in surrender.

“I yield,” he said, his voice filled with contempt, recognising the failure of the expedition.

And so the punishment that the lord wanted to give back to the raiders had died before it could begin, leaving only a camp filled with ashes, corpses, and broken spirits to mark its place .

Some of the soldiers would however manage to escape , wandering for days alone.

Others, unable to flee, would captured, their fates now in the hands of Egil and his men, who would decide between simple execution or trade their lives with slave-merchants.  By morning, the once-proud expedition was nothing but another loss of the prince.

The soldiers who had hoped to return as heroes of the crown would instead meet disgrace-or worse-in the hills where Egil’s forces had drawn them.