Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 316

Chapter 316: Great Raid(5) Chapter 316: Great Raid(5) Mavius stood atop his horse , his eyes scanning the battlefield below as the chaos unfolded in front of him.

Though his disciplined soldiers had finally dispatched the savage, naked warriors, their unsettling display lingered in his mind.

He could not shake the image of men charging forward with arrows protruding from their flesh, swords cleaving through their bodies, yet still fighting with monstrous determination until their very last breath.

He hated to admit it, but he was impressed.

The sight of warriors ignoring pain, fear, and even death to such an extent was something he had never witnessed before.

A mix of disgust and reluctant admiration churned in his chest.

What sort of magic did these savages possess to create such monstrous devotion?

He recalled the imperial books he had studied in his youth, records of the northern tribes that had clashed with the empire’s forces in the frozen expanse known as the Bane.

Those writings often spoke of tribal shamans-elders who practiced strange rituals and wielded powers alien to the empire’s understanding.

It was said they communed with spirits or whatever otherworldly forces they believed in, channeling that connection to sway their people.Of course the book was old,and most time than not people liked to embelish their narratives with circumstances of magic.

Still what he saw today was not embellishment “If my knowledge is correct,” Mavius muttered under his breath, “their magic is usually the domain of the oldest among them.

The ones who stay back, whispering to their gods and guiding their tribes with spells and omens.” The thought stirred his mind.

What if he could harness such power?

The empire’s legions were formidable, disciplined, and well-equipped, but even the bravest soldier had his limits.

Pain, fear, fatigue-these were natural boundaries that no amount of training could wholly erase.

But what if those limits could be stripped away?

“What I could do with such magic,” Mavius murmured, his fingers tightening on the reins of his horse.

His mind drifted to the campaigns he still had to fight, the territories he planned to reclaim or conquer.

Troops like that-unwavering, unyielding-could break the backs of any enemy line.

Still it was strange that no one ever attempted to harness it?And why of the many tribes that were assimilated on the empire such thing was never discovered?After all the priest of the five gods, sees magic as something of an abomination, and those who practiced it were burn on the stake , yet he never heard of such mass burning in recent years, not even in history books.

But how could it be replicated?

And at what cost?

The tribes’ magic came at a price; he was certain of that,after all the Bane still stood standing , didn’t it?

Sacrifices, rituals, or whatever other barbaric methods they used-it wasn’t something the empire could stomach outright.

Still, if there was a way to study it, refine it, and apply it…

Mavius snapped out of his thoughts, the battlefield pulling him back to the present.

Below, the clash of steel and the cries of men filled the air, a cacophony of chaos and blood.

Both lines were locked in brutal combat, but his disciplined imperial soldiers were steadily being pushed back in the center.

The tribesmen fought with relentless ferocity, their sheer numbers bearing down on the imperial shields like a tide threatening to overwhelm a seawall.

Mavius’s jaw tightened.

It was time.

Turning sharply, he fixed his gaze on the nearest messenger, a young man who stood ready with a look of both tension and eagerness.

“Send the signal,” Mavius ordered, his voice firm and commanding.

“The cataphractarii are to charge now.

And tell them-capture any man who surrenders during the rout.

I want prisoners, not corpses.

Understand?” The messenger nodded swiftly, not daring to hesitate.

He turned on his heel and bolted toward the cavalry positioned on the imperial flank, the banners of the heavy horsemen fluttering in the wind.

As the messenger disappeared into the distance, Mavius’s thoughts turned inward again, his mind calculating even amidst the chaos.

These savages, crude and barbaric as they were, had proven themselves a potential asset.

Their resilience, their fervor-it would be a waste to see it snuffed out completely.

My new toys can’t be allowed to break so soon .

Not yet.

He watched the battlefield closely now, his keen eyes following the messenger’s path toward the cataphractarii.

Once those heavily armored horsemen charged, the tide would turn decisively.

The tribesmen, however fierce, could not withstand the sheer momentum and crushing power of the imperial cavalry.

The battlefield raged with the clamor of steel and shouts, as the imperial and tribesmen lines clashed with unrelenting fury.

Shields splintered, axes hacked, and swords thrust as men fought with everything they had.

The cries of the wounded mixed with the roar of defiance, but amidst the chaos, something began to shift.

A great cloud of dust began to rise on the horizon.

It started as a faint blur against the sky, but it grew thicker and darker, a storm in motion.

Both sides faltered in their melee, their attention drawn to the ominous sight.

Heads turned, weapons stilled for just a heartbeat, as eyes squinted to make out the figures emerging from the dust.

And then they saw them-a horde of horsemen, the imperial cataphractarii, their gleaming armor catching the sunlight like a wall of metal death, their lances lowered in unison as they charged with terrifying precision.

To the seasoned soldiers of the imperial army, it was a moment of hope, a tide-turning force that would crush the enemy under hoof and steel.

But to the tribesmen, it was something else entirely.

For the warriors of the north, their only memory of cavalry was of the Sarlani king’s riders.

Those horses had faltered and fled in fear before the giants that marched in their ranks, their hooves unable to stand firm against the thunderous clubs of the towering beasts.

To these tribesmen, cavalry was a laughable concept, weak and easily routed.

The warriors in the rear ranks, emboldened by their ignorance, raised their axes high and roared their defiance.

“Come!” they bellowed, their voices filled with bravado.

“Come to your deaths!” ”You cumbersome motherfuckers will die here!”Another shouted as he raise his axe The shouts rolled across the tribesmen ranks like a battle cry, axes lifted to the sky as they jeered at the approaching horsemen.

The earth shook as the charge drew closer, the ground trembling beneath the weight of armored destriers and riders.

But bravado turned to terror in an instant.

When the charge hit, it was like a hammer striking glass.

The cataphractarii thundered into the tribesmen with unstoppable momentum, lances skewering through axes, shields, and flesh alike.

The warriors who had jeered moments before were crushed beneath the horses’ hooves or hurled aside by the sheer force of the impact.

The front lines of the tribesmen buckled and broke under the devastation, men flung screaming into the air as the imperial cavalry cut through them like a scythe through wheat.

Those who had stood firm moments before were now scrambling to turn away from their charge , the realization of their mistake dawning too late.

The first wave of the cataphractarii charge had devastated the tribesmen’s rear ranks, but it had not entirely shattered their spirit.

Seeing their kin trampled and skewered ignited a primal rage in the remaining warriors.

“Forward!

Break them!” roared a man his axe raised high as he led the charge toward the cavalry.

The tribesmen advanced against the cavalry , axes and swords swinging wildly.

They hurled themselves at the armored riders with ferocious determination, some managing to pull riders from their saddles, others slamming their weapons against the horses’ legs.

One tribesman, a hulking man with a mane of wild hair, leapt onto the side of a horse, his axe burying itself into the rider’s helmet before the warrior was flung to the ground by another rider’s lance.

Another, screaming a war cry, managed to strike down a horse, the beast collapsing under its own weight and crushing its rider beneath it.

For a moment, the cavalry charge appeared to falter, the tribesmen swarming around the scattered horsemen like ants over a struggling beetle.  But then, the cavalry regrouped.How could they not?As they after all faced much more difficult situation during their long history.

The disciplined cataphractarii wheeled their horses around, their banners snapping in the wind as they formed up once more.

The sight of the horsemen reforming sent a wave of unease rippling through the tribesmen ranks as they felt that it had been to easy, only to then watch as the cavalry turned, their lances ready for another devastating charge.

The horn blew, and they came again.

The thunder of hooves grew louder, a sound that seemed to shake the very earth beneath the tribesmen’s feet.

This time, the charge was even more devastating.

The second impact was merciless, lances spearing through the dense clusters of warriors, horses plowing through men and sending bodies flying.

The tribesmen’s lines, already strained and chaotic, broke under the sheer weight of the charge.

Axes were dropped, and men began to scatter, their defiance turning into panic.  One tribesman tried to hold his ground, raising his shield against an oncoming rider, only to be hurled backward like a ragdoll when the horse slammed into him.

Another screamed as a lance pierced his chest, the rider dragging him along for several paces before letting the body slide off the bloodied tip.

The charge didn’t stop.

The cataphractarii rode through the tribesmen, their formation unbroken, their discipline impeccable.

They turned again, readying for yet another assault.

This was no mere skirmish or brawl; this was devastation.

————– Virguth swung his axe with all his might, cleaving through an imperial soldier’s shield and hitting the neck behind .

Around him, the front line of his warriors fought with relentless fury, their shouts and war cries drowning out all other sounds.

He barely noticed the blood splatter on his face, his focus entirely on the clash ahead.

But something was wrong.

A ripple of chaos seemed to flow through the air behind him.

Virguth paused for the briefest moment, his instincts honed from years of battle picking up the subtle shift.

He turned his head just enough to glance over his shoulder and saw it-the rear lines were falling back, their formations crumbling like sand under a tide.

He cursed under his breath, bellowing to those around him, “Hold the line!

Keep fighting!” But the men at the front were oblivious.

They could see nothing of the disaster unfolding behind them.

Five thousand warriors were too many to keep an eye on what lay beyond the immediate battle, especially given how crowded they were , without any formation .

Axes clashed against swords, shields splintered, and blood spattered the ground.

The front line held strong, unaware that their rear was already collapsing.

Virguth roared, pushing his way through the mass of warriors, trying to rally the men further back.

“Stand your ground, you dogs!

Face the enemy, or I’ll gut you myself!” It was no use.

Panic was spreading like wildfire.

The men in the front finally seeing their comrades rout , in confusion or fear followed . One by one, then in droves, they broke away, fleeing the battlefield in disarray.

Virguth’s face twisted in fury as he saw more warriors running.

He knew that if he didn’t act quickly, the entire force would rout.

But as he tried to stem the tide, he realized the futility of it.

“Curse you all!” he spat, his voice raw with rage.

His hands clenched his axe so tightly his knuckles turned white, cleaving the back of a running man in fury .  “Another day,” he growled to himself, spinning around and fleeing with the others.

His feet pounded against the blood-soaked earth, and in his mind, a single vow burned.

The first coward I see after this will feel my axe in their skull.

Behind him, the imperials seized their moment.

Seeing the tribesmen’s rear crumble, Mavius ordered his infantry to advance.

The disciplined lines of imperial soldiers surged forward, taking the fleeing savages in the back as retaliation of the attacks they been suffering.

The tribesmen, already scattered and panicked, stood no chance.

Spears and swords found their marks with ease, cutting down men as they ran.