Suikoden Fan Fiction ❯ Suikoden - The Dunan Wars ❯ Battle at the Mercenary Fort ( Chapter 8 )

Chapter 8 - Battle at the Mercenary Fort

Makoto was up early the day they were expecting to face Ruka Blight's forces. `No way am I missing out on this, he had thought'.

Unluckily, Flik and Viktor had other ideas. Flik had turned Makoto away outright, citing (correctly) that Makoto had rarely ridden a horse in his life, and would thus be a hindrance to the cavalry unit.

Viktor had made an even shorter case than Flik had, swinging his two-handed sword at Makoto side-on and using the flat of the blade. Makoto whipped out his tonfa and parried the blow, but the force of it sent him tumbling. As he picked himself up, Viktor had argued, "See? We're going out to face Kiba's armoured cavalry. Not as bad as Teo's from Scarlet Moon, but still bad. You think I hit hard, wait'll you try and block a charging cavalryman - THAT has the whole force and weight of the horse behind it, and you'll break those skinny arms of yours."

Chastened, the young man had agreed to wait at the fort with the men left behind to guard it. `It seems so... so wrong, though, waiting here like this. I wish I were out there'.

He sighted Pohl across the training yard, and waved. Pohl waved back, and that was when all hell broke loose.

A volley of arrows arced over the fort wall and into the compound, most plunging into the packed dirt, but a few finding targets in the flesh of soldiers. Screams erupted, and men began to charge every which way. As he dived behind the watchtower, Makoto waited for an order to be shouted, for the men to rally.

No order came, and Makoto looked up to yell at the man in the watchtower - only to pause in horror as he saw the man had been hit, slumping down as he clutched at an arrow in his gut.

The archers must have snuck in close and shot him in the first volley Makoto thought as a second flight of arrows hit the dirt. No one was hit this time, but the chaos was total. Nearly half the men left were archers trained by Kinnison, but they were clutching their weapons and huddling behind cover, just as Makoto was. We're going to get picked apart, Makoto thought in a rising panic. `The sergeant in the watchtower was in charge, and we're too disorganized to fight back! We need a leader!' Frantically, Makoto looked around for Pohl, the logical candidate-

-And froze. Pohl was slumped over in the open, vulnerable to any more arrows that came his way, with a black-fletched shaft buried in his thigh. The archers couldn't see him over the wall, any more than Makoto could see them, but if Pohl cried out or gave away his location, the snipers would send a volley to the voice, and he couldn't run. He'd be killed.

Only one idea ran through Makoto's mind as he saw Pohl lying there, and remembered Jillia nearly being shot when she'd been brought to the fort. It was never expressed in words, but if it had, it would have been: `I won't let anyone else die!'

"You archers! Load your bows!" a voice cried out, ringing in Makoto's ears. After a moment, he recognized it as his own. "I'll spot them! I point, you shoot, you got it?"

"We got it, SIR!" the archers yelled back as Makoto quickly climbed up the ladder to the watchtower. An arrow came flying by, but was too low, and he was too busy climbing to worry much about it anyway.

General Seed looked up; the battle seemed to be going well, the mercenaries were dropping one by one compared to Highland's well-trained soldiers. Was it really such a great victory? He wondered, only history could judge them now.

He glanced around; he had been staying safely behind the lines, coordinating the attack with the help of Klaus Stiles and Justan. With only a dozen or so handpicked guards between him and the slaughter that was taking place only a few feet away.

Suddenly he heard an officer yelling - a Highland officer. What is he doing? Seed silently consulted. Suddenly a barrage of arrows flew overhead. Everyone was to wait for the signal. `When I find the foolish man who jumped ahead, a court martial would be only in his wildest dreams'.

Seed waved to his guards. "You, come with me. Klaus, Stiles, Justan. I want you to stay here and finish coordinating the attack while I handle this."

The three officers clicked their heels and bowed their compliance.

Makoto reached the top of the watchtower and looked out to the west, where the arrows were coming from. It took a moment for him to spot them, about twenty yards out from the wall: a group of twelve Highland crossbowmen, reloading and cocking their weapons. Makoto thought So that's why there was so much time between volleys! Poor tactics. However, he wasted no time as he pointed one tonfa in the right direction. "Twenty yards from the wall, that direction! FIRE!" he yelled, imitating the manner of his sergeant in the Unicorn Brigade.

A volley of mercenary arrows went flying, with an accuracy that pleasantly surprised Makoto: one Highlander went down with an arrow sticking out the front of his helmet, while two more were wounded and the rest dove for cover just as the mercenaries had done earlier. Return fire came a moment later, as men stepped out from behind trees to shoot and ducked back to reload. Makoto remembered an exercise he'd done in the Unicorn Brigade and smiled.

"Shoot one after the other! A constant stream of arrows! FIRE!" he bellowed back down to his troops, and they complied, trying to keep the enemy archers too cautious to shoot back.

One, braver or smarter than his fellows, popped out and fired at Makoto, who he had a clear view of up on the watchtower. Makoto ducked and reflexively looked back to see where the arrow landed, and his eyes widened as he saw it plunk into the ground close to the front door of the fort and a weakly crawling Pohl, who had pulled the first arrow from his leg and was trying to reach cover.

Makoto's eyes got very wide a second later. The *twong* of a snapping bowstring sounded from inside the fort, and an archer cursed. At once, all nine remaining archers stepped out from their cover and aimed at Makoto. If they miss me, Pohl will- he thought, but even as one part of him was considering consequences, another part - the young warrior raised by Genkaku and taught not to hesitate - acted, slinging one arm forward and screaming a name to the sky.

"SHINING LIGHT!"

Seed stood standing just outside the wooden palisade that surounded the fortress. He had fought many personal battles and duels over the slow years, but it had been along time since he saw actual combat and led troops in the field. Seed waved his hand signalling his guards to open up an entryway. Suddenly he looked up to see a young man on the peak of the fortresses' watchtower whose hands revealed he was casting a spell that Seed didn't recognize, or even imagine. As the bright light lifted there was no sign of the archers, armour, bows or a single arrow. And not a single blade of grass out of place. "What the-" Suddenly Seed fell to the dirt floor, arm engulfed in a sharp, fiery pain. He howled in pain as his rune began to glow a fiery yet pale yellow. "Not.. N-not now!"

The pain quickly subsided as one of the guards helped Seed to his feet. And he quickly turned his attention back to the young man.

"What are your orders milord?" The lead guard inquired.

"Hmm." Seed paused. "I think we have just found the briefly appointed mercenary mage." He went silent as his mind raced to find options. He is probably the greatest threat, if I could get in there and remove him we could avoid big losses.

He was just about to signal his troops to follow him when he remembered Ruka ordering him for a signal to start his attack. `Damn it' he silently cursed.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a gathering of Alain's mages. Perhaps he would get lucky and his mages would strike a blow for Highland by having Alain burnt to the ground. However he wasn't as lucky as he had hoped, but Alain's target was the palisade wall. The bright side of things was that the explosion was big enough to have been seen in Kuskus. An unexpected turn of events. And Seed couldn't help but think the possibilities of telling Alain that he actually helped him with that little maneuver.

Seed waved his arm as his guard followed him inside the fortress grounds. And if all went well and luck was on his side he could find the princess and get her out

Makoto looked down at what he'd done. The Highland archers were devastated. None of them were even there anymore - utterly disintegrated.

But ONLY the Highland archers. The trees, the ground, even a bird clinging to a branch near them, were untouched. `I think I REALLY like this spell' Makoto thought, looking at the Rune on its hand with some admiration. `An attack that only hurts the enemy.' He turned away and looked down the ladder to the ground, calling for the men to get some Medicine out for the wounded.

Then he heard a shout "HUNGRY FRIEND!!!" and a dark cloud appeared and several black swords came out of it slammed into the forest not far from the east wall. "What the-" was all Makoto had time to say before another slammed down squarely in the middle of the fort's east wall. A unit was approaching they wore red and black - Durimal Blight's Black Lion Guard.

Flame and debris rained down inside the fort and into the forest off to the side. Makoto looked down and saw even more carnage than before; Pohl pulling a chunk of smouldering wood out of his arm; and worst of all, the man with the Medicine down and bleeding from a head wound, the precious healing agent scattered worthlessly on the ground.

Tears blurred Makoto's eyes as he clutched his wrist, still in the position he'd been in while examining the Bright Shield Rune. Turning to the sergeant who'd been gut-shot, he raised his hand again. As he called out, "Great Blessing!" he thought fiercely, {I only wish I could heal them all!}

Then blinked, sure he was being deceived by tears. The white sparks of the Great Blessing spell were rocketing out all over the fortress, each one arcing down to touch a man. Wounds closed, burns vanished, bruises vanished, and everyone stared up at the watchtower in surprise, and perhaps awe.

Makoto was feeling not a little of that emotion himself. Blinking away his shock, he wondered, `Just how much can this rune do?' while scanning his eyes around the area, more or less on reflex `And what can the Black Sword do?"

Then he froze as he caught sight of a very unwelcome movement. A shuffle, as of many bodies marching together; since Flik and Viktor were due back soon, this wasn't bad in and of itself. The hue of the uniforms was both good news and bad, however.

Good because that glimpse might have saved the lives of everyone in the fort. White was not a forest colour, and it stood out enough for Makoto to have noticed it a mile away, which he had. They had a few minutes.

Bad because only one unit in Highland wore white- Ruka's own men, the White Wolves... the bloodthirsty, deadly butchers who had massacred the Unicorn Brigade. Shaking off his shock, Makoto began to yell. "ALARM! The White Wolves are coming! You and you," Makoto pointed to two men with horses, "Go warn Flik and Viktor! Everyone else," and here he paused. Makoto *wanted* to fight; he felt as if he were on fire inside with the desire to battle the monster who had killed all his friends to start a war. But if anyone stayed, there would be another massacre. "Everyone else, gather what you can and scatter to the north! Try to get over the Toto Bridge and get to Muse! There's no way we can hold off the White Wolves with that hole in the wall! Take whatever you can carry, don't leave it for Ruka! GO!"

Everyone ran, the two horsemen riding off first. Makoto slid down the tower ladder in a desperate rush and ran over to Pohl. "Pohl! Are Apple and the maps and such still upstairs!?"

"Um, yeah," the boy replied.

"Go tell Apple to take what she can grab and run! Pile everything else on the floor and burn it! We can't let Ruka find those maps, they've got information about Muse's defences in there!"

Pohl nodded. "What about you?" he asked.

Makoto looked around. "I have to find Jillia. Ruka wants her as dead as he wants me, I can't leave her unprotected! We'll be up to help you as soon as we can find her!"

"Gotcha!" Pohl agreed, and ran inside. As Makoto looked around for the girl he'd met in childhood, he paused and wondered, `Exactly when did *I* end up in charge here!?' before running off himself....

Kiba nodded at Alain, who promptly began marching (trotting, whatever) his troops off to do gods-knew-what he had in mind. Probably involved explosions, or something.

Leaving General Kiba alone with Selina in front of a hundred and fifty not-the-slightest-bit magical soldiers. "So," he said conversationally to her. "You're the one 'planning' this one. What're we gonna do?"

She obviously hadn't thought that far ahead. "Um..." she said. "We're gonna start walking our horses down this way--" she pointed, "Until we find some mercenaries. Then we're gonna run at them."

Kiba slapped his forehead. "And that, Selina, is why you're never going to get to do this again."

She scowled at her commanding officer, hands on armoured hips. "Oh, come on, Sir, its not that bad."

"Yes it is. Now get your ass in gear."

Selina faced forward in her saddle, drew her sabre, waved it around theatrically and bellowed, "FORWARD!" She paused. "WHATEVER IT IS THAT HORSES DO!"

Kiba sighed. This was the woman who thought she'd just be the cat's ass as a general. But, not being one to go back on his word except at dire need, he rode next to her, not even making one comment to her about her choice of phrasing of orders.

Altogether, Viktor had seventy-three men. Counting off, I had fifty-eight swordsmen; two mounted lancemen, eleven men with no weapons at all, two scouts, and Koten. Naturally the first thing he did was send out my scouts. One of them came back, minus his right hand. But he told Viktor how many men Kiba had- roughly one hundred fifty.

'This way' had proved to be full of trees. Of course. The whole area, from Radat to Toto and everything in between was broken forest. AKA Cavalry Hell.

Not that he should have been complaining. He had absolutely no right to complain, now matter how much he disliked trees, both personally and professionally. But Kiba bloody well felt like it.

He didn't say anything, of course(bad form), but every time he had to ride around a tree...

His personal dislike of trees probably had its root in him being umpteenth-generation Highlander. If you saw a tree in Highland, it was in a picture book. Or near the northern border, but that place was weird anyway.

Kiba's musing about trees was, though, quickly stopped when Selina abruptly halted, causing the rest of the unit to do so as well to avoid running into anything. She leaned forward in her saddle, smiling. "I see them..." she said in a singsong tone while making a hand signal to the unit. A hundred and fifty sabres were quickly drawn.

"You're sure about this?" she asked Kiba, drawing her own sword.

"I told you you could..." Kiba sighed and drew his sword. "I don't know why anymore, but I did." He vaguely remembered something about being able to win this with everyone's hands tied behind their backs.

"Okay, Sir," Selina replied, then yelled, "You all ready back there?"

"Just please tell me you're not..."

She was. She raised her sword up, waved it around a bit, and, in a voice you could probably hear in Radat, yelled, "CHAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!"

Ask anyone, and they'll tell you I've got me a thick skull. That may be so, but even I know horses are disadvantaged in the forest. To be used properly in war, you've got to charge. And you can't well charge when you're surrounded by a bunch of trees. Even if you could somehow manage to weave through the maze of wood and brambles, you'd still get your head pegged off by a low hanging branch.

And the trees worked just fine for my gang, too. These were guys who'd spent their whole life doing this kind of thing. Even the swordless sods were able to rig up some kind of tripping mechanism using a knife and a piece of twine. Snap that sonuvabitch at the right time and it'll cut a horse's leg clean through the knee. Right useful in these infantry vs. cavalry battles.

Sure enough, Viktor heard a neck-slicing scream split the leaves, marking Kiba's charge. Some girl, probably Kiba's love-muffin, screamed the kind of scream you wouldn't expect to come out of a human. Maybe out of a rhino, or a dragon. Or a dragon's ass. Viktor almost laughed out loud when he heard the hooves start thundering across the ground. You could almost sense the tinge of reluctance to it. I wonder how many men were slapped down by branches and tripped up by roots even before swords started to clash?

They came into view. The sun broke through a tiny slit in the forest canopy, glinting off of the blades of one hundred fifty shiny suits of armour. And there he was Kiba at the head of the charge.

Now, while in other matters, she wasn't bad, Kiba had to admit that, when it came to giving out any sort of orders, Selina Embery was a fucking idiot, pardon his Harmonian.

It wasn't the forest or the charge or the theatrics, it was the forest AND the charge AND the theatrics. Any idiot knew that if you were absolutely forced into this situation, you walked your horses around, swords drawn, and were bloody careful about walking into the arms of the enemy, dammit.

It went predictably. That is, the soldiers did an admirable job of trying to dodge and weave through the trees. Of course, there's a difference between an admirable job of TRYINGto do something and an admirable job at succeeding something. A great many were unhorsed by trees, others by their opponents. There were a surprising lot that also managed to stay on their horses.

There was no point in dressing it up and making an 'account' out of the thing. This... was not a fight that would ever go down in history, for any reason. After a month or a year, the only people who would remember it were the people involved. Those who lived, anyway. And when those people died, it would be forgotten, along with a thousand other insignifigant battles.

And besides, to be honest, Kiba wasn't paying a huge amount of attention to the general status of the fight. The outcome had been obvious from the start. There was no need to worry about how it was going.

Kiba worried about dodging the next tree, and concerned himself with making sure each mercenary he passed wouldn't be around tomorrow. Or any other time, for that matter. He wasn't happy about it all, of course, but this all had to be nipped in the bud.

So he nipped.

At any rate, the Titan Rune grafted into Viktor's fist ignited my blade into a searing metallic bringer of death. At least for Kiba's horse. Viktor's feet crashed directly into Kiba's armored chest, and Viktor managed to take out a huge glob of flesh from the horse's neck before Viktor hit the ground.

As he hit the ground, he rolled, somehow managing to keep a hold on his sword. To his credit, if he was shocked or surprised or anything at all besides pissed at what happened, he hid it well and was back on his feet in seconds.

I was breathing heavily, caked with sweat and dirt and thick horse's blood. I must've smelled damn pretty. A grunted as I heaved myself to my feet, holding my sword to challenge the general and his amazing hairless pate. The rune on my hand, as if it could feel my thirst for Highland blood, flared black. I screamed forward, initiating a downward slice that I hoped would cleave Kiba like a hunk of cheese.

Their blades thus locked, and their teeth gritted so hard they were about to shatter, it was a sheer battle of whose muscles could hold out the longest. Viktor wasn't about to leave anything to chance. While baldy was so preoccupied with keeping my jackknife out of his skull, Viktor threw his weight to the right, nearly knocking us both off balance. With a split-second window of opportunity, Viktor hit the ground with a sweep, placing a well-aimed kick directly at his armored ankle. That nifty trick is something Viktor picked up from Flik. Kiba fell face forward, face first into the forest earth, upon which was spitting the blood of his fallen mount.

He swore pretty creatively, considering, as he pushed himself slightly up off the ground. He was still on his way up as he delivered a sharp slash at Viktor's leg.

To be quite honest, that could have one him the fight. I mean, I'm damn sure his sword glance the bone. That was probably one of the deepest cuts I've ever had the misfortune of receiving, and it left one hell of a scar. Screaming in pain, Viktor tried to stand up, only to have his leg crumple beneath him in a fit of gushing blood and severe pain.

`Don't fear the reaper, Viktor'.

Losing no time, Kiba leapt forth, cleaving downward just as I rolled out of the way. To give you a set up (because trust me, battles are hard to follow on paper, especially when I'm the chump with the pen), now I'm on the ground dragging a huge sword and a wounded leg, Kiba's about four feet away, poising for another attack.

Then he's not poising anymore, now he's started into your generic I'm-not-gonna-drag-this-fight-out-any-longer-than-it-has-to-be-dragged-out attack.

Needless to say, this wasn't good. Generally, big hulking angry bald men wish sharp objects were bad things. I needed a quick exit. Something large, preferably. Something like a dead horse.

I scrambled behind the bleeding beast, and threw my shoulder against it. My leg pulsated and throbbed with every contraction, but it was my only chance out of this mess. With a blast of strength I never even knew I was capable of, I flung (well, maybe "rolled with style" is a better term, since the body never really left the ground) the carcass forward with as much force as physically possible. I heard a loud "oomph!" but didn't stick around to let him get up. With as much speed as my mangled appendage could stand, I limped away from the fallen general, drunk on my pathetic half-victory, and noticed for the first time the carnage around me.

In the distance, through the trees, I began to see the first flicker of Ruka's flames.

Getting a horse chucked at you is rarely an improvement for a day. In fact, it's usually a low point. But, of course, when you get the horse tossed at you, you're rarely thinking about how it's a low point, or whatever.

You're thinking about how to get away from the horse.

Thankfully, the horse hadn't been so much thrown as pushed, so all Kiba REALLYhad to do was recover from the natural surprise of getting his ex-horse heaved at him and get up.

However, by the time he had done that, his opponent had limped far enough away to not make it really worthwhile to go chasing after him.

He was sheathing his sword and dusting off his armour as Selina rode up. "What the hell happened? Sir," she demanded.

Kiba let that go. "An overenthusiastic mercenary," he said, waving his hand dismissively. With any luck, she'd take the hint that it really wasn't any sort of big deal...

"WHAT?" She didn't. "I'll fucking kill the fucking fuckass fuckhead!"

Kiba sighed. "No, don't bother... It's one guy, don't worry about it."

Selina didn't look happy about that, but she nodded all the same. "I think we're pretty much done here. Don't see anybody left, anyway. I'll be ordering everyone back in a second. Need a lift?"

"Please," Kiba sighed, looking slightly at his former horse.

"Hop on, then. Just don't ask to go fast at all, or anything faster than a slow walk like this."

Alain rode a very short time before ordering a complete halt. He took one look at the trees all around and announced, "All right, everyone off the horses. Now!"

This was met with loud grumbling and no one being too quick about following the order. Alain dismounted and turned around. "The hell are you guys doing?" he projected more than yelled. "Get off your bloody horses, now! They'll stay put, but if anyone's really worried, I'll let a few of you take them back! Everyone, off the bloody horses!" He paused, and when no one seemed to obey, he did yell this time, "Dammit, just because we're all a bunch of pansy-ass mages doesn't mean we're gonna do something stupid like walk our horses around in a bunch of trees! Do it, NOW!"

His mages obeyed, albeit reluctantly. Had to be because of the walking involved. Any idiot knew that mage cavalry horses had to be trained to stay put even if there was an explosion three feet away from them. Because frequently, there was.

"All right, let's go," he announced. "Don't worry about formation or anything, just follow relatively closely."

With that, he led his hundred and fifty mages into the trees.

They were loud, and noisy, and whining, but somehow Alain managed to keep them far enough away from people that they weren't heard. Because Alain's target wasn't people.

He took his mages to a conveniently-located clearing within spell range of the fort itself. He turned around and looked at his mages, who filled the clearing and spilled out into the trees. "All right," he projected decisively. "I want you all to split up into three groups of fifty. Each group will cast one spell. It doesn't matter which spell each person casts, it just has to be cast at me . I don't care what you think about it, because that's what you're all doing. When the first group casts the spell, I want them to rotate back for the next group. And so on for the transition between the second and third. You shall do it on my word. Start grouping up now."

He heard the general bitching, moaning, and grouping behind him as he turned to look in the fort's direction. General aim, that was all he could go for. No way in hell he could make out specific targets, not with how out-of-practice he was.

He looked down at his hands. Rage or Thunder? Burn it or call lightning down onto it? Left... or right?

He heard the noise die down around him. He had to pick. Right. The Thunder Rune.

He diverted his concentration to the rune set into his forehead. That Rune. What a bloody stupid idea. Too late now, though.

He poured himself into That Rune, opening himself up to pull in the power around him. "Do it!" he commanded. "Now!"

There was reluctance, obviously, but the mages cast their spells at Alain. And saw every ounce of their power pulled into him without so much as disturbing a hair on his head.

If Alain had been facing them, they would have seen his right eye sparking and flaring a brilliant gold with the power he held in him. Not that he held it for long; it was only a second, maybe two before he sent the mother of all lightning bolts shooting off into... nothing. Some trees, probably.

It was sheer force of will that kept him standing. He certainly couldn't think straight, and it was all he could do to see properly. All in all, he was doing fairly well.

"Again..." he whispered hoarsely, then repeated himself more loudly. "Do it again! The next group!"

He felt it come through again, pouring into him. He released it again, trying to keep it going where he had decided he was going to aim, but through his blurring vision and the golden glow coming from the one eye and nearly blinding the other, he couldn't tell where he had it at all.

Alain almost fell flat on his face and he really truly couldn't form a coherent thought to save his life. Still, he heard himself yelling, "The last time! Now!"

As it hit again, he felt words ripped from his mouth in a language he hadn't so much as heard in sixteen years, much less spoken. He couldn't tell what he was saying, though, as just after his last spell was released, he fell.

Though if he had been conscious, he probably would have been very impressed at the size of the hole he put in the fort's wall.

I admit I'm pretNot exactly best quality for a leader. Thought Flik.

When word got back that the fort had defended off the attack, Flik was both happy and stunned at the same time. Flik was happy that they had won. `Stunned for the fact that we both actually succeeded in defending the fort, as well as triumphing over Highland.And yet, I didn't get any action.'

That, in itself, wasn't fair. Flik was waiting for the moment so badly, and yet, it never came. Flik had taken the time to train all these soldiers, meet with each one individually, being archer captain, and taken a lot of responsibility (as well as bullshit) as being the leader of this fort.

`I had to do all the dirty work no one wanted to deal with. Get the finances straight, make sure the generals were following training orders, work out a strategy with Apple, making sure the horses were fed, the soldiers clothed and armed. No one else wanted to do it. So, just shove it off on Flik. He'll take care of everything, just like he always does.'

Flik wanted to be down stairs, getting shitfaced like all the other soldiers and Viktor. But had a whole lot more problems than your average run of the mill merc had to deal with. `No, instead I had to all the dirty work that no one wanted to deal with in that piece-of-shit fort.' Flik snarled.

Flik shook his head `I really shouldn't call it a piece-of-shit, but dammit. It's overcrowded, run down, and a whole bunch of other descriptives I'd rather not write down. It certainly wasn't what Viktor and I had planned. We expected it to be fun, instead it became a chore, and boring as hell.'

Flik laughed `What the hell am I saying? Viktor was the one being lazy. "You sort it out and deal with it and you tell me what do to, like always." Maybe I'm sick and tired of telling you what to do. I'm burned out, frustrated as all hell, and sore. How about you taking some damn responsibility for a change?'

Flik sighed `Of course, you always have to put up a front for the soldiers. Your enemies can't see you weak, otherwise they'll eat you alive. Your friends can't see you weak either, or they'll start doubting you. And with someone with a reputation like "Blue Lightning Flik", I couldn't let them down.'

Putting his bow away, I ordered my men. "We're moving forward."

"But the battle's over..."

"Come." Flik ignored the jest.

Culgan sighed as he led his troops back to the Highland Camp. Just as planned, Culgan and his men retreated early as the mercenaries won the battle.

"How many men did we lose out there?" he inquired to Roland.

"About of our company Lord Culgan." replied Roland.

"Report to Lord Ruka with our results." Culgan ordered.

Roland dismounted his horse and went to find Lord Ruka. Meanwhile, Culgan entered his tent and sat down. He dismantled his scabbard, which contained Radiant, and laid it across the cot. Culgan buried his head in his hands and sighed aloud.

`This war is just beginning, and I already feel exhausted. I hope the rest of this conquest goes quickly.' he thought.

Interrupting his thoughts, Roland returned with an uneasy look on his face.

"Lord Culgan, Lord Ruka has ordered us to return to the battlefield immediately!" he exclaimed.

Culgan's head shot up and stared at the panicked Roland.

"We're to return?"

"Yes. It seems that the Mercenary archers have appeared and Lord Ruka wants us to keep them at bay." Roland replied.

Culgan grunted. "Rally the remainder of the troops, and I'll be out in a moment."

Roland saluted Culgan, and left the tent.

`Warrior's Village has millennia of history. While there was no evidence of it, old wives tales believed that the Village nomads (timelines ago) were savage beasts. Their first instinct was "kill" if there ever was any threat whatsoever to the well being of the nomad. One can't help but imagine the image of a knuckle-dragging human bashing a rock over another's head, friend or foe, family or enemy. The darker side of our history also depicts of how we would eat the flesh of our most vicious enemies in a victory banquet. Centuries ago, after the village had been established for quite sometime, Warrior's Village had several neighboring tribes. If there ever was a battle with the neighboring tribe, and we were victorious, the body parts of the king/general/whomever was in charge would be served at a glorious feast. With body parts for meat, and blood for wine; it was truly a festival of the gods.That's not the best part. The best part of our history only happened decades ago. A rival village, whose name I don't even remember, got in a skirmish with our village. The skirmish escalated. There was an all out war, with hundreds of lives unnecessarily lost. Warrior's Village was proclaimed the victor, and burned the rival village to the ground. There we no survivors from the fiasco. And any bodies found; men, women, children, animals; were instantly diced up and thrown into Lake Toran.' As Flik thought about his villages proud history.

Flik scratched his head `What was the skirmish about? A sheep had wandered over from the rival village to Warrior's Village. When you think about it, it's no wonder that Warrior's Village is still nothing but a village. `

Flik sees Highland cavalry come over a hill. Flik's instinct now tells him that an ambush would have been the best attack.

"There they are! FIRE!" Flik shouted at the top of his lungs.

Culgan led his troops onto the battlefield that was chaos itself. Although their was much room to maneuver because of the small amount of soldiers, both armies were fighting tooth and nail. Deceased bodies littered the battlefield.

`And this was supposed to be an small battle.'Culgan thought.

As the Highland company was led to their enemies location, Krugan saw the first line of mercenary archers appear in the distance.

Culgan stopped his company, but it was too late. A volley of arrows were sailing towards his battalion. Although most of the arrows missed, Culgan could see that the mercenaries were beginning to fire again.

"Get ready to return fire troops." Culgan announced.

It was hideous. Flik's men were falling right and left. As if nothing he had said got through to them. The enemy stood over the hill, the arrows not connecting.

Flik began to twitch.

He yanked out his sword Odessa from its sheath, dropped down from his horse, and charged towards the enemy. Everything began to get blurry, but that didn't stop him. Flik was so fed up with everything, he seriously didn't have any regard what happened next.

Flik's main goal now was to get to the other side and kill whoever was there waiting for him.

Without warning, the blurriness started to go away. As everything became clearer, Flik's senses started to sharpen. His vision, his hearing, everything became distinct.

Flik held up his sword, and rushed at the closest enemy. Flik knocked him off his horse, and hacked off half his neck. He fell to the ground, shaking; his eyes rolling in the back of his head.

"Enemy!" Someone shouted.

Flik was undaunted. Flik whirled around, my sword high up in the air. He successfully managed to slice off a good chunk of the man's face. He too fell to the ground.

The men weren't quite sure what to do with themselves. Flik was successfully massacring their brigade all by himself. Some had gotten off of their horses, some stood on, and some ran away. But it was clear though, no one knew quite what to do with Flik.

Flik had gone berserk.

Soon, the brigade became very small. Dead bodies and horses were everywhere, as well as soldiers screaming. It was a mess to say the least.

Flik was soaked in blood. The red blood created a weird purple with his outfit. Odessa was absolutely drenched. Flik's face victoriously smeared with the sticky maroon liquid.

Flik was breathing heavily, but remained undaunted. Flik then noticed a lone, silver-haired man, standing in the centre of all of this, on a horse, holding a flag. Flik proceeded to march over to him.

He turned to Flik and unsheathed his sword. With one swing of my sword, Flik knocked him off the horse. As he scrambled to get up, Flik raised his blood-stained sword, ready to hack off his head.

He didn't flinch, or cower, or anything. Just ready to accept the hand fate had given him. That a single man had ruined his organized unit.

Flik was about to strike down. However, something inside him said not to. Flik sighed and lowered the sword. "I have better things to do with my time". He muttered.

`I'm now heading back to the fort. The God's help anyone who crosses my path.' Flik thought soberly.