Chapter 815 Menes’s Plight (Part-1)

Chapter 815 Menes's Plight (Part-1)

Seeing the enemy phalangites run, the legionaries all madly dashed haphazardly, breaking rank against the explicit orders of their officers and making themselves vulnerable.

An opportunity that the experienced mercenaries from the Kaiser Family of course did not let escape, as they quickly couterattacked, cutting down many lives which could have been easily avoided if only these soldiers had exercised a bit of patience.

And in this, somehow their relative small size that was up until now a massive hindrance suddenly became a great boon. n)/OVelbIn

Because the thousand men, arranged in 4 units of 250 men were nothing in size when compared to the 20,000 huge force, meaning whatever damage these bulky, slow units could do, they could only do to a small number of legionaries.

Most of the mad Zanzanians were simply able to bypass the spears by swinging around, not being interested in biting a prey that could fight back, not when there were so many juicy fishes in the sea.

And since this hardened prey could neither cause too much harm due to being so small in numbers, their carnage was never enough to alarm the maddened legionaries enough that they came back to their senses and started forming up to deal with this great threat.

Which resulted in the creation of a rare opportunity for the mercenaries, for as Menes's lines were hollowed out, the sight of the general of the army, dressed in splendid attire standing alongside a huge, eye catching standard denoting where he was standing came into the view of mercenary commander.

He could even roughly make out a path that should never have appeared in the first place.

But it did.

And instantly a greedy thought ran through that man's head- 'The enemy has already broken rank and ran. There is no point in us acting as the rear guard.'

'We can either retreat safely....Or!'

Eschewing the safe option, this commander, who was the second in command of the 3,000 strong mercenary unit daydreamed,

'Or I can go after the enemy commander. He should at best have a hundred men. I can destroy that paltry force with a single hit.'

'Then... if I can get that Lord they call Alexander's head, heh hehe... from the way everyone talks about him sounds like a bigshot.'

'If I can kill him, hahaha... that mercenary leader's position will surely be mine.'

This second in command of the mercenary group gleefully chuckled in his heart.

To be able to receive the great boon of surviving a near suicidal mission and then subsequently so openly disregard it, choosing to instead again so willingly jump into the fray of battle instead of quitting while ahead, just to kill the enemy leader for glory, one thing that was certainly not missing in this man was ambition, anyone would have to give him that.

But then again, if mercenaries were not brave and ambitious, they would not be mercenaries.

So revealing his ambition to his nearest officers, this second in command loudly urged,

"Charge men! Charge!"

"If we can kill the enemy commander, you lucky bastards will have all the gold, wine, and women you could want for life."

Sure there was a pang of regret that he was most likely going to die from being skewered by the firmly held spears when he charged that tight formation, especially since he had already won the battle and should have been celebrating.

But that was regret and bitterness, not fear.

As a mighty warrior, Menes could confidently say the thing he was not afraid of was death.

And perhaps that was why he did not run even when given the option to.

For if the black giant had been a bit more cowardly and a bit more selfish, perhaps he would not have been so eager to put himself in danger.

"Haha, how can I escape and leave my brother to die? If we are going to die, we are gonna all die together."

And when some objected to try and convince Menes otherwise, it was this what he said loudly,?boldly placing his horse right in the middle of the very first line, intending to take the full blunt of the attack head on by himself.

And if that were to really happen, no matter how well the man was built, no matter the armor he wore, or how good of a fighter was, there really would be no way of saving the man.

But Menes would rather die than leave all his brothers, these men who had been with him since the original mercenary group.

So resigning himself to death, the mighty, black warrior put on his flamboyant helmet, brought his shield right up to his chest to try and protect it as much as he could, and held his lance firmly and with steely determination.

Rather than huddle together and defend like a coward, buying time and praying for a miracle, Menes would rather take the fight to the enemy and kill as many as he could before going down in a fiery wrath of glory.

That was Menes's ideal way to die on the battlefield.

And besides, who knew?

Maybe these men would break upon seeing the charge.

Though in reality, Menes knew perfectly this was not going to happen under any reasonable circumstance.

A heavy cavalry could indeed break formations, but not when it was outnumbered 10 to 1, not when it was traveling through such inhospitable terrain where it would not be able to pick up any real speed in fear of stumbling and destroying the whole formation in the process, and certainly not against a group of highly trained mercenaries.

But hey, a man could dream, right?

It was with these thoughts that Menes lowered his lance and adjusted the aim for one last time, and as he did, his mind became filled with flashes of many memorable experiences of his thirty year old life.

His capture by the slavers, the beatings he endured under them, his purchase by Nestoras, the training under Aristotle, the battles he fought, the adventures he had, and finally the faces of that one man- Alexander.

It pained him to think he would not be able to again see him.

'Sigh, I wish I could have been with him a bit longer. Won a few more wars for him.'

*Bang.... Ahhhhhh*

But Menes's mournful remembrances were suddenly cut short by a heavy cavalry attack from the back of the mercenaries, by uniforms that Menes actually did not recognize!

Something that caused the men at the frontline to become distracted.