Chapter 52: Blood of the Innocent

Chapter 52: Blood of the Innocent

Blood of the Innocent

Korelian Center

“Loose!” Hugo’s command echoed, launching hundreds of bolts into the enemy ranks. The arbalester and crossbowmen had just released their second volley.

The attack instantly caused mayhem, but the battle wouldn’t be won by just sneaky attacks.

“No heroics, no captives until we’ve triumphed. We’re outnumbered and there’s no speck of noble in your blood - expect no quarter!” the deputy delivered his final reminder to his men.

The enemy was nearly upon them.

“Crossbowmen to the rear! Spearmen to the front!” His voice rang out.

There was no time for the crossbowmen to loose a third volley as they swiftly retreated. The spearmen quickly filled their positions. They stood steadfast, bracing for the incoming onslaught.

“Hold your line!” Hugo’s voice thundered.

“Korelia is ours!” Roger, beside him, echoed. Then the lines clashed. Steel met steel; spears were no longer brandished but thrust in fury.

Young Coalition men-at-arms, brimming with bravado yet lacking experience, surged forward recklessly. Their armor deflected numerous glancing blows, but the sheer force of some strikes was enough to stagger them.

As pain and disorientation took hold, they faltered against the onslaught of spears and swords, their legs buckling beneath them. For many, their first taste of battle was their last.

Those who fell were remorselessly trampled as hundreds of men pushed forward. Locked in brutal combat, the battlefield offered no respite or room for evacuation. The fallen became mere obstacles under the trampling feet of their comrades.

Soldiers struggled to maintain footing, fighting desperately to stand their ground against the onslaught of sharp-tipped steel brought against them. The cacophony of battle cries and cries of pain was deafening.

In total, nearly three-thousand men fought tooth and nail, seeking any means to push back, stall, or strike down their adversaries. The sickly scent of blood, urine, and vomit hung heavy in the air.

The Coalition crossbowmen repositioned, taking aim from the sidelines. Their volleys were met with swift retaliation from Korelian crossbowmen defending their vulnerable flanks.

Against all odds, the Korelians held firm. Many had bore the scars of battle, but their resilience was unwavering. Despite their wounds, their ranks remained steady. As their line stabilized, they began to cycle out their wounded, maintaining their formation with commendable discipline.

As brutal as the battlefield might be, it wasn’t an all-out chaos. Most men were not suicidal and fought as trained in an orderly manner.

Among the sea of spears, shields, and polearms, specialized fighters armed with large two-handed swords carved out breaches in the enemy line. Every breach was an opportunity to exploit. One such breach erupted first on the Korelian left flank with deadly consequences.

***

Korelian Left Wing

The Coalition’s Doppelsoldner shattered the wall of spears of the Korelian left wing, forcefully creating a narrow gap in the enemy line. The nearest group of knights readily charged into the Korelian ranks.

Space was limited, but it was a fair three-on-three fight. A Coalition knight, clad in plate armor and a crimson red surcoat, held the center while his two comrades struggled to maintain the breach.

From the Korelian side, a tall man-at-arm accepted the challenge. The crimson knight squared off against the man, who hurled his broken bill hook at the knight, only to have it deflected by a gauntlet. Gambling on the knight’s momentary distraction, the tall man drew his sword, leaped forward, and launched a powerful overhead strike.

The red knight countered, gripping his sword on both ends in a half-swording style. As the man attempted to retract his weapon, the knight guided his blade and interlocked their swords.

They wrestled for control, but the knight held the upper hand due to his advantageous grip. Unexpectedly, the knight redirected both blades to his left and, in a simultaneous motion, swung his sword’s pommel into the adversary’s helmet.

Hot blood rained into Sir Justin’s helmet from above. His eyes stinging from the blood, the Marshal managed to shove the knight aside. Enduring excruciating pain from his injured wrist, he forced himself to his feet. Staying on the ground would lead to him being mobbed or trampled.

The fallen knight beside him convulsed a few times. Leaving the man to his fate, Sir Justin picked up the discarded mace and sensed someone approaching from behind.

“Marshal,” his lieutenant called. The man’s gauntlets and lower arms were smeared with blood, yet he still held the banner high. Sir Justin grinned as more of his men rushed forward, brandishing their spears to close the gap.

He knew the Korelian side had almost lost it, but through sheer determination, his men managed to stabilize their right flank.

***

Korelian Center

In front of Hugo, one of his Arvenian fellows fought valiantly. Encased in plate armor, the man was nigh impenetrable. He delivered a feigned thrust followed by a swift foot sweep, and just like that, his halberd claimed another enemy.

But glory is fleeting on the battlefield - he was blindsided and tackled by three opponents. The three were merely skirmishers, trading prowess for agility.

Despite the Arvenian’s heroic struggle, the valiant man was soon pinned. An enemy slipped a dagger into the armor’s armpit gap, stabbing repeatedly. Even then, the man’s struggle persisted. He gave the trio the fight for their lives.

Attempting to immobilize him, one of the trio was abruptly tossed aside, falling face-first with a spear protruding from his back. Red blood pooled around his punctured gambeson in his final spasms.

Arriving late, Hugo and his men drove the two remaining skirmishers. Roger dashed to the fallen warrior’s side and opened up his visor, only to discover a face whiter than snow.

The man grinned, wanting to say something, but blood loss kicked in and then there was only silence.

“Leave him,” Hugo instructed, gripping the fallen man’s discarded halberd.

Before long, the Coalition side reformed and headed into them.

“Korelians to me!” Hugo bellowed, his voice hoarse with exertion. His brothers-in-arms rushed forward, weapons gleaming. Inch by inch, they re-established their front line and the two lines at the center rejoined again.

Regardless of the blistering heat, accumulated injuries, and dwindling stamina, both sides plunged back into the fray. They thrust, swung, and stabbed with savage desperation.

Helmet-less men wore expressions of exhaustion, thirst, and defiance, while those fully armored labored under their own heated metal confines.

As casualties mounted, each side endeavored to funnel fresh troops to the front lines. This resulted in a grim spectacle as green, untested men faced battle-hardened fighters.

Pushed to their limits, the Korelians deployed their last reserves – the militia. Despite their enthusiasm, they stood little chance, with many falling as swiftly as they entered the fray.

Inexperienced combatants futilely swung at torsos and heads while seasoned fighters smashed limbs with maces and axes, rendering their enemies out of action.

The grassy battlefield turned into a grimy, slick mess of blood and human fat. The fallen became trampled, their cries lost in the chaos.

Hugo saw desperation etched in his men’s eyes. Nobody to his left and right was without injury, despite their armor. They were past their limits. Brave as they were, they were outclassed. Frantically, his gaze swept across the chaotic scene, searching for the familiar sight of Sir Justin’s banner.

On the far right, amidst the harshest clash of steel and roar of men, Sir Justin finally noticed how his left flank and center were about to crumble under pressure. Seeking to salvage what remained of his force, he issued a commanding cry, “Fallback! Fallback!”

With a heavy heart, the Korelians began to give ground.

***