Chapter 94: First battle (2)

Chapter 94: First battle (2)

It certainly was a good day .

The sun hung high in the sky, casting its golden rays over the verdant field. The surrounding woods casted their shadows along the edges of the battlefield,while the middle was nothing short of a sunlit expanse.

Soon, however these green pastures would be dyed crimson with the blood of fallen soldiers.

Jarza stood on the field, lost in his thoughts. He remembered his first battle vividly, though it had been over twenty years ago—a simple skirmish when he served in a sellsword company for an imperial lord, tasked with cleansing his domains of bandits . That company , he vaguely remembered had disbanded a few years later, but Jarza as always found another band to join. Twenty winters and twenty summers had passed in the blink of an eye, each season blending into the next.

The four years he had spent as a slave were the longest of his life, dragging on with relentless cruelty. Starved and beaten in a foreign land, Jarza had often believed he would die in those chains. Yet, against all odds, he had survived. The gods, it seemed or yet he believed , had other intentions for him. Each scar and each battle had brought him to this moment, standing on this field, ready to face whatever came next.

He could never fully understand that boy , he was like a book open to everyone to be read and yet written in a language never seen.Easy to read and impossible to understand. His ideas were usually either nothing short of genial, or outright dumb.He still remembered the first batch of a plan he had made to escape , if they had followed on those they would have certainly have been caught.

He surveyed the field, his eyes scanning the nearly 600 warriors surrounding him. Among them, 200 were under his direct command. He had always dreamt of leading men into battle, a vision that seemed distant during his early days in the various sellsword companies. Most leadership positions in those bands were occupied by exiled minor lords or members of distant branches of noble families—individuals less powerful and less wealthy than their mainline kin. Yet now, against all odds, Jarza had men under his command, ready to follow him into the fray.

Most of these soldiers lacked proper armor, wearing only the barest protection of tattered leather or simple cloth. They carried basic shields and spears, tools of war given to them in haste. Their march was anything but disciplined; the lines wavered, and many struggled to maintain their formation. It was clear they had received only rudimentary training, enough to form a shield wall and little more. These were not seasoned warriors but common folk thrust into the chaos of battle, armed with the basics and left to fend for themselves.

Jarza observed their approach with a critical eye, noting the uneven pace and the nervous glances exchanged among the ranks. The enemy prince's forces might have the advantage in numbers, but the quality and discipline of their troops left much to be desired

Jarza turned to his men, watching as they waited in silent anticipation. The front lines were composed of his brother in servitude , each man equipped with chainmail and helmets that gleamed dully in the sunlight. Their faces, though weathered, were set forward. Behind them, the new recruits provided by the prince stood ready. It was a common tactic: placing the elite soldiers with the best equipment at the front and the less experienced recruits at the back.

Each soldier in the company held a lance, but Alpheo had ensured they were also armed for close combat. Maces and swords hung at their sides, weapons chosen for their effectiveness against lightly armored foes. Alpheo had emphasized the importance of these weapons, knowing that when facing an army equipped primarily with spears, good armor and close-quarter weapons would allow his men to cleave through the enemy like a hot knife through butter.

Jarza observed the calm, focused expressions of his comrades. They were ready, their minds and bodies steeled for the coming battle, as they knew that by the end of the war their pouches would be filled with silver.

Feeling the imminent approach of battle, Jarza took a deep breath and donned his helmet, which he had temporarily removed. His armor was not just chainmail; it was reinforced with steel plates that covered his stomach and lower chest, providing additional protection. Braces and shoulder covers added to his defense, while not impeding his movement . Currently, he sat on horseback, a position that afforded him a better view of the enemy lines slowly advancing towards them.

As he adjusted the fit of his helmet, Jarza couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety. The weight of the armor was familiar, this was not his first battles and still that familiar sense of fear was there. His horse shifted beneath him, sensing his unease, but Jarza steadied the animal with a firm hand on the reins.

It was still a good day to die.