Chapter 100: First battle(7)

Chapter 100: First battle(7)

"BREAK THEM!" Clio roared as his axe swung down, biting deep into the collarbone of an Oizen soldier. The man let out a choked gasp, his eyes wide with pain, but the axe had lodged itself into bone. Clio grunted, trying to yank the weapon free, but the effort was fruitless. Without hesitation, he slammed his boot into the dying man's chest, kicking him and taking the axe buried in his flesh away as the soldier crumpled to the ground, motionless.

All around him, the battlefield was a chaotic mess of steel, blood, and cries of agony. Men screamed as they fell, their bodies torn apart by swords, axes, and maces. It was carnage—but mostly in their favor. The Oizen infantry, under-equipped and under-trained, were crumbling beneath the pressure of Alpheo's more experienced and equipped men. The advantage of better weapons and armor was painfully clear. The ground was littered with Oizen dead, while Alpheo's soldiers pressed forward, bloodied but still standing strong.

Yet despite their overwhelming strength, the easy rout they had expected never came. It had been nearly two hours of brutal, relentless combat, and still the enemy clung to their positions. The Oizens were giving way, slowly and steadily, but they hadn't broken in the way Clio had anticipated.

"Is their greed of loot really this strong?" Clio muttered under his breath, cleaving through another enemy soldie. The man's spear thrust came too slowly, and Clio easily batted it aside with his shield before driving his axe into the man's chest. The blade sank deep, and the soldier crumpled to the ground with a final, wheezing breath.

Clio's frustration mounted as he glanced across the field. The Oizens were faltering, yet they still refused to collapse entirely. The battle dragged on, longer than it should have, longer than any of them had wanted.

"REFORM THE LINE AND PUSH!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the noise of the battlefield, blood and saliva staining his beard. His men responded immediately. They regrouped, shields locking together in a solid wall as they reformed their lines with practiced precision as Alpheo had teached them . Clio moved among them, watching as they steadied themselves.

"On my mark !" he shouted, hefting his shield and pulling his axe in the air . The men stood ready, grim-faced and blood-soaked, waiting for his signal.

"NOW!" Clio roared, and like a tide crashing against the shore, the line surged forward again. Steel met flesh as they charged in unison, breaking into the wavering ranks of the Oizens with sheer, unrelenting force.

Clio could feel the bloodlust rising in his men as they pushed forward with renewed vigor. Their faces were smeared with blood and dirt, their eyes wild with the adrenaline of battle. They shouted taunts at the enemy, trying to break their spirits as much as their bodies.

"You will die here, bastards!" one soldier spat, his voice hoarse

The line collapsed entirely. What started as a few men fleeing soon spread like wildfire. Soldiers trampled over one another in their haste to escape the slaughter, the once-organized force now nothing more than a panicked mob.

"Run!" someone screamed from the back ranks, and with that, the Oizen forces broke. Asag's men, spears still at the ready, advanced relentlessly, their formation holding strong as they cut down any who lagged behind. The army was now in full retreat, their banners falling as they scattered across the battlefield, leaving behind the dead and dying while the lords that were leading them immediately used their horses to retreat as soon as they saw the battle turning around .

It was a sight Clio had longed to see—the moment of victory.

A fierce grin spread across his blood-smeared face, and without hesitation, he let out a primal scream that echoed across the battlefield.

"PURSUE THEM!" he roared, his voice hoarse from the hours of shouting. "But don't go too far! Keep the formation tight!"

His men, exhilarated by the sight of the fleeing enemy, responded with a deafening cheer. Some of the veterans grinned knowingly, while the newer recruits simply quickly formed up to follow Clio's lead. He himself wasted no time, surging forward with long, powerful strides, his axe at the ready. He moved like a man possessed, determined to capitalize on the enemy's retreat.

This was Clio's first real taste of battle, and he had performed far better than he ever imagined. His initial nerves had long since evaporated, replaced by bloodlust. With each swing of his axe, he had felt more at ease, the rhythm of battle coming to him naturally.

As they pursued the fleeing Oizen soldiers, Clio kept his pace controlled, just as he had ordered. He knew the dangers of letting his men get too carried away—least they fall into a trap. The enemy was in disarray, but they could regroup or have reinforcements waiting.

He swung his axe into the back of a fleeing soldier, the blade sinking deep into the man's spine before he kicked the body aside, barely breaking his stride. Around him, his men were cutting down the stragglers, their war cries mingling with the desperate screams of the retreating enemy.

The battle was won