Chapter 58: It was about survival

The cry of a horse echoed throughout the surrounding area, followed by that of its rider, who had no time to react.

His rider saw the steel coming. He saw it embed itself in his left eye. He felt the crunch of his eyeball bursting, an explosive, cold sensation inside his skull, before the real pain, a beat of white fire, blinded him completely.

The spear pierced the fatty, soft tissue of the brain. It emerged on the other side as a metal-and-wood skewer coated in a viscous mixture of black blood and brain matter.

The traps destroyed the initial charge. The spears of the Hall family soldiers emerged from the crops like hidden fangs.

They pierced bellies, burst bladders full of warm urine, and punctured lungs that exhaled their last breath in a hiss of pulverized blood.

The air was filled with the smell of iron, excrement, and exposed entrails.

The cries were not those of war, but the screams of trapped dogs. The field was soaked; the mud ceased to be mud and became a red and black quagmire in which men slipped on their own organs.

Migzar’s formation broke in seconds.

Adam rode forward on his horse, moving quickly between the corpses and observing the enemy knights and soldiers through his helmet.

An enemy soldier managed to stand up amid the chaos and pull his sword from the ground. His eyes locked onto Adam.

He didn’t hesitate, charging violently with a look of determination… but unfortunately…

The steel clashed violently.

Adam deflected the first blow with the edge of his sword and responded with a direct thrust to the neck. The blade penetrated between the poorly fitted plates.

Warm blood splattered his helmet.

And, with a swift movement, I decapitated him. The man’s head hit the ground with a disgusting sound, leaving a trail of blood.

The headless body fell heavily.

However, Adam had no time to catch his breath.

Another knight turned his wounded mount and tried to crush him. Adam reined in his horse, dodging the man and cutting the horse’s rear tendon as it rose.

The animal collapsed.

The rider fell.

And with eyes shining with cruelty, he plunged the sword into the man’s mouth, tearing it apart, and with one swift movement, the man’s head was split in two; the lower part of his mouth remained attached to his body.

The other part rolled through the air, leaving trails of blood behind it.

All around him, the war was no longer about formation.

It was about survival.

…

From a slightly elevated hill, Darion watched the battlefield with a grim frown.

He had been ambushed.

A boy not yet twenty years old had deceived them.

At first, when the gates of Arkham opened without resistance, everything seemed simple. Too simple. The city seemed resigned, vulnerable… ready to be taken.

And then the chaos began.

The formations broke as they advanced—the uneven terrain—previously altered—disrupted the heavy cavalry. Hidden traps, camouflaged ditches, and crossfire from different positions transformed the triumphal entry into a bloody trap.

Darion clenched his fists until the metal of his gauntlets creaked.

“Damn it!”

He watched as his cavalry disintegrated amid desperate cries and neighs. Horses falling. Men crushed. Banners bowing.

That boy wasn’t improvising.

He had calculated every move.

He had led them in.

Rage flashed across the general’s face, but he did not lose his composure.

An officer approached, covered in blood.

“General, the losses are mounting. If we insist on advancing, the formation will collapse.”

Darion did not respond immediately. He watched as a second volley of projectiles rained down from the top of the wall, forcing the infantry to regroup.

The boy wanted them to press on.

He wanted them to get stuck.

His lips tightened slightly.

“Partial retreat.”

He finally ordered.

“Withdraw the cavalry. Keep the infantry in defensive formation until they are out of range of the walls.”

The officer hesitated for barely a second.

“Retreat… general?”

Darion’s eyes fixed on him, cold as steel.

“Reorganization.”

The horn sounded shortly after on the battlefield, deep and prolonged. The troops began to retreat in disciplined blocks, covering each other as they left the uneven terrain.

From the wall, there was no pursuit.

That confirmed his suspicion.

They didn’t have enough strength to leave the city.

Only to resist.

Darion watched as his men returned to solid ground. The losses weren’t devastating… but they weren’t insignificant either. More importantly, the blow to morale had been real.

A young man had thwarted their entry.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“Set up camp out of range of their archers.”

He ordered calmly.

“We’ll send out scouts tonight. I want every ditch, every trap, and every alternate route identified.”

He looked toward the damaged walls of Arkham.

The city was still wounded. Just not as badly as he had assumed.

“If he thinks this was a victory,” he muttered to himself, “he doesn’t understand how war works.”

He would not attempt a direct entry again.

Migzar’s banner waved in the wind once more as the army reorganized in the distance.

The battle was over.

The war was beginning.

…

Stopping his horse, Adam watched as Migzar’s army began to retreat in disorderly formation. He did not give the order to pursue. It was not necessary.

The retreat was exactly what he had anticipated.

He had designed that maneuver to provoke a hasty response, to force them to misjudge the situation and retreat before committing real forces. And it had worked.

Besides, they had only sent soldiers.

If they had deployed knights…

The story would have been different.

Adam let out a long sigh, allowing the tension to leave his shoulders partially.

He had gained time. Nothing more. But for now, it was enough.

He raised his sword and moved it in a firm gesture that his men understood instantly: they could return.

Then he spoke.

His voice was low. Clear. Emotionless.

“Kill all the wounded. Leave none alive.”

There was no hatred in his words.

Only determination.

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