Herald of Steel

It was Lord Kite and his men's great fortune that they had decided to surrender themselves to the far more civilized Alexander, one who was willing to take all surrendering prisoners.

Fate was far less kind to the Margraves who were fighting the Helvati on the left wing,

When the center disintegrated, the staunch defense that the Margraves were putting up suddenly also lost all steam, as seeing their allies run, the men fighting here too understood there was no point in spilling blood.

Hence the Helvati who were just a few moments ago under a real threat of breaking suddenly found the pressure on them dissipating like thin air.

Then, seeing the enemy's center gone, the experienced warlord was soon able to sniff out the fact the enemy's flanks had just disappeared.

"Go around! Go around! Attack the left flanks" And so personally led a small band of the most bloodthirsty warriors to quickly smash into Lord Bakerfield's right flank (because they were standing on opposite sides … their sides were reversed).

This very predictably created another rout as under this heavy tactical hammer of a blow, the Margraves saw no hope for victory, and broke like a failing dam, scattering themselves to the winds.

And this time, not even the staunchest officers bothered to order his men to stay and fight. They were all too concerned trying to save their own hide.

Especially as they found it particularly hard to scatter like the winds.

The main problem was the terrain.

They were surrounded on the front and right by the furiously attacking Helvati, while the left was occupied by the wide and fast flowing river, and the back by the steep hill.

The Heeats at least had their flanks open as Alexander had drawn them much inland, separating them from their flanks in order to create a gap for his riders.

So the same fault that had lost them the battle now had become their very narrow path to freedom.

But the Margraves had no such luck and were effectively trapped like fish in a barrel. And the Helvati had their guns locked and loaded.

"Surrender! We surrender!"

"We give up! Look! We have let our spears go! We give up!"

"Spare us! Spare us! We have families! I have an orphan sister."

"We ask you to follow the rules of war. Take us prisoners! We will pay the ransom!"

Some of the Margraves, seeing no way out thus gave up resisting and tried to submit.

"Hah hah, kill them all!"

But all their hopes were cruelly smashed into a thousand pieces by the boisterously grinning Metztil. There was no need to go any more into the deep grudge between the two parties.

Just like how the Margraves would have never let these marauding, looting barbarians off, these oppressed for so long natives also had no intention of sparing a single one.

There was just so much bad blood between them that the grounds today were destined to be dyed with one side's or the other.

"Ahhhhh!" Metztil's permission hence was largely unnecessary as the rest of the army rushed in to exact their vengeance regardless, laughing, crying, and roaring out to their heart's content.

After a few centuries of having their heads constantly pressed into the dirt, it felt too good to be able to finally extract some revenge.

"This is for our ancestors!"

"Die! For my brother! For my father! For my uncle!"

"Outsider scum! This is our revenge! Hahaha… after so many centuries! This is where our revenge starts!"

The poor Margrave men, most of whom were simple innocent levies were thus slaughtered like pigs in an abattoir.

Some tried to run away by recklessly jumping into the river and swimming away, but that was hardly the best idea.

The nearby Helvati were always there to give chase and once you were on the water, you truly were like a fish trapped in a barrel.

At least on land, the Margraves had their weapons to try and maybe take one or two with them before being eventually overwhelmed.

However when they tried to escape by swimming through the river, well the attacking natives were able to skewer the floating Margraves men like they were trying to skewer fish for dinner.

It was a deadly sanguinary sight to behold and caused the water that was painted orange by the setting sun to turn bright, rusty bed.

And perhaps even more macabrely this was one of the easier ways to go.

Because the other alternative was getting swept away by the raging currents and drowning due to the heavy armor they were wearing.

Perhaps this was the only case in history where the poor peasant levies that were issued little to no armor possessed any sort of advantage. Find more adventures on M-V-L

Thus a handful of them who had chosen to take the chance actually succeeded in crossing the perilous waters and making it to the other side, although that hardly meant they were out of the woods.

Surviving the frosty, cold nights with no shelter in those soaking wet clothes with no food or kindling nearby was a very challenging aspect to say the least.

And this was not even counting the ever present threat of Helvati hunting parties chasing after their fled quarries.

Thus ultimately, only a very few lucky, lucky Margrave men would be able to evade capture or death and make it back to their loved ones.

And even fewer would be able to return to their normal lives, as many would suffer life lasting injuries from the intense physical toll.

But one man who was willing to take all that gamble and more was the senior nobleman that had accompanied Lord Bakerfield this time.

Seeing the Helvati tear through his lines this it was made of paper, he desperately called out to his commander, "Lord Bakerfield, the battle is lost. To the river! Let us try and cross the river!"

They were still relatively safe now, so he thought that if they tried, they might, just might be able to wade across the river.

"Bah! This old sack of bones is done running. You want to go…. go! I will die here with my men!"

The absolute firmness in Lord Bakerfield's tone said it all.

After what had happened to his family, the old man could never return to them empty handed.

"......" Seeing this, the senior nobleman also did not try to convince the elder man otherwise. It was apparent he had made his decision and time was of the essence.

The man could feel the Helvati already breathing down his neck.

Hence silently giving an understanding curt nod, he and his bodyguards were away.

"......." While Lord Bakerfield, seeing his ally so swiftly abandon him, strangely did not feel too great of any emotion.

There was neither anger over the 'betrayal' nor 'relief' at the chances of him surviving the ordeal.

Instead, there was a kind of bland nonchalant acceptance, as if the battlefield had sucked all the grievances out of the old man, leaving now behind only acceptance.

"Victory or death!"

Then suddenly raising his sword high up into the air as a last hurrah, Lord Bakerfield fearlessly charged towards the attacking Helvati on horseback, accompanied by only a very small remaining entourage.

Seeing the gaudily dressed man in expensive, shiny armor make such an aggressive appearance, the eyes of every Helvati on the frontlines suddenly glowed with extreme greed and excitement.

Riches, glory, revenge… all and more if they could kill this nobleman.

"Come!" And the martyr like Lord Bakerfield welcomed these gazes, welcomed these brutes to try and get him, welcomed them to madly charge towards him.

The grave, deep cry was thus followed by a thunderous gallop of his trusted stead and soon, the two sides clashed with a dreadful bang.

.... Needless to say, it was the Helvati who came up on the top of that engagement.

As valiant and skilled as Lord Bakerfield was, he was still no match for an entire army, and after taking down three foes with three swift slashes of his long sword, his chest suddenly caved in when a skilled Helvati warrior accurately threw a short ax.

These types of axes were usually thrown right before a melee kind of like how a javelin was used, with the former's advantage being that since it was much smaller and shorter, it could be thrown in much more congested spaces, like from inside a fighting formation.

And the one to hit Lord Bakerfield so accurately was a prize thrower of the Helvati, who had been saving his last throw for a truly worthy opponent.

The immense strength behind the throw and the subsequent trauma was enough to instantly incapacitate Lord Bakerfield, and as the broken shards of his ribs punctured his lungs, the elderly man lost all vision and fell from his horse.

"Hahaha, who knew my Xiti would be destined for such greatness! A nobleman, hahaha…" While seeing the results of the hit, the native men let out this boisterous cry, before sprinting towards the sight afraid that someone else would steal his prey.

Lord Bakerfield's head was thus soon taken as a trophy, while his armor was torn and hacked apart between a few more men due to all the gold and silver decorations it had.

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