Chapter 215
At that shout, the soldiers sprang into action with flawless coordination.
Varkas accepted Tork's reins from the squire who had come running in panic and swung himself onto the saddle without hesitation.
Just as he was about to gallop through the camp and out past the checkpoint, the second son of House Bleston hurried after him and shouted,
“Your Grace! We'll join the battle as well!”
Holding the reins, Varkas looked down at him before giving a slight nod.
“Join the right flank.”
Without another word, the man immediately ran through the checkpoint.
Continuing toward the battlefield, Varkas soon spotted the enemy surging forward like a stampede of buffalo and reined in his horse halfway up the hill.
From the wide-open city gates, heavily armored giant warriors poured out in an endless stream.
After briefly judging their numbers, Varkas extended a hand toward the squires who had rushed to his side.
A massive axe-halberd measuring nearly eight krevet—roughly two hundred and forty centimeters—was immediately placed in his grasp.
He raised it high as the signal to attack.
Along the ridgeline, the ballistae unleashed a simultaneous volley of iron bolts.
Hundreds of enormous projectiles screamed through the air and tore mercilessly through the charging soldiers like enraged wild boars.
Within moments, hundreds of men were tumbling across the snow-covered earth.
But the northerners did not falter in the slightest.
As though they had already accepted death, thousands of assault troops vaulted over the bodies of their fallen comrades and crashed headlong into the infantry deployed across the hill.
Varkas immediately ordered the ballistae to cease fire.
Another volley now would strike his own troops as well.
He wheeled Tork toward the cavalry waiting on the left flank and gave the order to charge.
At once, the mounted warriors drove into the enemy's flank.
As the crashing tide of warhorses scattered the rebels in confusion, the central formation advanced.
Assaulted from every direction, the enemy's ranks quickly collapsed.
At this rate, the battle would be decided before half a day had passed.
Breathing in the wind thick with the stench of blood, Varkas urged Tork forward and charged straight into the enemy formation.
Even with their lines broken, the northerners continued their ferocious assault.
Varkas rode directly into them.
One warrior wildly swinging an axe disappeared beneath Tork's iron-shod hooves, his skull bursting apart as blood and brains splattered across the ground.
The soldiers who witnessed the carnage froze for the briefest instant.
Varkas did not waste the opportunity.
His halberd swept diagonally through the air.
A single swing severed the necks and torsos of three warriors at once, spraying blood in every direction.
Riding over their mangled bodies, Varkas immediately thrust the long spear point at the tip of the halberd through the breastplate of a heavily armored soldier.
Without slowing, he swung the weapon, hurling the corpse deep into the enemy ranks.
The soldiers charging forward with axes were crushed beneath the flying body of their own comrade and tumbled helplessly down the hillside.
The overwhelming display forced the surrounding warriors to hesitate and retreat.
No matter how naturally warlike they were, they were still only militiamen without proper military training.
Once their morale broke completely, the entire force would collapse.
Varkas raised the blood-soaked blade high and ordered the entire army to advance.
Then it happened.
Heavy hoofbeats thundered from beyond the gently sloping hill.
A chill ran down Varkas's spine.
Turning immediately, he looked behind him.
A cavalry force clad entirely in black iron armor was charging toward the Imperial Army, the earth trembling beneath thousands of pounding hooves.
There had to be several thousand of them.
Varkas instantly wheeled his horse and joined the right flank.
At that very moment, the vanguard of the black-armored cavalry smashed directly into the center of his forces.
The deafening crash of steel colliding with steel rang across the battlefield, mingling with the agonized screams of dying horses.
Gripping the shaft of his halberd with both hands, Varkas swiftly studied the enemy formation.
Their movements were anything but ordinary.
These were unquestionably professionally trained soldiers.
Having reached his conclusion in an instant, Varkas immediately charged straight through the lines toward their leader.
His axe blade swept backward in a vicious arc toward the leading rider.
The bloodstained edge sliced through the warhorse's neck before carving upward across the rider's chest.
But the enemy reacted with astonishing speed.
Throwing himself backward to avoid the fatal blow, the knight snatched up a spear planted in the ground and hurled it toward Varkas.
Varkas knocked it aside with his halberd before driving Tork directly at his opponent.
The northerner moved with impossible speed for someone wearing full heavy armor.
Rolling across the ground to avoid Tork's descending hooves, the man drew a longsword from his waist and rushed forward with lightning speed.
Varkas immediately planted the shaft of his halberd upright.
The incoming longsword slammed into the steel haft with an explosive clang.
The tremendous impact traveled through his wrists, forearms, and shoulders.
Varkas clenched his teeth.
This was no ordinary opponent.
Holding the halberd firmly in both hands, he studied the soldier's face hidden behind the visor.
Behind the helmet glowed a pair of vivid crimson eyes.
So this was Bjorn Blodar Heimdal.
Without hesitation, Varkas spurred Tork forward, forcing him back.
The man staggered briefly before regaining his footing and retreating beyond striking distance.
Watching every movement carefully, Varkas lowered the tip of his weapon in preparation.
At that very instant, a cavalryman who had broken through the battle line launched a surprise attack from the side.
Varkas instantly rotated the halberd, knocking the enemy's weapon upward before reversing the axe blade and bringing it crashing down onto the rider's shoulder.
Just as he withdrew the weapon to resume his duel with the enemy commander, a sharp numbness suddenly spread through his fingertips.
His fingers had already begun to twitch involuntarily.
Gripping the weapon with all his strength, he hurriedly assumed a defensive stance.
But the slightest delay proved fatal.
The man had already closed the distance.
His sword shot directly toward Varkas's chest.
Instinctively twisting his upper body aside, Varkas narrowly avoided having his heart pierced.
Even so, the long blade drove clean through his side.
His brow furrowed as the icy sensation of steel piercing flesh spread through his body.
Yet he stopped moving for only a fraction of a second.
Raising one arm high, Varkas brought the axe blade crashing down toward his opponent's head.
The man, whose eyes had gleamed with triumph as his sword remained buried in Varkas's body, flinched and leaped backward.
The instant the sword slid free, blood burst from the wound.
Ignoring it completely, Varkas swung his halberd with terrifying speed.
The enemy barely deflected the attack before hastily widening the distance between them.
Then someone suddenly stepped in front of Varkas.
“Your Grace, stop! Your wound!”
Ignoring the desperate pleas of his subordinates, Varkas urged Tork forward and continued pursuing his opponent.
Then, without warning, he felt his body pitching forward as though it were collapsing.
He barely managed to plant the tip of his halberd into the ground, saving himself from the humiliation of falling from his horse.
By then, however, the enemy commander had already withdrawn from the fiercest fighting.
Clutching his bleeding side, Varkas glared at the retreating figure.
Bjorn Blodar Heimdal had already reached the rear lines, mounted a fresh horse, and was issuing the order to withdraw.
So their objective from the beginning had been to create an opening to extract the rebels trapped inside Amasek.
Watching the enemy scatter with remarkable speed after throwing the battlefield into chaos, Varkas gritted his teeth and forced himself upright.
He raised his halberd to order the pursuit—
Then, without warning, his vision turned completely white.
“Your Grace!”