Chapter 52

Blood of the Innocent

 

Korelian Center

“Loose!” Hugo’s command echoed, launching hundreds of bolts into the enemy ranks. The arbalester and crossbowmen had just released their second volley.

The attack instantly caused mayhem, but the battle wouldn’t be won by just sneaky attacks.

“No heroics, no captives until we’ve triumphed. We’re outnumbered and there’s no speck of noble in your blood - expect no quarter!” the deputy delivered his final reminder to his men.

The enemy was nearly upon them.

“Crossbowmen to the rear! Spearmen to the front!” His voice rang out.

There was no time for the crossbowmen to loose a third volley as they swiftly retreated. The spearmen quickly filled their positions. They stood steadfast, bracing for the incoming onslaught.

“Hold your line!” Hugo’s voice thundered.

“Korelia is ours!” Roger, beside him, echoed. Then the lines clashed. Steel met steel; spears were no longer brandished but thrust in fury.

Young Coalition men-at-arms, brimming with bravado yet lacking experience, surged forward recklessly. Their armor deflected numerous glancing blows, but the sheer force of some strikes was enough to stagger them.

As pain and disorientation took hold, they faltered against the onslaught of spears and swords, their legs buckling beneath them. For many, their first taste of battle was their last.

Those who fell were remorselessly trampled as hundreds of men pushed forward. Locked in brutal combat, the battlefield offered no respite or room for evacuation. The fallen became mere obstacles under the trampling feet of their comrades.

Soldiers struggled to maintain footing, fighting desperately to stand their ground against the onslaught of sharp-tipped steel brought against them. The cacophony of battle cries and cries of pain was deafening.

In total, nearly three-thousand men fought tooth and nail, seeking any means to push back, stall, or strike down their adversaries. The sickly scent of blood, urine, and vomit hung heavy in the air.

The Coalition crossbowmen repositioned, taking aim from the sidelines. Their volleys were met with swift retaliation from Korelian crossbowmen defending their vulnerable flanks.

Against all odds, the Korelians held firm. Many had bore the scars of battle, but their resilience was unwavering. Despite their wounds, their ranks remained steady. As their line stabilized, they began to cycle out their wounded, maintaining their formation with commendable discipline.

As brutal as the battlefield might be, it wasn’t an all-out chaos. Most men were not suicidal and fought as trained in an orderly manner.

Among the sea of spears, shields, and polearms, specialized fighters armed with large two-handed swords carved out breaches in the enemy line. Every breach was an opportunity to exploit. One such breach erupted first on the Korelian left flank with deadly consequences.

 

***

 

Korelian Left Wing

The Coalition’s Doppelsoldner shattered the wall of spears of the Korelian left wing, forcefully creating a narrow gap in the enemy line. The nearest group of knights readily charged into the Korelian ranks.

Space was limited, but it was a fair three-on-three fight. A Coalition knight, clad in plate armor and a crimson red surcoat, held the center while his two comrades struggled to maintain the breach.

From the Korelian side, a tall man-at-arm accepted the challenge. The crimson knight squared off against the man, who hurled his broken bill hook at the knight, only to have it deflected by a gauntlet. Gambling on the knight’s momentary distraction, the tall man drew his sword, leaped forward, and launched a powerful overhead strike.

The red knight countered, gripping his sword on both ends in a half-swording style. As the man attempted to retract his weapon, the knight guided his blade and interlocked their swords.

They wrestled for control, but the knight held the upper hand due to his advantageous grip. Unexpectedly, the knight redirected both blades to his left and, in a simultaneous motion, swung his sword’s pommel into the adversary’s helmet.

Ka-thunk!

Far from decorative pieces, the pommel caused as much damage as a mace, even against an armored person. The tall man’s visor crumpled, and he fell to the ground.

The entire duel lasted only seconds, demonstrating the vast skill gap between a fully trained knight and a street swordsman, which couldn’t be bridged by short amount of training or a suit of armor.

Opting to leave the downed man alive for potential ransom, the knight in the red surcoat faced the next challenger.

“Oo-rraahhh!” Another Korelian charged forward, trying to save his comrade.

The red knight parried, using the deflected momentum to slash at the opponent’s arm. It wasn’t a powerful blow, and the sword’s blade wasn’t razor-sharp, yet the speed and weight were enough to cause injury.

The Korelian recoiled from the clean hit, groaning as he realized his left arm hung limp. Behind him, another Korelian in plate armor, seemingly their lieutenant, and another soldier, rushed forward.

The red knight stepped back, allowing his comrade to take his place. Even without verbal commands, they cooperate seamlessly, the result of years of training and fighting together.

Knights, squires, and men-at-arms rarely fought alone, but in a group called a lance fournies. They had spent countless hours learning the discipline of armed combat. Each had sustained numerous blows from mistakes and accidents, with each bruise represented an invaluable experience, and each cut honed their martial skills.

For them, their armor was akin to a second skin, the limited visibility from their visors and restricted breath from small helmet holes were part of their upbringing.

The knight in the crimson red surcoat and his comrades fought valiantly, eroding the Korelian's line.

 

***

 

Korelia Right Wing

In the right wing, after the initial contact, there was a second surge from the Coalition and the fight devolved into a ruthless melee. Combat became so savage that men were shoved from behind to the point where they couldn’t wield their spears or swords.

Soon, there wasn’t even enough room to draw their daggers. They were effectively squashed, resorting to brawling with just their fists and elbows.

Having lost his dagger in a previous opponent’s armor gap, Sir Justin now resorted to wrestling. He landed a solid punch on his enemy’s gorget with his iron gauntlet, followed by a blow to the jaw so strong that it was held together by skin alone.

The lieutenant beside him fared no better, grappling with his foe and ultimately driving his thumbs into the unfortunate opponent’s eye sockets as they both struggled to remain standing. The fight had devolved into a cruel, personal brawl.

Despite giving their best, the Korelian line began to unravel. Knowing this, the Korelian side fought desperately to close the gap.

Barely catching his breath, Sir Justin grabbed a discarded sword and launched it at an oncoming knight who targeted his men.

The knight blocked the attack with his armored wrist. Protected by a layer of steel, no sword could slice through. Despite the recoil, the knight retaliated, swinging his mace into Sir Justin’s hips.

Groaning in agony, Sir Justin crumpled to the ground, the mace’s blow could be felt despite the plate armor.

Quickly, the knight knelt on Sir Justin’s chest, pinning him down, and tried to bash his helmet with his mace.

Sir Justin wrestled with the knight’s arm while drawing his dagger. His left wrist, having endured two blows, felt broken. Nevertheless, he managed to wield his dagger and drove it into the knight’s visor.

The knight’s hands frantically reached for his face as he gurgled out blood.

Hot blood rained into Sir Justin’s helmet from above. His eyes stinging from the blood, the Marshal managed to shove the knight aside. Enduring excruciating pain from his injured wrist, he forced himself to his feet. Staying on the ground would lead to him being mobbed or trampled.

The fallen knight beside him convulsed a few times. Leaving the man to his fate, Sir Justin picked up the discarded mace and sensed someone approaching from behind.

“Marshal,” his lieutenant called. The man’s gauntlets and lower arms were smeared with blood, yet he still held the banner high. Sir Justin grinned as more of his men rushed forward, brandishing their spears to close the gap.

He knew the Korelian side had almost lost it, but through sheer determination, his men managed to stabilize their right flank.

 

***

 

Korelian Center

In front of Hugo, one of his Arvenian fellows fought valiantly. Encased in plate armor, the man was nigh impenetrable. He delivered a feigned thrust followed by a swift foot sweep, and just like that, his halberd claimed another enemy.

But glory is fleeting on the battlefield - he was blindsided and tackled by three opponents. The three were merely skirmishers, trading prowess for agility.

Despite the Arvenian’s heroic struggle, the valiant man was soon pinned. An enemy slipped a dagger into the armor’s armpit gap, stabbing repeatedly. Even then, the man’s struggle persisted. He gave the trio the fight for their lives.

Attempting to immobilize him, one of the trio was abruptly tossed aside, falling face-first with a spear protruding from his back. Red blood pooled around his punctured gambeson in his final spasms.

Arriving late, Hugo and his men drove the two remaining skirmishers. Roger dashed to the fallen warrior’s side and opened up his visor, only to discover a face whiter than snow.

The man grinned, wanting to say something, but blood loss kicked in and then there was only silence.

“Leave him,” Hugo instructed, gripping the fallen man’s discarded halberd.

Before long, the Coalition side reformed and headed into them.

“Korelians to me!” Hugo bellowed, his voice hoarse with exertion. His brothers-in-arms rushed forward, weapons gleaming. Inch by inch, they re-established their front line and the two lines at the center rejoined again.

Regardless of the blistering heat, accumulated injuries, and dwindling stamina, both sides plunged back into the fray. They thrust, swung, and stabbed with savage desperation.

Helmet-less men wore expressions of exhaustion, thirst, and defiance, while those fully armored labored under their own heated metal confines.

As casualties mounted, each side endeavored to funnel fresh troops to the front lines. This resulted in a grim spectacle as green, untested men faced battle-hardened fighters.

Pushed to their limits, the Korelians deployed their last reserves – the militia. Despite their enthusiasm, they stood little chance, with many falling as swiftly as they entered the fray.

Inexperienced combatants futilely swung at torsos and heads while seasoned fighters smashed limbs with maces and axes, rendering their enemies out of action.

The grassy battlefield turned into a grimy, slick mess of blood and human fat. The fallen became trampled, their cries lost in the chaos.

Hugo saw desperation etched in his men’s eyes. Nobody to his left and right was without injury, despite their armor. They were past their limits. Brave as they were, they were outclassed. Frantically, his gaze swept across the chaotic scene, searching for the familiar sight of Sir Justin’s banner.

On the far right, amidst the harshest clash of steel and roar of men, Sir Justin finally noticed how his left flank and center were nearing crumbled under pressure. Seeking to salvage what remained of his force, he issued a commanding cry, “Fallback! Fallback!”

With a heavy heart, the Korelians began to give ground.

 

***