CHAPTER 15: BATTLE OF ARTHENBURG Part 1
"How could this happen…?"
Lupus Custodia whispered the words as she stood on a frozen ridge, the winter wind cutting at her face. Below her lay Ferrum—the Capital City of the North—burning.
Ferrum was meant to be unbreakable. It was carved into the mountains, its walls reinforced with steel and magic. Not only that, The North held the richest iron mines, wide fertile lands, and the strongest knight order in the entire nation. Five thousand all time full equipment armoured knights and twenty thousand militia. With the land, the supplies, and the numbers, they should have fend off the invading enemies easily.
But they hadn't.
Five thousand knights.
Twenty thousand militia.
All destroyed.
They had been erased by only ten thousand invaders—and by one monster. The entire north had fallen within one month.
Lupus's hand tightened around her sword. She could still see it clearly. An Imperial Earth Grand Mage, Rank Eight. A being beyond common warfare. With a single spell, the ground beneath the charging knights had turned to thick mud, swallowing horses and men whole. Then the earth itself had risen like sharp teeth, crushing Ferrum's mighty walls as if they were sand.
No courage and pride could stand against that.
Her uncle—Duke Marius—had stayed behind. With only two hundred knights and two thousand terrified militias, many of them slaves and non-humans, holding the last inner fortress to buy time for their escape..
"Countess," a knight said urgently. "We must leave. If the Imperial mages sense us—"
Lupus turned.
Behind her was a carriage bearing Duke Marius's house insignia. Inside were the people she held dear and would die to protect.
Duchess Maria Custodias, the wife of Duke Marius Custodias holding her children, their daughter Lily Custodias, sixteen years old, silently crying and their son and successor of the ducal house Michael Custodias, only five, clutching a wooden toy soldier—the future heir of the North.
Vice commander Countess, Lupus Cusodias, chest ached as old memories surfaced.
Lupus had lost her family during a demon incursion in her childhood, at an estate near the border that the Duke had granted to his little brother Count Custodias and wife. Her parents and little sister were killed, along with the entire estate. She alone survived.
Driven by pure instinct, she awakened her martial sword path at the rare age of eight. When Duke Marius heard of the demon attack, he rode out with reinforcements immediaelty. What he found was Lupus lying unconscious among the corpses of demons, a short sword still clutched in her hand, its blade stained with green blood—the blood of demons.
From that day on, the Duke and his wife took her in and raised her as their own daughter. She grew up alongside Lily, whom she became close friends with, and Michael, who came to love her as an older sister and also inherited her father title Countship.
She had only one duty, to protect them at all costs and bring them safely to the capital.
"We ride for Arthenburg," Lupus said, her voice steady and firm. "We must warn the Prince. The North has fallen by the hand of Duchess Zemlya Kalang de Mag Schwerin, the Grand Mage of the Kalian Empire's Earth Tower—the Wall of the South."
Fifty elite knights formed around the carriage. Lupus cast one last look at the burning Iron Capital, then turned her horse south, to the Royal Capital.
.......
At the edge of the Royal Capital, the air was cold enough to freeze breath in the lungs, but the tension was thicker than the frost.
Grand Prince Alexius stood atop the central gatehouse of the Western Wall. His black armor drank in the pale winter light, and the Phoenix cloak on his shoulders snapped sharply in the wind. Beside him, Elias held a spyglass, while Captain Fidus stood like a statue of gold, all of their eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
Below them lay the Plains of Ash.
The citizens had finished their work. For a full month, thirty thousand volunteers had turned the land before the city into a place of mud and iron. But they were no longer there. Alexius was not foolish enough to leave untrained people waiting in open trenches to be cut down by charging cavalry.
The trenches and pits carved into the frozen ground were full of danger. They twisted and turned, meant to slow and break any charge. Between them stood thousands of wooden logs tipped with iron spikes, driven into the mud and slanted forward like the sharp spines. there were also
Hidden deep inside the twisting cuts in the earth were three thousand defenders. They were brave citizens and freed slaves, armed with long pikes and the new crossbows made by the dwarves. They sat quietly in the freezing mud, unseen from far away, their breath turning into white mist in the cold air.
Beside them stood two thousand and two hundred veterans of the Silver Legion. They stood close, shoulder to shoulder, calm and steady. They were the strong backbone of the defense, placed there to make sure the militia would not panic or flee when the ground began to shake and the battle begun.
Why fight in the mud when there were walls to hide behind? Because the walls were weak. If fifteen thousand soldiers reached the base of those broken stones, the city would fall within an hour.
The trenches were the true shield. They forced the enemy to fight the way Alexius wanted. Horses could not leap over deep trenches filled with pikes. Foot soldiers could not rush around the sides in the narrow cuts of earth. To take Arthenburg, Vetus would have to pay for every step forward with blood.
"They are here," Fidus said in a low voice.
On the far edge of the Western Highway, a dark mark appeared against the white snow. It spread quickly, like ink spilled on cloth.
It was the army of Grand Duke Vetus.
They did not look like energetic and motivated like Vetus had surely imagined. The attacks by Vane and Aelrue had worn them down, they even made siege weapons useless. The soldiers marched with tired, angry steps. Thick mud covered their armour up to the waist.
Still, their numbers were frightening. Thirteen thousand men filled the horizon, two thousands already lost to guerrilla warfare.
As they marched, the ground shook in a slow, steady rhythm vibrating through the earth that the defenders could feel even while hiding in the trenches.
At the center of the army, surrounded by elite Imperial mercenaries, rode a man on a black horse. Even from far away, his presence felt heavy and crushing. He wore dark red armor, and the power flowing from him made the air seem to bend and shake.
Der Gnadenlose.
The Merciless.
A Rank Eight Imperial Sword Master.
Behind him rolled a golden carriage, shining and clean, looking strange and out of place in the deep mud. Inside sat the man who called himself Grand Duke Vetus.
The army stopped three hundred yards from the city's outer defenses—just beyond the reach of normal bows. A deep silence followed. Only the sound of horses breathing and metal armour clinking broke the still air.
Vetus stepped out of his carriage and looked across the field. He saw the broken walls. He saw the torn earth. But he did not see the five thousand men hidden below the ground.
He laughed.
"Look at them!" Vetus shouted to his officers, his voice sharp with joy. "The coward hides in his castle! He leaves the field empty! We will eat in the palace tonight!"
His army was tired, but Vetus was still confident. He had three thousand elite warriors who followed the Sword Path at Rank five—fighters so rare and strong they could crush a small city-state on their own. They were led by Der Gnadenlose. Vetus believed that as long as this monster was locked in battle witht he Royal Guard Captain Fidus, the rest would be easy.
With his five thousands knight order, Rank four, a Rank Seven commander, and his own Rank Six strength, Vetus was certain the city would easily fall.
He also had trump card.
From the enemy lines, a single rider moved forward at a gallop. He carried a white flag, but his armor was the heavy steel of Imperial cavalry. He stopped fifty yards from the first row of spiked logs.
"People of Arthenburg!" the rider shouted, his voice made louder by magic. "Grand Duke Vetus, rightful ruler of the West and liberator of the realm, offers you mercy! Hand over the usurper prince! Throw him from the walls, and you will be spared! Resist, and the Merciless One will leave no stone standing!"
On the wall above, Alexius looked down at the rider without emotion.
"Elias," Alexius said calmly, "signal the First Trench."
He stepped to the edge of the wall. He did not shout or threaten. He simply raised his right hand, palm open—then slowly closed it into a fist.
A single flag moved on the gatehouse.
Thwip.
One bolt shot out from the hidden trench directly in front of the herald.
The heavy dwarven bolt struck his throat. The force threw him backward off his horse, with choking sound. He hit the mud, kicked once, and lay still.
The white flag slipped from his hand and fell into the slush, quickly turning brown.
A roar of anger rose from Vetus's army. Killing a messenger was a great crime in old knightly wars. But Alexius no longer followed old rules.
This was not a war of honor.
This was a war to survive.
"Tsk!, Forward!" Vetus screamed from his distant carriage. "Kill them all! Slaughter the rats!"
Horns blared. Drums began to pound sending order to engage.
The first wave rushed ahead.
Five thousand mercenaries led the charge—heavy infantry hired from the Empire. These were men who lived by killing. They saw what looked like an open field and ran forward, sure they would smash through and reach the walls.
Then they hit the mud.
They struck the hidden spiked logs buried in the slush. Horses stumbled. Men fell. The charge broke apart as their speed died. What should have been a fast rush slowed to a painful crawl as they struggled through the traps.
"Steady," the Silver Legion captains whispered inside the trenches, gripping the shaking shoulders of the militia. "Let them come closer."
The mercenaries were fifty yards away.
Thirty.
Twenty.
They were right on top of the hidden line.
"UP! FIRE!"
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
From the frozen ground, five thousand heads rose at once.
The mercenaries froze in shock. One moment the field was empty. The next, a wall of steel stood before them.
Click. Thrum.
Three thousand heavy iron bolts tore through the air at close range.
The front line of the mercenary army was wiped away in an instant.
Shields broke apart. Chainmail ripped open. Heavy chest armor was punched through as if it were paper. Men were thrown off their feet and slammed back into the soldiers behind them.
Screams burst out, sudden and full of pain.
"Pikes! Brace!"
Before the mercenaries could even understand what had happened, the militia dropped their crossbows and lifted their long pikes.
The trenches turned into a wall of death. The mercenaries tried to rush forward, but they could not reach the defenders. The long pikes were longer than their swords. They were stabbed again and again in the mud—unable to cross the trenches, unable to go around them.
"Second rank! Fire!"
Behind the pikemen, the Silver Legion crossbowmen stood on raised steps and fired again, shooting over their comrades' heads.
The killing was cold and steady.
"They're stuck!" Elias shouted from the wall as he watched the chaos below. "They can't move! The mud has them, and the pikes are tearing them apart!"
From the back of the field, Vetus watched in shock. His costly mercenaries were being slaughtered without landing a single hit.
Soon, Vetus realised what was happening.
"The mages!" he screamed. "Break that line! Use earth magic!"
This was his trump card. He had not planned to use it so early, but his mercenaries were dying too fast. He had no choice.
From behind the enemy soldiers, twenty Earth Mages in brown robes stepped forward. They raised their hands and began to chant together.
"They're going to collapse the trenches," Alexius realized at once. "If they succeed, our men will be buried alive."
He turned sharply toward the towers beside the gate.
"Viscount Esperia," he ordered. "The tower."
High above, hidden shutters swung open.
Two hundred men stood revealed. They did not carry bows.
They carried long iron tubes, dark and smoking.
The Silver Legion Musketeers.
They were placed high above the field, looking straight down at the group of mages.
"Get ready!" Comwell shouted through the cold air.
"Fire!"
CRACK—BOOM!
Two hundred shots went off at once, joining into one thunderous roar. Thick white smoke burst from the towers and rolled into the sky.
The lead balls flew faster than the eye could follow and smashed into the mages' glowing shield. The first shots broke it apart. The rest struck home, tearing through the mages and turning them into blood and dust.
The earth magic stopped at once.
The enemy soldiers froze in fear. They had never heard thunder like that made by men.
Alexius said calmly. "Now comes the Beast."
A loud war drum thundered from the enemy side. Their lines split apart.
Der Gnadenlose rode forward at the head of three thousand heavy cavalry. Behind him followed Vetus's household knight order—and Vetus himself. Driven by impatience and the fear of a turning tide, he committed every force he had left to the battle.
This was his final gamble to win the war.
Impatience and rage had swallowed Vetus whole. He had never expected to lose the initial attack. At the very least, he believed his mercenaries would reach the city walls and his full forces will follow suits. Instead, his hopes had been crushed.
Even with all his past battle experiences and confidence, the past month had worn him down. His army had been harassed every night by enemies God knows who. Men had died without battles. Supplies were lost. They barely Slept. Even Vetus—Rank Six though he was still mortal. He needed rest. He needed food. His strength was great, his life longer than most, but he was not invisible.
Worse still were the things he had seen on this battlefield.
Traps rising from the ground that made no sense.
Weapons that fired metal bolts strong enough to punch through iron armour.
Thunderous tubes that spat fire, smoke, and a foul stench—killing from afar like lightning made by men.
He had never seen such things. He had never even heard of them.
Vetus could not wait any longer.
He would throw everything he had into one attack. He would crush these defenders, take their strange weapons, and claim their secrets in a single sweep.
Then, standing atop the ruins, he would declare himself the true sovereign of the Leo Principality.
"Phase Four" Alexius said calmly. "Open the gates."
The huge iron gates of the Western Wall groaned as they slowly swung inward.
(Continue.....)