Chapter 113 – Day Two, Blood That Soaks the Earth
A thin fog still lingered over the vast plain, but the stench of iron and yesterday's blood clung stubbornly to the air. Fenrir stood atop a small rise, his crimson gaze sweeping across the sea of men before him: 10,200 Eisenwald soldiers arrayed against 13,500 troops of the three-baron alliance.
The enemy's war drums began their pounding, heavy and deep, shaking the chest like thunder. From afar, banners fluttered: the black wolf of Falkenhain, the silver eagle of Drachenfels, and the red lion of Hohenberg—flying side by side.
Fenrir turned to his commanders:
Darius Holt, grim veteran of the internal war, leading the infantry.
Selene Aestra, calm and sharp-eyed, with her archers.
Garrik Stormhoof, mounted atop his warhorse.
Lyra Nightshade, a shadow in the ranks of scouts.
Roland Ironarm, steady hands on the heavy ballistae.
And Kael Morgenstern, the wandering knight, now commander of the Crimson Knights—his silence heavier than words.
"Today they will come harder," Fenrir's voice was steady, razor-sharp. "We are not a great host, but discipline and cunning are our weapons. Remember—today we cannot falter."
A roar rose from Eisenwald's soldiers, their voices joining like iron walls echoing across the field.
---The first wave struck. Thousands of enemy infantry surged forward with spears and shields, their trampling footsteps rumbling like a minor quake.
Fenrir raised his arm.
"Shield wall! Rotate every ten minutes!"
Darius's infantry slammed their shields down, spears bristling. Steel crashed against steel, the ground shook under the collision. Men screamed, metal screeched, blood sprayed across the mud.
The enemy pushed with sheer weight of numbers, but Eisenwald's line rotated like clockwork. Tired men fell back, fresh men surged forward. They did not break. They did not scatter. They moved like a wheel of iron.
One enemy officer snarled in disbelief from afar:
"Why won't they break?! This is just a baron's army!"
---
Selene Aestra raised her hand. Seven hundred bowstrings twanged, loosing a rain of steel-tipped arrows. The shafts found gaps in enemy shields, men collapsed in droves.
Roland Ironarm commanded his ten ballistae. Giant bolts screamed through the air, skewering two ranks of infantry at once, leaving corpses nailed to the earth.
Cheers erupted from Eisenwald's ranks—though outnumbered, they could see the enemy bleeding far more.
---When one section of the shield wall nearly gave way, Fenrir himself stepped forward. His long sword gleamed, a flash of crimson aura wrapping his strike for a single heartbeat. The blow shattered a spear and split a man's chest, sending him sprawling.
A roar exploded from the line.
"Our lord fights with us!!"
Morale surged, tired arms lifted again, shields locked tight.
---
Real-Time Casualty Report – Midday
Eisenwald: 10,200 → 9,700 (500 killed/wounded).
Three-Baron Alliance: 13,500 → 12,700 (800 killed/wounded).
Fenrir clenched his jaw. The numbers favored him in morale, but the weight of the enemy still loomed. And this was only the beginning.
---From a hilltop, Baron Falkenhain's face was dark.
"This boy has turned marshland into steel. If I let him grow further, he'll be a thorn deeper than any of us can endure."
He raised his hand, unleashing the signal for the second wave—stronger, fiercer.
---The second wave crashed down. Enemy infantry struck Eisenwald's right flank, their shouts rattling the air.
Darius bellowed, sweat streaking his beard:
"Rotate shields! Hold the line! Don't let it crack!"
But the pounding grew heavier. Eisenwald's line staggered, pushed back one step, then another. Blood spattered the ground, spears snapped, arrows dwindled.
Fenrir's eyes narrowed. He knew the truth: if one point collapsed, the enemy would flood in like a broken dam.
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