Chapter 119 – The Crimson Wolf's Counterstrike
Day Three, Approaching Midday
The sky blazed with the full weight of the sun. The battlefield was thick with dust and the stench of blood; every breath carried the taste of iron. In the distance, the cracked-dragon banner of Drachenfels still fluttered—battered but not yet fallen. Upon a mound of earth stood Fenrir, his crimson eyes fixed on his prey.
> "Today we won't just endure. We bite back. Thunderbolt, now."
Three thunderous beats of the war drums shattered the silence. The crimson banner of Eisenwald unfurled, and the host surged forward.
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Crimson Knights (150) under Kael Morgenstern thundered into the enemy's right flank, their armored steeds like a wall of steel crashing down. Kael's greatsword cleaved through spears, scattering men like wheat.
Regular Cavalry (420) under Garrik Stormhoof followed swiftly, sealing gaps and slamming into Drachenfels's reserves.
Archers (660) under Selene Aestra loosed a coordinated volley. Iron shafts darkened the sky before plunging into the enemy's center ranks, leaving chaos in their wake.
Infantry (1,600) led by Darius Holt formed their shield wall, iron discipline turning them into a grinding wheel that slowly pushed the foe back.
Scouts (143) under Lyra Nightshade slipped through shadows, cutting supply runners and messengers.
Artillery (50) under Roland Ironarm launched bolts the size of lances, tearing holes in crowded enemy formations.
Fenrir raised his sword high, his voice rolling like thunder:
> "ADVANCE! SHOW THEM THE FANGS OF EISENWALD!"
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The charge of the Crimson Knights was an earthquake. Their armored mounts smashed through lines of trembling men. Spears splintered like kindling. Kael's blackened blade carved two soldiers in a single stroke.
Selene's arrows fell like a storm of steel. The enemy center reeled as officers dropped screaming, impaled through mail and bone.
Darius Holt's voice roared above the clash. "HOLD! PUSH THEM BACK—ONE STEP AT A TIME!" The shield wall advanced, each stride bought with blood.
Behind them, Garrik Stormhoof's riders struck the reserves. "WITH ME!" His cavalry tore into the rear guard, scattering the enemy's banners and sowing terror.
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Baron Drachenfels, astride his black warhorse, shouted hoarsely:
"I STILL STAND! HOLD YOUR LINES!"
But the panic was evident in his eyes. Sweat streaked his brow. Soldiers no longer turned to him. Some threw down their weapons and fled, others froze, paralyzed. The iron chain of command had snapped.
Fenrir, watching from afar, narrowed his eyes. "A leader can't save a broken line."
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Eisenwald's soldiers chanted with unshakable ferocity:
> "CRIMSON WOLF! CRIMSON WOLF!"
The enemy's right wing was shattered, their center buckled, reserves crumbled. Drachenfels's army looked less like an army and more like a drowning vessel in a storm.
Fenrir lifted his sword, signaling the next phase. His voice was calm, cold:
> "The crack is there. Soon the whole wall will fall. Drachenfels… your time is running out."
In the distance, the baron still raised his blade, but all knew his banner swayed on the edge of ruin.
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Real-Time Report – Midday, Day Three (Provisional)
Eisenwald Forces
Infantry: 1,650 → 1,600 (−50)
Archers: 670 → 660 (−10)
Cavalry: 430 → 420 (−10)
Scouts: 145 → 143 (−2)
Artillery: 50 → 50 (0)
Crimson Knights: 150 → 148 (−2)
Reserves/Support: 6,605 → 6,592 (−13)
Total: ~9,473
Enemy Coalition (Drachenfels fractured, not yet collapsed)
Starting Strength: 11,500
Losses: ~3,500
Remaining: ~8,000
Morale: Shattered, many routing, the rest clinging to Drachenfels.
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