Breathing heavily, Cedric asked, "How many casualties have we suffered, strategist Rokir?"
Rokir stammered, "Uhh… I—I don't know."
"Huh?" Cedric frowned.
Selara spoke up, "Forty casualties, including Luca, Kaedric, Vorayn, Zilta… and strategist Rokir."
"Kaedric too?" Cedric placed a hand on his forehead as arrows kept thudding against the shields.
Darviz, trembling, muttered, "We're in a pinch. If we try to move and our formation even breaks slightly, that will be our end. Their infantry is getting closer."
Cedric's voice hardened. "Listen carefully, everyone. We'll break into groups of fifteen. That gives us seven groups, six with fifteen men, one with twenty. Four groups will spread out wide, while three move south to aid Wilaric's force. If they manage to free them, we'll all be saved."
A frightened man shouted, "That's ridiculous! You're just trying to save your own skin while we act as decoys!"
Torric barked, "That's enough, he's our captain!"
"So what?" another soldier retorted. "We're all going to die while he escapes!"
Cedric's tone grew heavy. "I have no such intention. In fact, I plan to remain here in the middle ground. If you will not trust your commander, then do as you please."
Varron's eyes furrowed as he ran a hand over his long beard. "I've seen many battles. I am the oldest here, older even than Torric. Never have I faced a situation so grim. If anyone else were leading us, we'd be doomed. But I have faith in this young man. He's shown great talent, both in theory and in practice. His father, a competent general, led us once, and I had the honor of serving under him. Time and again, he proved his worth. Now, I'll place my trust in his son. Regardless, we have no other choice."
Cedric smiled faintly. "Thank you, Varron. My father spoke well of you. Still, if any of you have a better idea, speak now."
The grim uncertainty weighed on them all, suffocating. None could bear the responsibility of leading one hundred and nine men into peril. Under pressure, they agreed.
Torric spoke, "Why not divide the group into larger chunks, one holding the ground, the other aiding Wilaric's army?"
Cedric replied, "If we do that, their archers will pin us down while their infantry crushes our detachment. But if we split into smaller units, we can maneuver freely. The archers won't be able to target us all at once."
Fenric's eyes twitched. "It's as if those archers can sense the wind itself! I thought they were just bandits!"
Cedric frowned. "It's not the archers, it's their commander. There's more to him. I didn't mention it earlier, but I saw him directing their aim after every volley, and each hit landed precisely."
Darviz's heart pounded. He stammered, "Then there's no way we can win against such an enemy, we must retreat!"
Cedric snapped, "No! If we retreat, Wilaric's army will be wiped out, and as we run, we'll suffer even greater losses. Right now they're waiting, but as soon as Wilaric falls, they'll surround us from all sides. We can't wait any longer. We move, now!"
They crept out slowly, separating into seven units. Four formed an arrow formation with gaps between them; the remaining three inside backed toward Wilaric's line. Torric, Darviz, and Silgard led the charge.
The enemy infantry advanced, the arrows still pouring down. Cedric suddenly realized something. (Wait... I overestimated them. Of course, that's it. I should've seen it sooner.)
He shouted, "Units with me, regroup and charge forward! The arrows can only strike the middle ground! Torric! Darviz! Silgard! Charge! You don't need formation, they can't reach you!"
Confusion rippled through the men, but they trusted their captain and obeyed. The enemy infantry closed in, one hundred against sixty. Though outnumbered, Cedric's men were better trained. The "bandits" had no armor and dull weapons, yet they somehow pushed back Wilaric's well-equipped army. It shouldn't have been possible for such rabble to achieve that.
Torric's unit rushed ahead. As the sun set, crimson light spilled across blood-stained snow. Both sides clashed, steel met flesh. Cedric ordered, "Stay in groups of three! Don't get separated!"
They smashed through the first wave. The difference in training showed. Another wave fell soon after, but then, from behind, new enemies emerged, carrying spears over thirty feet long. It was as if they'd planned it all along. Three men held each spear, thrusting together in formation, a single strike impaling multiple soldiers at once.
Torric's flank was outmaneuvered by a hidden detachment lying in wait. Blood splattered the ground; limbs fell like butchered meat. Torric, Silgard, and Fenric fought fiercely, but Draviz froze. He dropped to the ground, trembling, eyes darting wildly. Tears welled up.
He looked up to see Torric wrestling with a massive enemy soldier, both towering men locked in a deadly struggle. The foe pressed his blade against Torric's throat. Torric resisted but was losing ground. Spotting Draviz, he cried, "Draviz! Quick, or we all die!"
Draviz let out a scream so raw it pierced the din of battle. He charged, sword raised, and in a single desperate slash, cut down the enemy.
Twilight descended. The moon rose, silver and still, over the carnage. Breath by breath, the fighting slowed. Both sides were exhausted. The long spears surrounded Cedric's remaining unit. If another thrust came, it would be over.
"So this is how we die, at the hands of bandits," Varron said quietly, swallowing hard. He tightened his grip on his spear and braced his foot. "Cedric… take care of my daughter."
He charged. His shield crashed into the spear wall. A few shafts snapped, but several pierced through him. Roaring like a wounded beast, he forced himself forward, eight spears impaled in his body. Neither ally nor enemy could believe what they saw, the endurance of a man who should have fallen at the first strike. Varron stood like a mountain, his defiance freezing the battlefield.
Cedric drew a deep breath, his eyes sharp as a wolf's. His voice thundered across the hill. "Now! Everyone, charge! Give it everything, we will not let Varron's sacrifice go to waste!"