The Forgotten Field

As Varkas emerged from the tower, a thunderous roar that seemed capable of shaking heaven and earth slammed into his ears.

Turning toward the sound, he stopped in his tracks as he saw the entire stretch of the northern wall engulfed in flames.

It appeared the infiltration unit had successfully destroyed the gate mechanism. Through the wide-open double iron gates, he could vaguely make out the massive battering ram rolling forward as the Imperial army surged into the fortress like a tidal wave.

Seeing the garrison rushing toward the outer wall in dense waves to stop the enemy advance, Varkas immediately changed direction.

”We’d better find another escape route.”

He could force his way through the enemy lines and rejoin the main force, but the risk was too great.

He glanced sideways at Gareth, who was dressed in nothing more than a velvet coat thrown haphazardly over a thin shirt.

If I drag him into the thick of the battle looking like that, he’ll be reduced to a lump of meat in no time.

Clicking his tongue quietly, Varkas immediately circled around the tower and sprinted toward the southern outer wall. But the moment he rounded the corner, he came face to face with a squad of guards transporting artillery shells.

Without hesitation, he drew his sword and slit the throat of the nearest soldier.

The helmeted head rolled across the ground while blood erupted from the severed neck like a fountain. At the gruesome sight, the guards let out screams that bordered on shrieks.

”Intruder! An intruder is taking the prisoner!”

At that very moment, another deafening explosion echoed through the fortress as the Imperial army detonated another shell, drowning out half the warning before it could be heard.

Still, it had served its purpose.

The soldiers patrolling the outer wall had noticed.

As dozens of torches rapidly drew closer, Varkas shoved Gareth against the wall of a nearby building before swinging his sword horizontally at the approaching soldier.

The lightweight blade, forged to reduce strain on his arms during prolonged combat, pierced straight through the man’s armor, cleaving muscle, organs, and bone in a single stroke.

The soldier’s upper and lower body separated instantly.

A bloodcurdling scream burst from his lips.

”A... a monster...!”

Someone’s terrified cry became the signal.

The soldiers charging forward with weapons in hand hesitated and instinctively stopped.

Varkas seized the opportunity without delay.

He kicked off the ground and burst forward.

Wearing only the light armor necessary for infiltration, his body moved with the effortless freedom of a warhorse finally released from its reins.

His blade shot forward like an arrow, burying itself deep into the torso of the spearman standing at the front of the formation.

Without slowing, he dragged the sword downward, splitting the man clean through to his groin before instantly changing direction and severing the knees of an infantryman who had only just managed to raise his guard.

The soldier’s body collapsed into the dirt, both legs gone in an instant.

Watching the carnage with terror written across his face, one spearman charged Varkas with a frenzied scream.

It was less a calculated attack than the desperate instinct of a man fighting for survival.

Varkas lowered his sword diagonally.

He knocked the descending halberd upward, then instantly rotated the tip of his blade and drove it into the gap between the soldier’s neck and collarbone.

Three men had died in mere moments.

Several soldiers turned and fled without looking back.

Ignoring the fleeing enemies, Varkas shouted over his shoulder.

”Stay right behind me!”

Gareth, who had been standing stiffly in place, hurriedly ran after him.

Carefully making sure Gareth never fell too far behind, Varkas began cutting his way through the encirclement.

But the route to the western gate was completely blocked.

There’s no way we can climb over the wall with ropes in this chaos.

Looks like breaking through the main battlefield is our only option.

His mind raced as his eyes searched frantically for another escape route.

Then a familiar voice rang out ahead.

”Your Grace!”

Varkas whipped his head toward the sound.

The Imperial vanguard had already pushed its way into the central courtyard.

A quiet sigh of relief escaped him.

If the main force had penetrated this far into the fortress, the battle was all but decided.

Grabbing Gareth by the arm, he rushed into the chaotic courtyard.

”I’ve rescued His Highness the Crown Prince! Escort him immediately!”

Five or six heavily armored infantrymen immediately ran toward them.

Practically shoving Gareth into their hands, Varkas swiftly surveyed the battlefield.

The Northern forces were collapsing.

The Imperial army was pouring through both the front and rear gates with unstoppable momentum, scattering the defenders in every direction.

It was only natural.

Half of the rebel army consisted of militiamen who had never received proper military training.

Now that they had lost the advantage of the terrain, there was no chance those disorganized Northern troops could stand against the Empire’s elite forces.

And now that their only bargaining chip—the hostage—had been taken from them, they had no path left to turn the tide.

”Get His Highness out of the fortress immediately.”

”Yes, sir!”

The soldiers surrounding Gareth immediately turned toward the gate.

Varkas dashed to the very front to carve open their escape route.

At that instant—

A shrill whistle tore through the air.

A bluish streak shot straight toward him.

Acting on instinct, Varkas raised his sword.

The impact exploded through his wrist, elbow, and shoulder in a heavy wave of force.

Quickly regaining his footing, he looked up at the man pressing his sword relentlessly against his own.

The pale light of dawn faintly illuminated the enemy’s massive silhouette.

His face was hidden beneath a black helmet, but Varkas recognized him immediately.

”Bjorn...”

”What an honor. To think Your Grace still remembers my name.”

The man sneered as he leaned even harder against his sword.

Gritting his teeth against the overwhelming strength, Varkas suddenly poured all his force into his arms and knocked the blade aside.

His own sword immediately lunged toward the man’s chest.

Bjorn quickly retreated, widening the distance.

Varkas steadied himself at once and fixed him with an icy stare.

”The battle is already over. Surrender.”

”It can’t end so boringly.”

The man chuckled.

”If everything’s going to end anyway, shouldn’t I enjoy myself until the very last moment?”

It wasn’t the empty bravado of a man cornered by defeat.

Inside the helmet, his eyes burned with madness that feared neither death nor destruction.

”They all call you immortal.”

”Let’s see if that’s actually true.”

The enormous blade lunged toward him.

Varkas immediately sidestepped, sweeping his sword sideways to redirect the attack.

But the enemy instantly reversed the trajectory of his blade and unleashed a second slash.

It was astonishingly agile for someone of such tremendous size.

Instead of retreating, Varkas charged straight in.

Gripping the flat of his own blade with his free hand, he deflected the incoming strike with the broad side of the sword.

The man’s arm lifted ever so slightly.

Varkas seized that fleeting opening.

The cross guard of his sword slammed into the Northerner’s head.

Although the man managed to twist aside before taking the full blow, even the glancing impact against the side of his helmet was enough to throw him off balance.

Varkas attacked again without hesitation.

Heimdal hurriedly tried to recover his stance and knock the sword aside—

Too late.

The longsword shot forward like an arrow and buried itself deep in his shoulder.

”This is repayment for last time.”

”Hah... You really know how to hold a grudge.”

Gripping the blade embedded in his shoulder with one hand, the man mocked him with a grin in his voice.

Varkas immediately twisted the hilt.

The wound tore open.

At last, a faint groan escaped from beneath the helmet.

He calmly watched the man desperately swallowing his pain before dragging the sword downward, forcing him onto one knee.

The enemy commander finally collapsed.

Even then, he refused to let go of his weapon.

Varkas mercilessly brought his boot down on the man’s wrist, crushing it beneath his heel before speaking quietly.

”The war game is over.”

The Imperial soldiers, who had watched the duel in breathless silence, erupted into triumphant cheers.

The rebels, on the other hand, watched their commander fall and instantly lost the will to fight.

One after another, they faltered and began to retreat.