The Forgotten Field

The siege troops who witnessed it hurriedly reloaded their ballistas.

Wrapping one arm around Tork’s neck, Varkas yanked hard on the reins. At that very moment, several ballistas loosed gigantic bolts nearly the size of javelins.

Nimbly evading the arrows that tore through the air like the wind, Tork raced across the field in a single burst and effortlessly cleared the line of barricades.

In the next instant, the warhorse’s massive forelegs came crashing down onto the soldiers surrounding the siege engines.

The raiders screamed and scattered in every direction as they watched their comrades crushed beneath iron-shod hooves.

Without hesitation, Varkas swung his sword.

The heads of three soldiers who had been fumbling for their weapons fell from their shoulders at the same instant.

Blood erupted from their severed necks, spreading through the air like a crimson mist. Cutting through the metallic stench, Varkas charged forward, his blade cleaving straight through the breastplates and bodies of the enemy soldiers who had just begun to reform their ranks.

”Garkash!”

A middle-aged man with a sun-blackened face let out a terrified cry in the ancient language of the East. It was the name of a savage monster from the legends of the Khan tribe.

Varkas caught the enormous double-headed axe hurtling toward him with the flat of his sword, then dug his heels into Tork’s flanks and trampled the man beneath the warhorse.

Bones shattered with a sickening crunch as blood sprayed across the ground.

Tork immediately charged the next enemy.

Varkas’s sword never stopped moving as he swept through the enemy formation. When the Wolfram Cavalry, who had been close behind him, drove into the flank of the siege troops, the enemy formation that had looked so solid collapsed with astonishing ease.

But their unstoppable momentum did not last long.

The raiders spread out across the battlefield and gradually began encircling the Wolfram Cavalry.

Varkas snatched up a halberd dropped by a spearman, swiftly sheathed his sword with his other hand, and gripped the long weapon.

Against such overwhelming numbers, a polearm was far better suited.

Holding the lower end of the shaft firmly with both hands, he swung the halberd in a tremendous arc toward the tightening ring of enemies.

The heavy blade carved through the charging raiders carrying spears and swords all at once.

The pagan warriors hurriedly retreated after seeing five or six of their comrades split clean in half, armor and all.

Varkas did not waste that fleeting opening.

He drove straight into the heart of their formation.

Then a violent impact struck his shoulder.

Turning his head, Varkas frowned as he spotted an arrow lodged between the gaps of his armor.

Fortunately, it did not appear to have struck bone, but the arrowhead had buried itself deep into the muscle.

Grasping the shaft with one hand, he ripped it free without hesitation and immediately wheeled Tork toward the archer.

Recognizing his movement, the enemy archers hurriedly drew their bows.

But Tork was faster.

In the blink of an eye, Varkas closed the distance, and the blade of his halberd came crashing straight down, splitting one archer vertically in two.

Seeing his comrade cleaved apart, another archer frantically threw away his bow and drew the sword at his waist.

He was too slow.

The butt of the halberd swept around in a wide arc and struck him squarely in the temple.

The soldier collapsed with a scream.

Varkas immediately rode over him, crushing his body beneath Tork’s hooves before lowering the tip of the halberd toward the next enemy.

Yet the raiders merely surrounded him layer upon layer, refusing to step within his reach.

The brief lull allowed Varkas a moment to catch his breath as he surveyed the battlefield with sharp eyes.

The Wolfram Cavalry was likewise surrounded, fighting desperately on every side.

Watching several of his riders tumble from their saddles, Varkas ground his teeth.

They could not hold out like this forever.

’I need to secure a route of retreat while I still can.’

As he soothed the heavily breathing Tork and slowly surveyed the tightening encirclement, the enemy formation suddenly rippled.

Moments later, distant screams rang out.

Varkas turned toward the sound.

Something pitch-black was surging through the gaps in the enemy ranks like a flood.

For an instant he thought reinforcements had arrived.

Then his eyes widened.

It was dozens of dire wolves.

Each beast was as large as a calf, tearing through the raiders without discrimination and throwing the battlefield into complete chaos within moments.

Varkas froze only briefly before immediately charging through the broken enemy lines.

Despite breathing heavily, Tork continued charging with ferocious determination, trampling enemy soldiers beneath his hooves as he thundered across the battlefield.

How many enemies he cut down after that, even he could no longer tell.

Before long, he realized the wolves were attacking only the raiders.

Varkas briefly lowered his halberd and swept his gaze across the beasts roaming the battlefield.

The enormous wolves moved with remarkable coordination, systematically breaking apart the barbarians’ formations.

There was no doubt.

Something was controlling the pack.

Before he could fully grasp what that implied, the battle shifted once more.

A deep war horn echoed across the field.

Then a column of heavily armored cavalry appeared atop the distant hill.

At the sight of an army numbering well over ten thousand, the raiders instantly lost the will to fight and fled in every direction.

Raising his halberd high, Varkas shouted in a voice that thundered across the battlefield.

”Do not let a single one escape alive!”

The instant the order was given, the Wolfram Cavalry broke formation and pursued the fleeing enemy at terrifying speed.

The mounted warriors overtook the raiders almost immediately, cutting off every avenue of escape before mercilessly cutting them down.

At the same time, the heavily armored cavalry crashed into the rear of the enemy army, sweeping away thousands of raiders in one devastating charge.

What followed could hardly be called a battle.

It was a massacre.

The Zram warriors fell helplessly beneath the relentless assault of the mounted soldiers.

After roughly two hours, the battlefield was covered with mountains of pagan corpses, their bodies crushed beneath countless warhorse hooves.

”Your Grace! The enemies positioned to the south have all been eliminated!”

As the battle drew to its close, Daren rode over from the southern gate, where he had remained to wipe out the remaining enemies.

Only then did Varkas lower the weapon in his hand.

The wolf pack had vanished without a trace.

Only a handful of their bodies remained among the piles of dead, victims of the raiders.

Varkas silently stared at them for a moment before planting the halberd into the ground and jumping down from Tork’s saddle.

His faithful warhorse had already reached the limits of its endurance, and he wanted to ease its burden however little.

”What are the casualties?”

”We’ll need to count them properly, but it appears we’ve lost around four hundred men.”

Daren answered in a heavy voice as he naturally accepted the reins from Varkas.

”If we include the city guard, the number may be twice that.”

It was far from a light loss.

Yet considering the entire city had nearly fallen, it could only be called fortunate.

Varkas let out a weary sigh and looked up at the sky, now beginning to glow with the colors of sunset.

A dry wind carrying the stench of blood swept harshly across his face, still stained with crimson splatters.

Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he turned toward the northern gate.

”Take every fallen soldier to the Grand Cathedral. The funeral rites will be held tomorrow.”

”Understood.”

He crossed the field and entered the city.

Bodies of both raiders and defenders lay scattered around the shattered walls.

He watched the guards diligently gathering the corpses into one place before walking toward the battlements, more than half of which had collapsed, to inspect the damage himself.

Now that the raiders who had plagued the region for years had finally been exterminated, no immediate threat remained.

Even so, if Kalmor was to remain secure, the damaged defenses would have to be rebuilt as quickly as possible.

’It will take at least four months to restore everything completely.’

After inspecting the cracked walls and the collapsed watchtowers one by one, Varkas turned toward the road leading back to Laedgo Castle.

Then he suddenly stopped.

A crowd had gathered at the base of one of the towers connected to the outer wall.

In front of a mound of collapsed rubble, a woman sat on the ground wailing at the top of her lungs.

Fifteen or so guards pushed her aside before desperately beginning to clear away the fallen stones.

Watching the scene in silence, Varkas walked over and seized the shoulder of the nearest guard.

”What happened?”

”Y-Your Grace...”

The guard, who had been carrying a massive block of stone away from the wall, looked up at him with a deathly pale face.

At that instant, an inexplicable chill crept down the back of Varkas’s neck.