Like ice in a glass of water, the Lecher forced the Rus from their habit. The uniformed troops overflowed the ridge and battled however they could with the stock of their rifles. They found no time to unsheathe their swords and the slope that they fought on only continued to drag them down. However hard they fought to hold their ground, they were met by a force that not even their numbers could withstand. Their piece of the battlefield had to be surrendered and their officers finally gave the order to rejoin their comrades in the fight on the riverside field. But their enemy did not relent. Driven onward by vengeance carrying their souls, more men poured out of the treelines, in swarms, breaking from their columned ranks and chasing down whoever were their sight. Fury was delivered unto the Rus, repaying their favor, and it became clear to the Confederates what had since befallen them. It was complete misfortune. To have had their backs stalked without their knowing, preyed upon from the woodland deeps, perhaps it may have been the smoke that led them there, but whatever they thought was the reason for their seeming demise, nothing could save them except for a miracle. Twenty thousand Aelon soldiers had been scarred like their comrade regiment guarding the bridge as survivors from a devastating assault. The siege that lasted seconds and the battle ensuing which took the lives of over a hundred thousand soldiers and civilians, the image of the massacre was still fresh in their minds as they stormed, cutting down those who could failed to flee. The momentum sided with the ambushers like it did their enemy whose rear was slammed into by the peasant army.
Standing on the brow of the hill, the general overlooked his troops who have stolen their enemy’s advantage. His greater numbers were encircling the Radilov’s, returning the favor that he had wrought on his countryfolk. The shoe of his scythe was sat in the red snow, its body was black with the reaper’s skin bound to its shaft. The air of dead surrounded him, howling for him to not let a single Confederate soul to escape alive. Beside him too were living, cheering on their comrades as they claimed an early victory. But to ensure it, as the ghouls who lingered between earth and the gates of judgement cried out, the thousands before them had to be murdered. The other battle by the water and the bridge raged on, and fearing that they would perish without their aid, Adam, Wojsław and his bear, Wojtek, rushed by the general and descended down the ridge, advancing with a regiment of men ill-equipped but with spirit to claim a complete victory. Another faithful subordinate stood beside the general and fought with the weapon he wielded best.
“Any man with a rifle and a round, fire at will!” Shouting out his orders, Florian used his steel fan to direct his troops.
His skirmishers were compacted into a thin line of rifles and bows along the ridge as stragglers were picked apart by the fervorous Aelon. The dying were given the mercy of death even as they hurried to the riverside in no recognizable formation. Their comrades took aim, whether they were pointing their barrels or drawing their bowstrings, and hailed a second volley into the crowd of enemies. Lead and arrows chewed through the densely packed Rus who had no escape as their ranks compressed from the ambusher’s attacks. Red mist showered their heads and the smoke shrouded their sight. It was made no better by the fog that grew from their bodily warmth. Yet, despite being blinded by their own desperation, the gunfire and plucking of bows did not cease, competing for whoever could empty their ammunition quickest. The crackles of bursting gunpowder were constant and soon, visibility was nothing but their imagination. Their general’s vision was already poor and worsened by the grittiness of the floating grayish veil, he knew nothing of the front he had not forgotten.
He worried, showing a rare, softer side of his heart, as he squinted, trying to peer past the cloud. “Did you see them, Károly and his pack?” Warneńczyk asked his aide, hoping that younger eyes had spotted them.
“They were,” Florian assured, replying with a precise nod. “I’d caught sight of them.”
But his words troubled the general still. When Warneńczyk glanced over to his side, at Florian, he was unsure whether the colonel was telling the truth or whether he was concealing it. Whatever it was, the grandfather did not seem convinced, but he could only spectate the battle from afar as his age had already proven his limits. The feeling of dread forever lingered.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIVVfAislW4
