Vol. 1 - Ch. 29 - The Battle of Flanders (10): Clash of the Two Armies

The day of the grand showdown had arrived. The ferocity of the battle made previous skirmishes seem like child's play.

The Arcadian army, advancing with a demonic ferocity as if to vent all their pent-up frustration, caught the complacent Nederkus forces off guard. Leading the Arcadian charge was the formidable Gregor unit, known for their destructive power. With a single, fierce assault, they shattered the central line of the Nederkus forces. It was a swift and decisive blow.

"What... what's happening?"Not only Gregor but other centurions too, advanced with reckless abandon, as if releasing everything they had held back. Though their losses were significant, they inflicted twice as much damage on the enemy, securing victory after victory. The young elite soldiers of Arcadia, hardened by the intense battles thus far, now surged forward with a fervor far surpassing their initial skirmishes.

"This can't be happening..."

The commander of the Nederkus forces collapsed in despair. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the gaze of Anatole, who stood beside him with a stern expression. After boasting so much, he was now too terrified to make eye contact.

"So, it’s come to this. Quite a sophisticated strategy," Anatole remarked, uninterested in his surroundings, focusing only on the enemy's movements. Not that any countermeasures seemed feasible; the entire Arcadian army from the mountain region was attacking. There was little Anatole's personal bravery could do against such a force.

'How would that man handle this? How would he navigate this deadly battle?' In Anatole's mind appeared the confident smile of that man. If he, who believed in his own invincibility, were here, would he manage to turn the tide? Anatole found himself slightly curious.

"Hmph, it doesn’t matter. We were the ones who brought them down," Anatole said, strapping on his gear. The commander, seeing this, could only mutter a hollow, "Ah, ah..." devoid of any spirit.

"I'm heading out. If you are a proud soldier of Nederkus, show your mettle."

Anatole stared ahead. Ultimately, all he could do was fight as an individual soldier. But even then, he needed to perform slightly better than the others. Otherwise, the name 'Weeping Spear' would be disgraced.

"Let's go."

Anatole the Weeping Spear joined the fray.

༺༻

The battle reached a fever pitch. The momentum of Gregor's central force was overwhelming, and with the Nederkus forces overcommitted, their center crumbled in a short time. Still, Gregor's advance did not halt, pushing relentlessly forward.

Supporting this momentum was Anselm, who skillfully intervened at critical points to prevent any loss of impetus. The synergy between these two created an extraordinary force.

The central army, led by these two generals, was the largest force in the mountain campaign. Gregor's aggressive advance was where his true strength lay—uncomplicated, full-force assaults. Any lack of finesse was compensated by Anselm.

The destructive power of the central army was immense. Their seemingly reckless charges resulted in numerous casualties, but they annihilated twice as many of the enemy troops.

Observing this from the shadows was a dark figure.

"Well, well. Gregor and Anselm, impressive moves as always," remarked Volf, leader of the Black Mercenary Corps, as they lay hidden.

"They are valuable pieces indeed, irreplaceable," noted Yuwain, his gaze fixed on a particular point. Volf had announced their target that morning. To secure an overall victory, they had no choice but to capture that point.

"Nica, hold the center and buy us time. Yuwain and I will take down that target."

Yuwain's focal point was their tactical objective for the day. The Black Mercenary Corps no longer had any influence over the overall battle. Their only option was to unite and dominate a single battlefield.

"The rendezvous point is as discussed. If you survive, we'll meet there," Volf said.

Capturing this point could still turn the tide of the overall battle. This was their aim: a last-ditch comeback. It wasn’t just the Nederkus forces who were overcommitted; Arcadia was also taking risks in their attack, leaving openings to exploit.

"Alright, let’s do this!"

The Black Mercenary Corps sprang into action.

༺༻

Gregor and Anselm pressed forward in the center. Gregor, possessing unmatched destructive power among the young soldiers, and Anselm, one of the most skilled in all of Arcadia, amplified the army's might exponentially when they fought together.

Anatole, sent out to restrain them, found that while he could dominate individually, he struggled against the combined forces. Despite his best efforts, the Arcadian army, with its blend of skill and momentum, pushed him back. Though he managed to stabilize the situation for a time, it wasn’t a fundamental solution.

"Keep Anatole at bay! Use arrows to keep him away!" Anselm's orders rang out. A cautious yet effective long-range strategy to neutralize the hero. No matter how skilled the "Weeping Spear" was, he couldn't wield his weapon if he couldn't get close. Unable to close the distance, Anatole was slowly worn down.

"Push through! The enemy headquarters is right ahead!" Gregor's roar raised the morale of his troops. All the aggression they had held back was unleashed at once, and they continued their onslaught until they had completely devastated the enemy.

"Damn it. Is this the end?" Anatole resigned himself to defeat. He had confidence that he could manage if he could just get close to the enemy. But Anselm wouldn’t allow any openings.

"I apologize, Rainberka," he muttered. With nothing left but a desperate charge to take down the enemy general, he knew the chances of getting close were slim. His loyalty to his country and master drove him forward.

"In any case, I must take responsibility for this defeat. That is my duty as a soldier of Nederkus. Let's go!" With a life-or-death charge, Anatole advanced, fully aware he might be dead within seconds. Death didn’t scare him; he had seen, caused, and piled up countless deaths. Now it was his turn, that was all there was to it.

"So he comes. What a shame, if only he had been a bit quicker," Anselm muttered, observing Anatole. His focus wasn't on Anatole anymore. The real threat in this battlefield was...

"They came, after all. The Black Mercenary Corps!"

Gregor's shout coincided with the explosion on the Arcadian army's flank. The elite forces arrived with the speed and ferocity of wolves.

"Excuse us," Volf, the leader of the "Black Wolves," said as he and his mercenaries bared their fangs. With the Arcadian army overextended, their flanks were wide open. The mercenaries tore through them like soft flesh.

Following the breach Volf created, "Pardon me," said Yuwain, expanding the opening. His shining platinum presence rivaled Volf's, despite being the deputy leader. His regal presence dominated the battlefield, forcing the ordinary soldiers to cower.

"Make way! Nika-sama is coming through!"

Though not fully healed, Nika had returned to the battlefield, driven solely by the desire to reclaim victory. Winning and surviving was the only proof of her existence.

"Leave the secondary fighters to us. Win the battle," Volf instructed.

"Who do you think you're talking to? You better not lose, dumbass," Nika retorted.

"Ha, as if I would lose, idiot."

Volf and Nika exchanged a brief glance. While Nika had absolute faith in Volf's strength, Volf didn’t hold Nika's abilities in the same regard. However, he trusted her in a different way, knowing she would always follow him. This trust allowed him to charge forward with full confidence.

"Alright, let's break through with everything we’ve got!"

Leaving the center to Nika, Volf knew that with Anatole, it wouldn’t be easily breached. If they could crush the critical point during this time, victory for Nederkus was within reach. Even if the mountain area became a lost cause...

"So the target is... the key point between the plains and the mountains, to win the overall battle by dominating the plains!"

Dominating the plains would be sufficient for victory. It was crucial to remember that the mountain campaign was a strategy to gain an advantage in the plains battle. Winning the plains meant flipping the entire situation.

"This has all gone according to plan!"

Both Volf and William had foreseen this situation from the start. Every step played out as anticipated. Even the recent adjustments by Volf were part of the grand strategy. Everything had gone as planned.

"Farewell, lowly scum," Volf and his mercenaries utterly devastated the Arcadian army's flank. The sheer strength of the united wolves struck fear into every Arcadian soldier who witnessed it.

The central army was completely breached and divided by the Black Mercenary Corps. In the center of the chaos...

"And so... greetings, Arcadia."

"Hmph, what a reliable reinforcement," Anatole said, readying his dual swords from the start. The already chaotic Arcadian flank became even more disordered. Anatole seized the opportunity to engage, his spear piercing through the enemy with the cries of the dead.

"A woman and the Weeping Spear... what a troublesome duo."

"At least hold your ground. Give it your all."

"I know!"

The advantage had vanished, leaving a chaotic melee where no side held a clear upper hand. Even those fighting on the frontlines couldn’t predict how the center would unfold.

༺༻

Volf and his men targeted a crucial point connecting the plains to the mountains. Initially guarded by Gilbert and later by Anselm, this position allowed oversight of the plains and the ability to send reinforcements from the mountains. Taking this point would dramatically shift the main battlefield on the plains, which remained in a tense stalemate.

Unbeknownst to Volf and his team, this location had effectively become the new headquarters for the Arcadian forces in the mountain campaign. While the official commander remained elsewhere, functionally, this was the heart of their operations and a top priority for both sides.

"Impressive setup," Yuwain remarked, admiring the fortifications likely arranged by Anselm. The terrain favored the defenders, with a steep descent followed by a gradual ascent, giving the Arcadian archers a significant advantage. The fortifications were meticulous, making it a formidable stronghold.

"Ah, just as I thought," Yuwain continued, recognizing William's influence. Despite never facing William directly, he could sense the strategic brilliance woven into the defenses. Strong, adaptable, and meticulously constructed, the fortifications bore William's unmistakable mark.

"Do you think you can take this place alone if William isn't here?" Volf asked, testing Yuwain.

"Would it be acceptable for me to capture it?" Yuwain responded with a smile.

"Today, you can take the spotlight. Go ahead, 'Lion Herald.' I'll—"

Volf believed William wasn't present. The setup was too obvious, reeking of a trap. A fellow strategist like William wouldn't place himself in such an exposed position.

"I'll go take care of business elsewhere," Volf concluded, leading a detachment of ten away from the main force.

"Such a shame. I wanted to clash with the 'White Mask,'" Yuwain sighed, drawing his sword. The well-defended position promised a tough assault, likely costing many lives. Yet,

"Well, that's fine," Yuwain continued, feeling the thrill of a challenging fight. Since joining Volf, he had experienced many battles, but none had truly satisfied his hunger. Volf, as the only leader he acknowledged, often claimed the best opportunities for himself.

"Let's begin, then," Yuwain said with a wide smile, a sign to his loyal followers that he was truly serious. The lion was ready to pounce on the fortified position.

"Follow me," he commanded, leading the charge with his platinum blade gleaming.

༺༻

Volf was grinning, exhilarated by the battlefield. There hadn't been a more enjoyable or challenging battle, nor one where he trusted his opponents so deeply. Previously, he faced only fools, making victory certain even without assurance.

Now, however, the pieces fit perfectly. It felt like destiny.

"The gods must have put us in the same era for a reason," Volf mused, seeing numerous paths before him.

If he threw all his forces at the key point, they could reach it, but that wasn’t the objective. William, aiming to be the national hero, would prefer the stronghold to fall, increasing his standing. But Volf knew this obvious route wasn't the one he’d take.

"No point in going for the stronghold if it means losing the main camp. Even a fool knows that. This scenario doesn't need consideration," Volf thought. A lone piece capturing a key point without support would quickly fall.

"So, we need to consider another scenario. Splitting forces between the center and the stronghold allows for several possible paths," Volf reasoned. This was his actual strategy, believing his opponent thought similarly. Thus, he altered his plan at the last moment.

"Several shining paths, but I know you'll be there. After all—"

Volf quickened his pace, his men struggling to keep up. His speed wasn’t just physical; it was his strategic mind, choosing the optimal routes without hesitation, that drove his advance.

"After all, that place is—"

As his view opened up, Volf smiled widely.

It was inevitable, after all, that the gears of fate would always align perfectly.

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