Chapter 51: Victory is Ours [Free]

The forest was silent.

Dragunov motioned for his riders, eyeing them to take the separate paths. The forest, even though glistened in sunlight, had gargantuan trees that covered enough paths to cast a shadow. He sauntered together with half of the troops, slowly.

He knew this place. It was his home for years. That he knew was his advantage.

The Aleshkovskyan army did not know a tunnel lied just inside the camp that led to the outside. Dragunov had planned it years before in case someone tries to attack, and he was right all along.

"Follow me," he said that was almost a whisper. 

He walked his horse towards the area where they could see the Aleshkovskyan army wearing silver-plated armor, their backs on them. They were scattered all over the forest. Inch by inch, they moved closer, cornering the camp as the Astrenmirian soldiers guarded the passage.

They thought the Astrenmirs were the ones being trapped into their base but they were wrong. If there was a thing called a back stab. This would literally be it.

One nod at the riders and they already knew what to do. Together, they went from a walk to a trot, wheeling wide around the exposed circle, hooves pounding and soldiers roaring.

The Aleshkovksyan army turned to their heels and screamed when Dragunov and his men clashed into their bodies. He cut the soldiers he saw in every direction, straight into their necks. Steel clanged as the rebels tried to defend themselves and consecutively dug their swords beneath the enemy's armors.

On the other side of the battle ground, some of the Astrenmirian riders failed to react to their intrusion on time as a horde of Royal Guards greeted them, placing precise cuts into their unarmored bodies. A number of men lost their grip from their horses. The guards took this opportunity and sliced their beaten bodies, blood splattering upon the ground. 

The ground was sodden and rough, equal parts of rocks, mud and blood. Dragunov's stallion stumbled over a corpse, his hooves sliding and churning the earth, and for an instant he feared his charge would end with him tumbling from the saddle before he even reached the foe, but somehow he and his horse both managed to keep their balance.

A Royal Guard tried to throw a spear in his direction, but he promptly galloped to the opposite way. Before the guard could turn around, Dragunov sent a clean slice towards the gap in his back knee. The guard fell to his feet, holding the bleeding wound. He apologized and asked for mercy as if it could ease the Astrenmirian commander's hatred towards them, but he was a falcon and he wasn't supposed to be merciful. Without thinking twice, he held on his reins and reached out for the guard's neck, slashing it in two.

Ahead, the first line of soldiers exited the camp and followed where the chaos is. Fighting. Chasing. Stabbing. Dragunov's sight blurred as he raced towards where more Royal Guards were stationed. He sent streaming damages towards the troops. Others ran before he could reach them.

But they were not the only one in a stallion. Just in front of the entrance, Aleshkovksyan riders rushed towards the first line of men in the outside gate, slicing their bodies in half, spilling organs on the floor. More come to join their fallen comrades.

The archers behind the fences loosened their arrows. Horses and Aleshkovskyan guards stumbled on the floor. The Astrenmirian army used this to their advantage and charged before they could get up to their feet.

Dragunov ducked and raised his shield as an arrow tried to go straight for his head. He looked on top of the trees. No one. Dragunov could barely see them in their camouflaged attires.

"The archers are just around the corner. Be careful," he yelled, the veins bulging out in his neck. The sound of pounding hooves and war cries were so loud that he could barely hear his heart thumping from the worry and tension.

He scanned the terrain. The Aleshkovskyan archers shot blow after blow as the castle's soldiers advanced towards both directions. There were so many that the air was constantly full of arrows. He had to raise his shield every once in a while and trot his horse to dodge each one of them.

Gadoury, leading half of the riders, emerged from the tunnel, their weapons raised. The soldiers riding alongside him were goliaths in comparison to the middle-aged man but he was as menacing and formidable. 

"Dragunov, behind you!"

A spear thudded Dragunov's shield but he pushed it away before it could get close. Gadoury galloped beside him and they started slashing anyone who tried to get in their way. The commander whirled over his back and saw someone stumble as the enemy focused on wounding their horses. 

He went back, grabbing the arm of the soldier before they could reach to him. The man climbed onto Dragunov's horse, helping him take down whoever tried to mutilate his charger. The Aleshkovskayn army wasn't dumb, he thought. Since they couldn't defeat them, they started killing their horses. This only made Dragunov grumble in anger.

"Pierre, grab that horse, I'll cover for you," he ordered to the soldier behind him.

Pierre didn't hesitate and immediately jumped on the ground. Other troops tried to go for him but Dragunov was cantering close behind, making the path clear for the soldier who tried to reach for the vacant stallion. 

"Thank you, sir!" the soldier acknowledged.

Dragunov replied with a nod and he was back in the game.

He kicked forward. Ahead of him was a royal guard taking down a soldier in a foot-on-foot battle. He smashed the man in the face with all the weight of his shield and charging horse, taking off half of his head. He shrugged at the sight of blood drenching his shield but rode on.

Mr. Gadoury flashed past him, the man wearing death in brown armor. His sword sheared off limbs, cracked heads, broke shields asunder though few enough of the enemy ran towards safety before he could rush towards them.

Taking a hit to his left forearm and another to his right thigh, Dragunov roared in pain and rage. He galloped through the open and drifted past the guards as he took the arrow from his thigh, his eyes shut close and immediately went for the other. 

Drips of blood flowed from the wound, soaking his armor. The pain was difficult to ignore but he fought it, nonetheless. He curved back to the battlefield and others began to retreat from the animal they have awakened in him, realizing the fatal mistake of not putting him down when they had the chance.

Some of the Aleshkovskyan archers fell one by one to the soiled ground. The assassins climbed onto the trunk, jumping from branch to branch as they ran a dagger into their flesh. 

Just in time.

Dragunov raised his head in satisfaction as he realized the assassins have never failed to do the things they knew best. Jai saluted as Dragunov rode past the tree she climbed in and he responded with a brief nod.

He focused his eyes on another foot soldier from a distance and cantered towards his direction, the sword already on his side. He was about to charge when an Aleshkovskyan rider collided into him. Dragunov crashed to the floor, dropping his weapon. He laid on the ground, his face closed in a grimace, skin pale and clammy. His thighs started to feel sore. He held on it for a moment, forcing the blood out as he groaned through the pain.

But he couldn't surrender just yet.

He pushed his body to stand, his feet unsteady as he straightened his posture. Limping and growling, he grabbed on the nearest sword and continued to cut them down like a farmer in harvest season, each strike felling and dismembering, hungrily gnawing into their soft tissues and shattering bone. Boots made the familiar sick slapping as he treaded through a mixture of blood and mud.

Dragunov didn't think any longer. He unleashed the beast in him and killed whoever was covered in steel. Not watching their faces, he slashed everyone who came near. One foot over the other. He couldn't run but he could still walk, and it was more than enough to kill anyone in their wake.

He thought of Adrik. If they would lose now, the Aleshkovksys would have claim over anyone in the kingdom including his brother. Stripped of their freedom and treated as slaves, the effort they've put into the cause for years would be put to waste. He couldn't let that happen.

He roared, fury glinting in his eyes. He couldn't let them win.

Not now. Not ever.

'Victory will be ours.'

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Written and edited by ephemery.

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Allyria will hunt you down to the ends of Arde Terra and cast you out together with the Undying in the Islands of the Cursed. You've been warned.

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