Battle of Ber (2)

Col. Damien Renzellern January 1731 City of Ber, Province of Ciresia, Osterian Empire.

I feel the rush of air before me, the blistering heat and the thumping of a thousand footsteps erupted around me as my men marched to a battle that was heavily against their favor.

The plan was successful. Their morale now seemed unquenchable, though how long it will last remains to be seen. But the time it bought was at least enough for now.

With such a thought, a hundred guns erupted. No one knew who fired, but a thousand bullets whizzed past me and a hundred more strike against my shield.

The shouts and screams that followed has once more reminded me of my past. The smell of smoke and grass coalescing with blood.

Man's nature never changing, no matter the world, though this time I would not be a pawn in their games.

This time, this world will dance at my fingertips.

"FIRE!" I shout as another volley unleash themselves against the Osterian lines. My men take another step forward, each volley closer than the last.

We've been advancing at a rapid pace, General Klein following right after.

Though something wiggles at the back of my mind, their mages seemed as absent as ours. They unleashed no support fire on their first volley.

What could it mean? Are they still waiting for reinforcements or have they realized the unorthodox strategy High Command has come up with?

If so, I would need to go on the offensive. A fact that will leave me and my men vulnerable, but if they redirected all their supposed mages, I could at least take this chance to perform.

I take the spyglass up to my eyes to see the mages, hundreds of them, all arrayed in their white uniform, their expressions in concentration as the world's mana concentrates on their position.

What is it they are waiting for?

Hundreds of fireballs then answered such a thought. Each one was an incandescent light visible through the morning sky, each one a sun bearing down against us.

With enough power to dot the landscape into a fiery destruction. It would be a disaster of epic proportions, a death that would wipe out my men in a thought.

Something my battalion realizes as panic rips through my forces. The view alone would have been enough for them to break rank. But the heat was almost scalding.

Instead of panicking, my minds picks up pace.

This was the right moment, the moment I will earn their undying loyalty and gather the manpower necessary for me to proceed with my plans.

So with conviction I shout, my golden eyes illuminated, "All men! HOLD FIRM!"

My voice brought forth far and wide throughout my battalion, my magic bursting from my chest as I step forth, my mind now made up.

With such, the familiar pull of magic once more tugs at my chest, and a voice that leaves me yearning speaks in my mind.

"Sweetie, there are three factors in performing magic." She whispers, her familiar voice overarching. Drowning the surrounding shouts of panic and fear.

"First, is the magic flowing through our veins. The ones we are born with and the one you'll be training. The amount that can determine how big and how far your magic will reach."

With the voice in my mind, a jolt of pain immediately follows, the years of relentless training bearing its fruit as I absorb all the mana in my surroundings

A crushing pressure rips through me as magic rushes into my system, leaving me almost bursting as the mana flows, circulating within me as it beats like a heart.

The surrounding pressure increases at every second, my body's temperature increasing at every step, my breath quickens, my chest tightens.

The rush of power leaves me breathless as my body bears itself against the pressure and another whisper comes to my mind.

"Second is the vision of what you want to do. What laws of nature you wish to bend, what magic it is that you wish to perform, envision it in all its forms and all its details and spread your mana to declare you intent."

With such words, my mind turns, the magic bursting within me expelling with a single purpose, to rein in the primeval force of air, in all its chaotic and ever-present glory.

I rein the monumental task before me, all the chaotic winds, all the air pervading a kilometer from me. The sheer size of it, all shackled under my will as the air around my battalion bends under the weight of my magic.

"Last is the mind. The power of your will, your focus, what your mind can handle, the concentration of reining in, all of nature's forces, all to do your bidding."

With those words, I grip the saber at my side. My left hand shaking as the air around me stills at my command. Like a limb, I grip it like a fist, my mind bending under the pressure.

The surrounding sound reduced to buzzing as my vision blurs, my mind focused on a single task as it leaves everything behind to do one thing.

That is, to show the world, I am no longer a mere servant to their whims, to tell them they can no longer hurt me.

Because, this time, I will take fate by my hands and take my revenge.

With such, I give out a mighty slash; I unsheathe my saber with every fiber of my being. My bones creak, my muscles ache as the surrounding air follows my every movement as I slash upwards.

With it came a torrent of air bursting forth and once more asserting my intent as it rips through my battalion, blasting forth against the enemy bombardment.

The hundreds of fireballs resisted me, only to end up dispersing, exploding or redirected behind me, turning into a cacophony of light and sounds declaring me and my magic with fanfare.

"All men! FORWARD!"