Blades in the chaos

Robert found himself left behind. Thronton and the Northmen were already long gone, and the altercation with the random tribesman had left Robert at a disadvantage. As he searched the village for any sign of them, he encountered a few stragglers trying to cause chaos. Robert felt no remorse as he cut down any tribesman in his path. The hatred in his heart ran deep. After each kill, a loud "ding" echoed in his mind, as though he were completing some unknown tasks. The quest given to him by the Goblin God flickered in his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Thabis sat beside Elia, who had been chatting with him for a while now. Maybe this was his chance to ask her on a date. There wasn't much to do around the village, but he could figure that out later. Thabis inched closer to her, heart pounding. He'd never really talked to girls before, but the soldiers around the village had told him that getting closer and making good eye contact was key to winning a girl's heart.

"What are you doing tomorrow around noon?" Thabis asked shyly.

Elia giggled. "Not much. Ever since I moved here, there hasn't been a lot of work to do. Why?"

Thabis felt his heartstrings pull. "I just wanted to—"

Suddenly, a heart-wrenching scream echoed through the village. They both jumped from the bed and peeked out the window. Flames roared in the distance, and houses were burning. Villagers ran frantically, chased by crazed tribesmen. 

Thabis grabbed his bow, eyes wide. "Stay here. It's not safe—"

"No!" Elia cut him off, panic in her voice. "My family! We can't leave them behind!"

Thabis froze for a second, torn between helping the villagers or prioritizing Elia's family. "Where are they?" he asked, urgency rising in his voice.

"They went to the storage halls to get supplies," she replied, her voice trembling. "But that's where the fire is... Are they hurt?"

He took her chin gently, forcing her to look into his eyes. "I'll rescue your family. I need you to go to the village hall. It's the safest place. Can you do that for me?"

Tears welled up in Elia's eyes, but she nodded. She planted a quick kiss on his cheek before rushing out. As soon as she left, Thabis bolted toward the commotion, his bow clutched tightly in his hand. He fired arrows at any tribesmen he saw, each one dropping as soon as they were struck. In the distance, he spotted a group of village men holding their ground with farm tools, fighting off more attackers. 

Thabis rushed over, firing his last arrows before unsheathing his sword. He slashed at the nearest tribesman, the blade cutting through with little resistance. Each kill was like the one before, swift and brutal. The more tribesmen fell, the more momentum the villagers gained. With superior numbers, they managed to push the attackers back. 

Breathing heavily, Thabis sheathed his sword. "Get to the village hall. It's the safest place. Take anyone you find with you."

The storage halls weren't far, but as Thabis approached, the sounds of steel clashing and men screaming filled the air. He rushed forward. He had made a promise—one he intended to keep.

---

Sabas wiped sweat from his brow, the heat of battle pressing down on him like a weight. All around, the screams of men and the clash of steel filled the air. The battlefield had become a swirling chaos of blood and bodies, the stench of death thickening with each passing second.

Without Thronton running rampant in their lines, the enemy tribesmen pushed harder, emboldened by their numbers. Sabas' men struggled to hold their ground. His commands—desperate, urgent—were drowned out by the roar of combat. A tribesman rushed him, spear raised, but Sabas sidestepped at the last moment, plunging his sword deep into the man's side. The warm spray of blood splattered across his face, but he had no time to react. Another enemy was already charging at him.

"We're losing ground," Sabas muttered, his eyes scanning the battlefield. The formations were breaking. Everywhere he looked, his men were being forced back, barely able to hold their lines. He watched as one of his soldiers was overwhelmed, gutted by a crude axe before the man had a chance to scream.

Gritting his teeth, Sabas shoved the next tribesman aside, cutting him down with a brutal swing of his sword. He needed a plan fast. Every second they lost men, every step backward they took, the enemy grew bolder. If they didn't act soon, the entire defense would collapse.

Sabas raised his hand, signaling to a soldier at the rear he was their drummer with how sudden the nature of this attack was he ran out with his drum. A steady, ominous beat began to echo across the battlefield, unnerving the tribesmen. Even his own men hesitated for a moment, unsure of what was coming. But Sabas had prepared for this. His eyes locked onto the flanks where Richard's heavy infantry and Akino's elite ronin waited in the shadows, hidden behind the chaos.

The tribesmen surged forward, their war cries echoing like thunder, but the beat of the drum continued, relentless, unyielding. Then, without warning, the battlefield exploded into motion.

Richard led the charge, his massive shield crashing into the enemy line like a battering ram. The tribesmen, unprepared for the sudden assault, stumbled back, their crude weapons bouncing harmlessly off Richard's armor. He plowed through them like a juggernaut, his sword cutting down any who dared to stand in his way. The ground trembled beneath his feet, every step of his heavy infantry sending shockwaves through the battlefield.

The tribesmen, once so confident, were now scrambling, their attacks futile against the wall of steel that bore down on them. Richard's men advanced in perfect unison, shields locked, swords flashing in the dim light.

"For Ocerious!" Richard bellowed, his voice a deep roar that echoed across the field. His men responded with a thunderous war cry, their determination renewed as they pressed forward, crushing the enemy beneath their boots.

But just as the tribesmen began to waver, thinking the worst was over, Akino's ronin emerged from the smoke like shadows, their movements fluid and deadly.

Akino's blade gleamed as it sliced through the air, his ronin moving with a grace that seemed unnatural on the battlefield. They weaved through the chaos, cutting down tribesmen with surgical precision. It was as if they were performing a deadly dance, their swords singing with every strike. Where Richard's men were a blunt force, Akino's ronin were the scalpel, carving through the enemy with swift, lethal efficiency.

Akino ducked beneath a wild swing from a tribesman, spinning on his heel and driving his blade through the man's chest. Blood sprayed across the ground, but Akino was already moving, his eyes scanning for the next target. His men moved like a pack of wolves, tearing through the enemy lines with terrifying speed.

One of the tribesmen, larger than the rest, charged at Akino with a mace raised high. Akino sidestepped at the last moment, his sword flashing out. The tribesman's momentum carried him forward, right into the waiting blade. Akino didn't even flinch as the man's body crumpled to the ground.

The battlefield had become a massacre. The enemy, once so sure of their victory, now found themselves surrounded, their numbers halved in mere moments. Panic set in, their war cries turning to screams of terror.

Sabas watched from his vantage point, the weight in his chest lifting as his plan unfolded perfectly. But he knew better than to celebrate yet. Victory was close, but they hadn't won. Not yet.

"Push harder!" he roared, raising his sword high. "Don't let them escape!"

The roar of his men shook the ground as they pressed forward with renewed vigor. The enemy, caught between Richard's impenetrable wall of steel and Akino's ghostly ronin, began to falter. Tribesmen stumbled, tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades, desperation in their eyes as they searched for a way out.

But there was none.

"Finish them!" Sabas bellowed. "Dance in their blood!"

The chant of "For Ocerious!" rang out once more, but this time, it was different. The soldiers were like devils now, their movements relentless, their strikes merciless. Blood splattered across the battlefield as they cut down the last of the tribesmen. Any who tried to flee were met with spear tips or the cold steel of a sword. There would be no escape.

The village erupted in cheers as the last of the enemy fell. Victory was theirs, but Sabas knew better. As he stood amidst the carnage, his sword dripping with blood, a cold realization crept over him.

This battle may be over, but the war was far from won. Somewhere, outside the battlefield, another enemy was waiting. And the confrontation that would ensue could determine the fate of the village.

.

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