Chapter 181 - Demons and Mortals (Patreon)

 Though the weather was still as cold as it was clear, Alca couldn't feel a thing. When he had learned about the approaching enemy, he had been afraid of his first combat, but now he felt only numbness. His original idea of battle had been a siege. All he would have to do was to fire at the mighty enemy warriors from behind the safety of a wall. Even then, he had been sufficiently scared. Yet their commander had insisted that they meet the enemy on the field in an open confrontation. What nonsense was this?

While his fellow lieutenants and their subordinates looked as miserable as Alca did, they still followed their orders without question. Obedience and order had been the core of their training regimen after all. Even the loudmouth Killari kept quiet and took position to his friend's left. Although Alca didn't look, it was easy to tell from the crunch of snow under Killari's boots and the clang of his halberd against his cheap metal armor. While the soldiers held their weapons tight, their mindless commander ignored the worries of his men and positioned himself before them.

“Fellow men of the south! Soon, we'll see our enemies before us, and they'll kneel when they see our great power! But don't worry, as a man of grit I will make sure we'll take every one of them them to the underworld! Soon, we'll all taste the glory of great heroes, and become immortals in the stories!” The ensign paused as he looked at the unimpressed faces of his men, before he continued in a more somber voice.   

“I understand your worries. Maybe you ask why we aren't hiding up there behind the walls. And you are right: Our victory would be even simpler from behind a fortification. But I want to ask: What hero has ever shirked away from a challenge? What hero would just duck down and cower in fear? In the end, the safety of the walls mean nothing. We'll still manage a perfect victory, believe me! Let's all become great heroes together!”

Now Alca understood his commander at last. The ensign wasn't a rare craftsman with backbone and honor. No, the swellhead just had his head filled with bedtime stories and lacked any sense at all. Maybe his parents had sent him to the army to get rid of his nonsense. While Alca did his best to hide the spreading scowl on his face, his commander had no such reservations.

“What, you're still afraid? We even built a barricade! Watch those dull northerners break upon my strategic genius!” As he spoke, he pointed behind him, at the rickety collection of loose wood.

Really, Alca couldn't imagine what sort of effect the few heaped tables and chairs taken from the village would have. Warriors were elites with super-human strength. In battle, they would wear armor more heavy than an ordinary man could even lift. Any warrior worth his salt would just charge right through those measly 'barricades', wouldn't he? Although he had wanted to criticism his commander before, Alca wouldn't dare disagree with a superior. Instead, he just held his gun ever tighter, his best protection from the fear.

Either way, now it was too late. On the horizon, he could already see the approaching enemies. Fancy, expensive armor of shiny black and red lacquer covered their entire bodies, while their faces where hidden behind stony masks, depictions of the powerful divines of their respective houses. Even over all the white around them, the evil glint of their axes shone in the midday sun, as beautiful and dangerous as the sea. Although Alca wasn't the greatest at counting, he guessed there were at least fifty, more than half of what they had. Two commoners against one warrior, wasn't this bad?

“There he is, the enemy! Load the muskets! The halberdiers get into position behind the barricades and go down until I give the signal! Let's show them our full force, the true strength of the south!”

Even now, the overzealous commoner's voice sounded full of spirit. Without a word of reply, his terrified troops loaded the paper cartridges into their guns. As his trembling fingers brought the weapon to his mouth to break the seal of the cartridge, a flustered Alca could only imagine how his fellow soldiers felt. If they hadn't repeated the motion countless times in training, the lieutenant wasn't sure he would have remembered all the steps. While the southern troops still fumbled with their preparations, their foes were much more driven. A battle cry shook Alca's bones and almost made him lose the ramrod in his hand. Attracted by the noise, he looked up for a second and he saw the avalanche of steel and flesh already on its way.

Like demons, these heroic warriors shouted out their thirst for blood as each step brought them closer to the enemy. Terrified, Alca looked back down to continue, but realized that he had taken out the ramrod far too soon.

You've done this in training. You know this. Fill the gunpowder into the breech. Cartridge down the muzzle. Ramrod after. Put the ramrod back under the barrel. Cock the hammer.

His weapon loaded at last, Alca the soldier looked back up and was shocked. Just a moment ago, the warriors had been far in the horizon. How had they gotten this close already, and in ankle-deep snow to boot? Again, Alca's calm was replaced by a fresh onset of panic.

“Aim!” their ensign shouted. Like a machine Alca's body followed the orders, his mind paralyzed from fear. Only a few moments and they would be in firing range.

“Hold until my command!” he heard. Alca swallowed heavily in response. What sort of force drove these warriors into this kind of charge? Weren't they afraid of death? In his head, Alca imagined the rest of the battle, how their bullets would bounce off the expensive armors like scrap, before the demons would break into their formation and slaughter all of them.   

How had he ever thought they could fight against this kind of force? These men before them were born for battle, and had given their whole lives in pursuit of honor. Why would the divines favor him, a mere commoner child who lacked piety and never even thought about glory before he joined the army? Out in the cold wind, the bit of courage he had amassed earlier in the hut had already disappeared.   

Still, Alca put the musket up to his shoulder and waited for his ensign's command. Even so, his weapon swayed here and there. Cold sweat formed all over his body and his finger on the trigger began to itch.   

Not yet, he thought with a clarity that surprised himself!A bit closer.

But then, a shot broke through the shouts of demons. When Alca looked at his weapon in shock, he realized that it hadn't been him. Somewhere to his left, another soldier had lost his calm first. The shot landed a few meters in front of the enemy warriors and caused only a small plume of snow to form at their feet. Unperturbed, the seasoned warriors stormed on. Yet the commoners had already panicked before the shot even landed. Like a chain reaction, all others fired their weapons as well. Somehow, in the confusion, even Alca had pressed his trigger.

Even in all the confusion, the foes never left his sight. Through the smoke, he saw one of them get swept of his feet by a hit and land back-first in the snow. When they saw their comrade fall, the warriors slowed for a moment, but soon they charged ahead with even more ferocity.

“Only fire on my command! Reload, reload!” their almost useless commander shrieked over the powerful chorus of enemy shouts. At least the words brought some of the soldiers back to their senses. 'On my command' were words they had heard countless times in training, and reminded them of their duty. If they couldn't even follow basic commands, they would all die here. Now back to their full tremble, Alca's fingers somehow tried to fumble the second cartridge from the pouch on his belt into his gun.

Calm down. One of them fell. They're mortal too.

With a second to think and breathe, Alca felt like he had hit on some fundamental truth. Once more calm, he finally managed to reload without a problem. When he looked back up, the enemy was already more than halfway across their firing distance. How were they this fast in all that armor? With worry he peered to the side, where he saw Killari squat behind the barricade with his halberd in hand. One salvo wouldn't be enough to break the charge. Could they really stop it?

“Fire!” Now even the ensign's voice trembled. Yet just in time, their fire showed real results. Accompanied by the concentrated thunder of their flintlocks, an entire row of seasoned warriors stopped mid-step as if they had run into an invisible wall. Without a chance to catch themselves, their still bodies dropped into the snow. As the men behind stumbled over their dead or injured colleagues, their charge lost half its force. Still, the seasoned fighters would close the distance long before the next salvo. Their fallen companions had only made them more angry. There were still far too many demons left, and Alca knew his fate if the cultivators ever broke through.

“Reload, reload! Halberds brace for impact!”

Again he moved to the anxious voice, this time like the wind. Somehow, he had gotten calmer the closer the demons had reached. He had seen them fall, and he could see their flitting eyes hidden behind their masks. They were no demons, but mere mortal men. Why would the divines favor one mortal over another? As he was still busy with the ramrod, he could hear a heavy thud and clang from his front, followed by anxious groans and shouts.

First finish your work.

Pull out the ramrod. Put the ramrod back under the barrel. Cock the hammer.

When he looked back up, the enemy was already upon them. Yet like a miracle, they were stuck on the laughable barriers their crazy ensign had erected. With several dozen halberds stuck out from behind the wooden barricade and heavy men braced behind them in the snow, the tables didn't look that ridiculous any more. They wouldn't last for long. Already Killari's feet drew deep lines into the snow.   

Alca stuck his flintlock through the gap in between two halberdiers. A single shot wouldn't make a difference, so he waited for his command. He hoped his fellow muskets would speed up their movements, before the warriors could break through the formation of soldiers.

Their halberds couldn't break the heavy armor, and so the enemy force pushed back their line step by step. Only a few meters and they could destroy the barricade, their front line and then their entire force. Even with the snow, even with the tables and the formation, a few cultivators could still overpower them. But they weren't without their own advantages.   

“Fire!” the voice sounded again to relieve Alca. His muzzle trained on the foremost warrior, Alca pressed the trigger. This time smoke from the powder took his sight for a second, but at such close range, he could hear the screams of pain, as well as the heavy thuds of bodies against the snow. Their salvo had really hurt the mortal warriors, and soon he could feel their halberds step back up into a clean line. When the smoke lifted again, his enemies were already on the run, back towards the horizon they had come from.

“Reload! Fire freely! Don't let any get away!” Now strength had returned to their commander's voice, together with a frantic eagerness that felt ugly to Alca. Still, at this point he didn't need any orders to know what to do. By the time he had reloaded, the enemy was once more halfway out of his range. A single shot was all he could offer them on their journey back, and it whistled past them as if it wanted to guide their way. None of his fellow musketmen managed another shot in time, though some fired anyways.

When Alca looked to the ground before the barricade, the saw the former demons writhe in the snow, now colored red from their wounds. Back in Saniya, armed conflict had been something bad, restricted to only the highest and lowest strata of society. Beyond the duels great lords and the gang wars in the dark alleys, Alca had always tried to avoid it. Yet now, he understood its allure. Never had he been so elated to see blood. Like a hero from the old tales, he stretched out his hand and presented his weapon to the heavens.

“Victory!”   

All his companions followed his shout. It was the first open-field conflict of the war, and it had ended in another complete victory for the south. Almost a third of King Pacha's small raiding force had been wiped out, with no losses on the side of the southern kingdom. Over he following days, similar battles would be repeated all across the eastern front.

It was the first bloody baptism for the newest batch of King Corco's commoner troops, and it would break the spell the invincible warriors had held over them. After they had survived their first charge, Corco's army of peons had turned into soldiers.