Steel and Mana

Chapter 256 – Bloodbath

At the break of dawn, the thick clouds above the army turned from pitch black to dark grey, signaling that it was probably morning, yet they kept the sun away from the snow-covered battlefield. The darkness that had cloaked Otto's army was reduced to that of a colorless shroud, somewhat revealing the full scale of the invading force that was ready to rush forward and destroy their target. The wooden walls of the border outpost looked even more fragile as if they had already given up. Their defenders were barely visible, shivering along the ramparts like nervous prey awaiting their stalking predator's deadly strike. They knew it was there; they saw it, looked into its blood-red eyes, and realized there was no escape. It was simply toying with their nerves, enjoying the feeling of power.

They weren't wrong... Otto was standing at the bow of the Lawbringer at the moment, his gaze fixed on the outpost below. The preparations were complete. His siege engines were ready, the soldiers were fed and rested, and there was a cold stillness in the air, the kind that only existed before the slaughter began. Even the snowfall stopped for a day as if the weather or the Gods above were curious about what would happen next.

"Send the signal." he commanded.

The warhorn of the floating ship blared again, its creepy, gloomy howl cutting through the frozen air while the ground beneath the soldiers seemed to tremble in anticipation. The massive siege weapons creaked and groaned below the Lawbringer as their ropes strained and their weights were readied, a moment away from being released. The trebuchets, each large enough to obliterate a section of a city's walls, were like sentient warriors, groaning in anticipation to release death on their enemies. At the same time, the smaller ballistae were positioned to tear through any defenders who dared show their faces on the parapets, shooting out arrows the size of lances.

As the signal echoed through the army, the soldiers stirred, beginning to move like a disturbed ant farm. The foot soldiers fanned out, forming tight formations, and the cavalry adjusted their stirrups, tightening the reins of their restless horses. The mercenaries, hungrier for blood and gold than any of the conscripts, grinned as they pulled their weapons free, relishing the coming violence.

Otto's orders were simple: No survivors, no mercy. It was rare that they were let loose without any rules to worry about.

Inside the outpost, the defenders had already been awake for hours, anxiously watching the horizon, waiting for the inevitable. The few officers who were in charge shouted their last-minute orders, trying to organize their men, but their voices were tinged with anguish and dismay. Most of the soldiers present were not seasoned veterans; most were green recruits, trained for a few years, and it showed. They were terrified. Only those managed to remain steadfast who were from the batch that participated in the fight against the beast within the Pass... The others? They had already given up. They clutched their spears with white-knuckled grips, shivering not just from the cold but from the knowledge that death was coming for them.

A scout stumbled down from one of the towers after hearing the warhorn of the Lawbringer. His face was pale, his gaze teetering on the edge of madness as he spoke. "They're moving!" he shouted, his voice breaking. "They're coming!"

The outpost erupted into chaos at once. Archers scrambled to the walls, poking their heads over it while fumbling with their bows. In the meanwhile, spearmen rushed to brace the flimsy gates, hoping for a miracle. Some of the defenders looked to the sky, muttering quick prayers, but their eyes betrayed the truth—they knew no gods would save them now.

Then, the first trebuchet fired.

A massive stone projectile, the size of a small boulder, soared through the air with a deep, resonant 'whoosh,' whistling like a sick specter of death. It hurtled toward the outpost with terrifying speed, crashing into the wooden walls with a deafening explosion. Wood splintered and cracked under the force of the impact, sending deadly shards flying in all directions. A group of defenders standing too close to the wall were instantly pulverized, their bodies torn apart by the sheer force of the impact. Their crimson blood sprayed across the snow, a stark red stain against the pure white cover under their mangled corpses.

Before the others close to the impact had time to recover, more projectiles followed suit. Stones rained down on the outpost, each of their impact being a crushing blow where they landed. The walls that had once provided a false sense of security were now crumbling down, and the defenders were thrown into disarray. Men were screaming, some pinned under fallen debris, their legs pulverized, bleeding out, others lying in the snow, their limbs twisted and broken or missing half of their bodies.

The archers tried to fire back, but their arrows fell pitifully short. They were either hitting the ground or clattering against the shields of the soldiers of the invading force. Some, who managed to reign in their fear, wanting to at least bring a few of the bastards down with them, managed to land hits, felling a dozen or more invaders... Yet, in the grand scheme of things, it was like throwing pebbles at a stone wall, chipping off the paint a little.

"Hold the line!" one of the officers shouted, though his voice was drowned out by the roar of the siege weapons. "Hold—"

He didn't finish his sentence. A ballista bolt, as thick as a man's arm, skewered him mid-shout, pinning his body to the watchtower behind him. His lifeless form hung there like a grotesque decoration, blood pouring from the gaping wound in his chest, his eyes still open, his mouth hanging wide with the last part of his shout stuck in his throat forever.

As the walls buckled, Otto immediately gave his next order while the last of his siege engines flung their payload at the outpost.

"Advance."

The infantry surged forward, breaking out in a sprint, a black tide of armored bodies running in a chaotic yet seemingly strange unison. The mercenaries took the lead, eager to claim their reward in blood, while the conscripts followed reluctantly, their faces pale but committed. The cavalry, as instructed, were circling around the outpost, ordered to cut down anyone trying to escape and bring back their bodies. Above them all, the Lawbringer floated ominously, its magic remaining still, as Otto chose to conserve his power for when it truly mattered. These pitiful people were not worthy of being killed by his magic.

The defenders of the outpost, now fully aware of their impending doom, scrambled to brace for the onslaught. They lined up behind what remained of the gate, spears at the ready, their eyes wide with terror. The sight of the advancing army—thousands of men moving like a single entity—was enough to shake even the bravest among them.

The first wave hit them like a battering ram.

Wild-eyed and grinning mercenaries smashed into the defenders with brutal force. The wooden gates gave way under the weight of the charge, and the defenders were immediately overwhelmed. Spears jabbed forward, but the mercenaries shrugged off the blows, their mismatched armor absorbing the impact. Or they were simply tossing conscripts before them, sacrificing their lives as living shields. They swung their axes and swords with savage abandon, hacking through the defenders as if they were wheat to be harvested.

Wooden spears cracked and splintered, leather armor and human skin split open while blood sprayed in all directions, its hot liquid almost looking like it was sizzling when it landed on the snow, releasing pinkish smoke into the air. Many of their limbs were severed, heads split open, and their bodies crumpled to the ground like ragdolls. They were trying to fight back, but their resistance was pitiful at best. Seeing the inevitable, many of them dropped their weapons and tried to flee, leaving behind those who once were trained, along with Avalon's best, to fight monsters with the most potent force they have ever stood beside. Yet, their only reward now was to be cut down by the relentless mercenaries.

One young defender, barely out of his teens, found himself face-to-face with a grizzled mercenary twice his size. The boy raised his spear, trembling, but the gruffed warrior simply swatted it aside with a brutal backhand. The next moment, his axe came down, burying itself deep in the boy's face from the front with a sickening crunch. His body collapsed at once, lifeless, blood pooling in the snow beneath him. At least he didn't suffer for long...

By then, the outpost had descended into pure chaos.

Men, injured warriors, or just those who stumbled and fell were trampled underfoot as the invaders poured through the broken gates and walls. Some of the last defending warriors tried to make a stand, forming small pockets of resistance, but they were quickly surrounded and butchered. The wooden walls were now shattered and provided no cover for anyone. The siege weapons had done their job, and now it was left to the invaders to mop up the survivors.

Otto watched from the bow of his ship, his expression cold and emotionless. Below him, his army was doing exactly what he had ordered them to do—there would be no survivors. He had no interest in prisoners or slaves. This was a message, a warning to anyone who dared oppose the Ishillian Emperor. His Emperor. The outpost was insignificant, but it was the first step on the road to Lothlia, and he intended to make it clear that resistance was futile.

"Collect the enemy bodies, cut their heads off, and put them on pikes. Burn the rest." He ordered, his voice echoing from the Lawbringer all across the battlefield.

It was a short battle, barely lasting half an hour. When the last of the defenders were cut down, the sound of fighting was replaced with the sickening echo of heads being removed from their shoulders and the sloshing of blood. The snow, once pristine and white, was now entirely red around the outpost, melting under the heat of human blood. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, broken and twisted, their lifeless eyes staring up at the sky before their heads were separated and raised by their hair to be put on a sick display of power. A warning for anyone who came to check out the border crossing.

The mercenaries, their bloodlust sated for the moment, began looting the corpses, stripping the dead of their valuables, pocketing everything they found, as per their contracts allowed. The conscripts, many of them sickened by the carnage, stood to the side, their faces pale and hollow. Some vomited into the snow, unable to stomach the brutality of what they had just witnessed, especially against people who were also Ishillians. Watching these foreign warriors desecrating their own people just because they were paid... left a sour taste in their mouths and planted thoughts in their heads. Ideas that were no longer so grand and honorable as they thought...

Otto, his job done, turned away from the outpost, wearing a satisfied smile, quietly humming. There was no need to watch any longer.

"Make it quick!" he ordered, his voice jubilant. "We march for Lothlia."