Chapter 411: End of the First Assault

Watching the battle in the valley, Magnus could hardly see what was happening, but could tell that it was a slaughter. Behind him, a thousand set up camp along the large plain, trying to drown out the noise of battle as they slept.

"It is a cruel tactic, Cousin," Cassius said coldly, but didn’t oppose what Magnus wanted. The fort in the valley was just too annoying to assault without major sacrifice.

"Can you lead the assault in the morning?" Magnus asked, not paying attention to Cassius’ complaints. His plan was to assault at night and not give Octavius a moment’s rest. When the morning came, he would assault with the bulk of his force. Sure, hundreds would die in the attack at night, but it was the only way he could think.

"Yeah. But if you wish to keep them tired, we will need to sacrifice more." Magnus thought about it for a second and nodded.

"Send a second wave, one hundred men." Casiuss let out a deep breath and walked off. There wasn’t a single change in his expression as he ordered the death of another hundred men.

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Atop the wall, Ramiel swung his sword, drawing blood. He was extremely tired, obvious to anyone who heard his deep, laboured breaths and sluggish moves. He didn’t know how long he had been fighting and didn’t wish to know. His only focus was on surviving.

Taking a setup back, he left the fight for the wall and leaned on his sword as a soldier pushed past him to take his place. His calm eyes suddenly squinted, hearing the marching of more men deep within the valley.

"Oh, Sol." With a bitter tone, he called out to his God, trying to find the strength to continue the fight. Looking around, he saw his men desperately fighting with whatever they had. Many of their weapons were beginning to break, and any bodies had to be kicked off the wall to avoid tripping on them. On both sides, large piles of corpses piled up as the floor turned from a cold grey to a dark red. He had seen sights like it his entire life as a Templar, yet could never get over it.

The carnage, the smell, the agony and death. All of it disgusted him. He was a hypocrite. He knew it. He wielded his sword in the name of God, but part of him hoped that each time he did it brought the world closer to a day when no one had to fight anymore.

Taking a deep breath, he reached into a small pouch that somehow still clung to this side and pulled out a herb. Putting it between his teeth, he ground it down to a fine paste and swallowed. The effects showed in a few minutes as a wave of energy he previously didn’t have filled him. His heart raced, threatening to burst out of his chest, and his pupils expanded larger than his iris.

Taking a step forward, he spun his sword and pushed one of his tired soldiers to the side, taking his place. He didn’t need to give a speech to inspire his men, his return alone being enough for them. All who saw him return felt a second wind as their ferocity increased. It was short-lived as the reinforcing enemy troops quickly joined the battle, providing new energy.

Ramiel glanced back. In the distance, he saw his and Octavius’ camp. They had requested reinforcement, but none had yet to arrive. The attack at night was something no one expected, and many of the reserve forces had fallen asleep long ago.

A soldier blocked an attack aimed at Ramiuel in his momentary distraction and suffered the consequences. His ally’s blood coated his face, and Ramiel felt its warmth quickly vanish. His expression didn’t change, but his calm, mellow eyes grew increasingly dim as he felt sad for wasting the man’s life. He allowed himself to be distracted. Refusing to give in on the battle, he swung his sword and avenged his fallen comrade. In between swings, he spoke silent prayers, begging Sol to end the conflict, begging for strength, begging to save as many of his children as he could.

Maybe it was the drugs he had taken. Maybe it was a revelation from Sol. Ramiel didn’t know, but a strange warmth filled him as he blocked another strike coming towards him. A sword cut across his chest, deflected by his armour, as blood erupted from his right. Ramiel pushed the attack he blocked away and kicked out at another man. The soldier tumbled, taking those behind with him. No mistake was allowed to happen as those who fell were quickly killed either by their enemies’ swords or the allies’ boots trampling over them.

From below, he heard the sound of the ram slamming in the gate stop once again as another fireball shot into the sky. The screams of pain as men were covered in more oil and set alight followed as they desperately tried to put the fire engulfing them out. Ramiel spoke a prayer for his enemy and swung in front of him to create a gap.

The footsteps in the distance died down as the final of Magnus’s reinforcements gathered at the wall. A second wave climbed onto the wall, not bothering with the ram that slowly burned. Ramiel focused on a second batch that started to claim bup and fought his way to one of the ladders.

Blood flowed with each step he took, as his templars realised his intention. They didn’t hesitate to provide him protection and became a spearhead that existed solely to guide Ramiel. Ramiel lifted his hit, a strike directed at his chest, away, and another with his small shield. His advance slowed for a second as a barrage landed on him and his templars. They were tired and, although better trained and equipped, couldn’t keep up any longer.

"For ten days and ten nights, Kavir endured the beating of his masters." Ramiel paused and held his shield to defend himself as he repeated a story from scripture. His eyes never left his enemy, only allowing attacks that posed no threat to him through his defence. "For ten days and ten nights, he begged for help from our merciful lord." Ramiel didn’t shout, and although the fighting across the wall drowned out his voice, those closest to him heard every word. "On the eleventh day, Kavir learnt the truth. Our merciful lord had already helped him. He showed him that to save oneself, one must rely on oneself. For that is the meaning of free will."

Ramiel lowered his shield and, in a surprise attack, stabbed his sword forward, piercing through the chest of an attacker. "He killed his master to escape the torment of man. He begged for forgiveness, regretting his actions." The Templars by his side blocked their enemies’ strikes and countered, spilling more blood. "Sol came to him. Sol embraced him. Sol forgave him when he couldn’t forgive himself." Rameil pushed forward once more, blocking another strike. An attack from his right peirced through his attacker’s shoulder, yet he didn’t cry out in pain, engulfed in the blood of the battle.

"Kavir, learn the truth." Ramiel stabbed the man in the stomach, making him fall to the floor, realising the pain he was in. Ramiel looked at the ladder behind a final wall of men, "Even without the corruption of Khors, humanity is cursed." Ramiel swung the small shield in his hand before his enemy attacked, knocking him into a second attacker. The Templars quickly followed, killing the two of them. "With free will, we are destined to be corrupted by our own minds. Only through the Grace of Sol can we avoid it."

Ramiel blocked another attack, falling to his knee. It was a heavy attack, but Ramiel remained calm. When the weight lifted itself, indicating his attacker wished to strike again, Ramiled lifted his shield ever so slightly and stabbed into the man’s calf.

Blood flowed out as he fell to his knees and cried out in pain. At eye level with Ramiel, the Templar pulled his sword and stabbed it into the man’s throat, quickly killing him. Getting up, he approached the ladder and pushed it down, hearing the screams of men who fell with it.

Looking around, he finally wiped the blood from his face and saw the battle slowly finishing up. The wall held, but the piles of bodies on both sides showed the cost of the battle. Leaning onto his sword, he breathed deeply and closed his eyes, muttering a prayer.

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Magnus heard the battle coming to an end and took a deep breath. Turning back to his camp, he smiled, satisfied with the result. Although it cost hundreds of lives, he knew the damage inflicted on his enemy would be similar.

"Where is Ash?" Mangus asked Cassius.

"He silently returned just after the battle started. He is resting in his tent."

"Good." Magnus smiled and stretched, finally showing a sign of exhaustion, "Sleep. At sunrise, we will attack again. This time you shall lead."

Cassius nodded and slammed his fist on his chest. Looking up at the moon, he knew he would only get a few hours of sleep.