Ancient Empire Calendar, Year 1833
The Kislavein armies under Marco Kislavein's command had inflicted heavy losses on the Arfas armies through sporadic night raids and guerrilla attacks.
Both the Kislavein and Arfas armies were left with only one hundred thousand soldiers each.
Marco wanted to end everything with one final pitched battle.
Marco was discussing his plans with his commanders.
"Now both sides are equal. Jamshid III will be here within a few days. Rest well tonight."
"AS YOU COMMAND, COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF!"
The Kislavein commanders left the tent and dispersed.
In the later hours of the night, Arfas soldiers under Jamshid III's command were advancing towards the Kislavein headquarters, hidden by the sands.
Jamshid gave orders to all his soldiers through telepathy.
"Do not shout, do not make a sound. Silently kill every Kislavein soldier you encounter as best you can."
The Arfas soldiers replied in kind through telepathy.
"As you command, Dynasty Lord."
Led by their Dynasty Lord, the Arfas soldiers silently infiltrated the Kislavein camp.
Some of the soldiers patrolling the camp's perimeter and keeping guard were silently killed with arrows, others by swords from behind, and some by assassins.
Entering the tents, Arfas soldiers slit the throats of the sleeping and defenseless Kislavein soldiers.
The soldiers whose throats were cut awoke with a sudden wave of agony. When they woke up and saw the Arfas soldiers before them, everything was already over.
They perished from the indescribable sharp pain in their throats, the blood gushing from their necks, and drowning in the blood filling their mouths.
The Arfas soldiers silently killed hundreds of tents and tens of thousands of soldiers, until they entered that one particular tent.
They silently entered the tent and cut the throats of the soldiers inside, but one bed was empty.
"Why is this bed empty? Unless..."
"IT'S A RAID!"
Both Arfas and Kislavein soldiers were in shock. The sleeping soldiers in the tents suddenly sprang up, and without even donning their armor, drew their swords, rushed out of their tents, and assumed combat positions.
"What's happening? How were we discovered?"
No one, not just Jamshid, could understand what was happening. None of them would ever know that a single soldier, who had left his tent to use the latrine, had spotted the raid.
"Damn it! KILL THEM ALL!"
The Arfas soldiers began fighting the drowsy Kislavein soldiers.
"I must stay calm. We've already killed thirty thousand of their soldiers. With the support Legions that arrived from the Center yesterday, we have the numerical advantage. Plus, they are all sleepy while we are well-rested and full of energy. We can win this battle."
As Jamshid cut down Kislavein soldiers before him, Marco and the other Kislavein commanders were also slaughtering thousands of Arfas soldiers.
As the battle raged, the first commander to fall was Erdinch Constantinos VI.
"How weak he was."
Seeing Erdinch killed, Alfred Rodwel II attacked to avenge him.
After slaughtering all the Arfas soldiers who had killed Erdinch, he looked at Erdinch's corpse lying dead on the sand.
"Erdinch Constantinos VI, you were the only one not carrying Kislavein blood. You were weak. Surviving this long was already a great achievement. Rest in peace."
As Alfred paid his respects to Erdinch, he felt a pain like a mosquito bite on his neck.
"Ahh, what is this?"
When he brought his hand to his neck, a sharp needle pricked his hand.
"Ahh, again?"
As Alfred pulled out the needle, he saw the veins in his hand turn green. At that moment, the veins in his neck and face swelled and turned green.
"Shit, a poisoned needle? Was I assassinated? Was this how I was to die? Not valiantly with a sword in battle, but by a cowardly attack? With a poisoned needle? Is this how I'll go down in history? They'll say I was killed by a poisoned needle?"
Alfred Rodwel II, Dynasty Lord of the Rodwel Dynasty, was poisoned and killed by a poisoned needle lodged in his neck.
As the battle continued, both sides suffered heavy losses. Duels between commanders had also begun. Jamshid III Arfas and Jonas Mors clashed.
In the battle and duels where swords clashed and spells exploded, Jonas Mors was killed by Jamshid Arfas.
This battle was a disaster for the Kislavein. While all their soldiers were being slaughtered, the survivors gathered around their commanders. But the Kislavein commanders were also being killed one by one.
Arlek Payrist IV and his sister Arnheid Payrist were cornered by Arfas soldiers. Both were severely wounded and exhausted.
Tens of thousands of Arfas soldiers had perished at the twins' hands, but they were still overwhelmingly numerous.
Arnheid could barely stand. She held her twin brother's hand.
"Brother, I can't fight anymore."
Arlek was in a similar state.
"I can't fight either, Arnheid. Listen to me carefully: we cannot let these dishonorable men capture you."
"I know. I know what they would do to my body, dead or alive," Arnheid replied.
Arlek couldn't hold back his tears. He turned around and pierced his sister's heart with his bare hands. Amidst the astonished gazes of the Arfas soldiers, he turned his twin's body into an ice statue and shattered it into pieces.
Arnheid Payrist, daughter of Kervin Payrist, the 28th Dynasty Lord of the Payrist Dynasty, twin sister of Arlek Payrist IV, the 29th Dynasty Lord, and third wife of Krael II Kislavein, the 66th Dynasty Lord of the Kislavein Dynasty, died at the age of 39 at the hands of her twin brother.
"Did he really kill her?"
"Damn, I was hoping to have some fun with the woman."
"She was an old woman, but I would have liked a taste."
Enraged at the Arfas soldiers insulting his sister, Arlek attacked, killing thousands. When his strength was spent, he knelt down, looked at the sky. Death was right upon him. In his final moments, he thought of those he had lost and the son he would leave behind.
"Father, Mother, my sister, my love... I am coming to you. My son Barmung... our Dynasty, our City... I entrust them to you. Forgive me, my son."
Arlek collapsed face-first onto the ground.
"That's right, Barmung had a son. What was my grandson's name? Ah, yes, they named him after my father... Kervin. I hope you both live a happy life... a happy and long life."
Arlek Payrist IV, the 29th Dynasty Lord of the Payrist Dynasty, died in the year 1833 from severe wounds sustained in battle.
Arlek IV's son, Barmung VII, ascended to the head of the Payrist Dynasty.
The battle was nearing its end. Only Marco Kislavein remained, having single-handedly killed over one hundred thousand Arfas soldiers.
Jamshid, like Marco, was severely wounded and exhausted.
"Hah... you fought well, very well, Marco Kislavein. I came here with three hundred thousand soldiers, and only eighty thousand of mine remain. But you will die here, just like all your other soldiers."
Marco gripped his sword tightly with his trembling hands.
"Hah... hah... you talk too much. Come on, then."
Jamshid and Marco clashed with their last remaining strength. If they had been at their full power, this battle could have lasted hours. But the duel between these two commanders-in-chief, possessing less than one percent of their strength, lasted only a few minutes. In the end, the victor was Jamshid III.
Marco fell onto his back, watching the sky. Like Arlek, he thought of those he was leaving behind.
His son Mathew, his beloved wife Alia, his twin Marilin, his closest friend Ricardo... He bid them all farewell, one by one, and embraced death.
Marco Kislavein closed his eyes to life at the age of 38.
Jamshid was severely wounded. He couldn't even shout a victory cry. He fainted from blood loss.
"DYNASTY LORD!"
The Arfas soldiers panicked, surrounding Jamshid. They carried him to the nearest tent to where he had collapsed, which happened to be Marco's tent.
Jamshid would lie unconscious in this tent for days. But a thought was present in everyone's mind.
This battle was one of the last victories won by the Arfas Dynasty.