Buena village was in a festive mood. It was now the 20th day of the 9th Month, the day of the autumn equinox, one of the most important dates in the 420-days long Armored Dragon Year calendar. It was also the day that marked the start of the 3-day long harvest festival. A day when all residents of Buena, be they serfs or freemen, could drop their hoes, rakes and pitchforks, and become part of the auspicious thanksgiving celebration.
Of course, some fields where spring crops such as peas and beans were grown still have a bit more harvesting to go, but this didn't stop anyone from postponing such activities until they had partaken in the festivities.
In a beautiful green meadow not far from the center of the village, more than a hundred and fifty villagers were gathered together in celebration.
As the 37 households that comprised the village of Buena live quite far apart from one another, events like this were precious rare moments when they would be able to come together as a community.
Men and women as well as boys and girls, having put on their best tunic dresses and wears, were merrily dancing a well-practiced choreography to the tune of the folk music, jumping and tapping their feet to the rhythm, their arms linked, as they circled round and around.
Right outside the massive ring of spectators clapping and cheering along to the festive folk dances, numerous men and women, young and old, were gathered together to partake in the seemingly endless supply of ale, sold by the village temple for just a small copper per mug at this time of year.
The small market in front of the Temple of Ailisha located not far from the epicenter of the festivities weren't left out either as the few merchants who gathered there were especially eager on this day, keenly turning the wheels of commerce by presenting their best offers and prices.
In a clearing less than a hundred meters away from the festive dances and drinks, a dozen men were gathered together to participate in one of the most popular of games in Asura, a game of archery known as the roving marks. It was a game where the participants would form a single rank and loose their arrows at a target, or mark, a set a distance away from them. This could be anywhere from 60 to 250 meters. After each man had loosed 3 arrows, they would move to the location of the mark, picking up their arrows studded on the ground along the way before setting themselves in a rank right behind the first mark while they target the second mark, a distance away from the first.
This would continue on for several marks, each time the participant whose arrow got closest to the mark would be recorded, with the one who was most consistent in getting closest to the mark, or indeed hitting it, receiving a well-deserved prize. All of the men participating in the competition were using the traditional longbows, all except one.
A certain half-elf hunter was wielding a unique bow of smaller size than what the others were using. Yet said hunter was also, perhaps not surprisingly, able to clinch the prize during the competition, hitting the mark or a spot closest to the mark in all 7 out of the 7 marks targeted during the day's competition, much to the dismay of the other participants while earning the awe as well as applause of the spectators.
Archery has a rich & hallowed history in Asura and the land was long famed for the prowess of its longbowmen.
While not as accurate as the famed Elven archers, their massed volleys could pepper an entire field with a high density of arrows, turning any targets within it into pincushions.
Unlike the other great human kingdom in the known world, the Kingdom of Milis which was famed for its fanatical mounted knights, Asura's armies were centered on massed infantry formations, making use of its vast and seemingly endless supply of manpower to overwhelm any opposition. As such, long before the Laplace War even started, when the Kingdom of Asura was still embroiled in internecine warfare both with other human kingdoms and among itself, the doctrine of war throughout the kingdom had already developed into a focus on the use of massed volleys of arrows to kill large numbers of infantrymen from a distance.
This created a need to maintain a pool of high quality archers, and these archers need to be of high quality and strong given the expense and heavy draw weight of a longbow, and had thus resulted in the propagation of laws and decrees that eventually placed a requirement on every able freemen in Asura, with the exception of burghers, to own and maintain a longbow and a quiver of arrows, as well as partake in practicing in its use at least once a week.
That said, given that freemen and their families in total made up just under 10% of the Asuran population, the number of potential longbowmen these laws and decrees created might not seem that large at first sight. Yet, seeing as how the standing armies maintained by both the Asuran Royal family and the nobility made up less than 0.5% of Asura's more than 34.7 million subjects, the pool of potential longbowmen that can be called up as feudal levies to bolster the standing armies of Asura were thus very significant.
While the cheery festivities were still ongoing outside, Rudeus was brought by his father, Paul, into the village's only temple, the temple which also stood as the single most important landmark in Buena. Rudeus noted that it was one of the only two buildings, the other being the village's main watermill, that was made almost entirely of regularly-cut stone and lime mortar. Even the Greyrat family house was largely constructed of wood, although it was clearly made by master carpenters and was also furnished with slate tiled roofs which were only common among wealthier households.
Nearly every other building in Buena, particularly residential buildings, were wattle and daub structures, though roofing did differ with the more well-off households having clay tiled roofs and the less well-off having thatched roofs. In his previous life, Rudeus had never actually visited the temple until long after Roxy had left the village, given his phobia of the outside world at the time.
This time however, he had good reason not to be left alone with just Lilia at home, so he had "begged" his parents to take him to the festival, extending his hands and "crying" for Zenith's and Paul's attention as they were about to leave for the festival. In fact, his pretend "crying and begging" was so realistic that even Rudeus himself was convinced that it was for real.
Either that or he was indeed crying and begging as the thought of being placed in potential mortal danger terrified him.
In the month since the new Reeve of Buena introduced himself to the family, the man had intruded on the Greyrat family home several times already, each time coming up with the perfect excuse that they were either for matters of business or pleasantries. And each time his precious sanctuary was invaded, Rudeus had made his displeasure known by hiding his face in between his mother's ample bosom.
Unfortunately, the meaning behind his actions had escaped Zenith completely as she often only commented along the lines of "Ara, ara, Rudi is actually a shy boy," while smiling, without ever understanding the terror he felt from the Reeve's presence. Regardless, these untoward actions taken by the man called Faust Ackerman had convinced Rudeus that there was a high likelihood that the man was indeed Hitogami's apostle sent expressly to eliminate him.
Only time will tell whether that was indeed true but Rudeus has no plans of placing himself in a vulnerable position given his lack of knowledge regarding Faust and the threats he may be capable of presenting. Until he knew Faust for certain, Rudeus had thought it best to avoid the man wherever possible.
"Priestess, would you pray for my son, Rudeus? The boy had just passed his first year 5 days ago, so I was wondering if you could intercede with the Lady for my son that he may continue to grow up healthy and strong. Of course, I'm also here to give my yearly tithe," Paul besought the temple priestess, placing an Asuran Gold Coin on the chalice she was carrying.
For a moment, Rudeus saw that Paul's facial expression changed a little, though he didn't care enough to remember what it was. Rudeus was more captivated by the interior of the temple which he had not visited in a lifetime.
Seeing the coin, the priestess smiled and gave her consent, "Of course, Sir Paul. Please come with me,"
Rudeus was placed in a large basket on the altar between the statue of the goddess and where the priestess and Paul stood.
As the priestess and Rudeus' father began kneeling in prayer, Rudeus noticed the variety of items that were displayed on the altar alongside him. There were bundles of wheat, a branch of leaves, a ceremonial dagger and the chalice filled with coins the Priestess was carrying earlier. Most of the coins inside the chalice were Asuran Coppers with sprinklings of a few Silvers and a single Gold Coin that Rudeus presumed was his father's.
Unlike the Church of Millis in the theocratic Holy Milis Kingdom which had the authority to tax a tenth of all agricultural harvest as tithe, the various temples of Asura had to depend on voluntary donations.
The Kingdom of Asura has long had strong secular rulers who jealously guarded their powers. Although they would gladly donate to various temples to showcase their piety, wealth and benevolence to the masses, or indeed to actually seek some sort of divine aid, sharing their birthright over the common people with the ecclesiastical class was a line few would even think of crossing. Not to mention that the multitudes of gods and goddesses that were worshiped by the kingdom's subjects had never been codified under a single coherent organized religion that could pose a direct threat to the secular ruling elite and thus force them into forming some sort of power-sharing agreement with the clergy as was the case in the Holy Milis Kingdom.
That said, some of the most prominent deities had, over time, seen the development of complex myths and legends that tied them together under a single pantheon, showcasing signs of the embryonic development of what could potentially become an organized religion. This was especially the case for Elmora, the Sun God, and his wives, the Goddess Ailisha and the twin moon Goddesses, Seren and Seele. This quartet was so recognizable and each so widely worshiped, that their combined symbol had long found its way into Asura's noble and knightly culture.
In large cities, including the Royal Capital of Ars, many prominent temples had now long stood that worshiped the 4 deities as a group rather than the more traditional patron temples that were dedicated to worshiping just a single divine entity. In fact, it was also the prominence of this quartet comprising the Sun God and his three wives that had long become the theological and spiritual justification for the acceptance and legality of polygyny within Asura and in most other kingdoms and principalities within the Central Continent.
As Rudeus was looking around, he also scrutinized the large and beautiful statue of the Goddess Ailisha, standing prominently overlooking the entirety of the temple's interiors. The statue depicted the Goddess as a beautiful woman with voluptuous chest and wide hips, perhaps attesting to her origins as the Earth Goddess, a mother goddess, and asserting also that as a Goddess of Life, it was in her powers to feed the humans who were her children. She was also wearing a laurel wreathe as her crown, carrying a bundle of wheat on her right hand and a chalice on her left, while a sheathed dagger was hanging by the side of her waist.
As Rudeus had never been the religious sort, the last time he was here, he didn't look around enough to give it any deep thoughts so had failed to notice much of what he was surveying now.
And he was never placed on the altar. It seemed that the altar was also where infants and very young toddlers would be placed when the priestess offered intercessory prayers to the Goddess on the child's behalf. Older children and adults would offer prayers themselves by kneeling before the statue and the altar.
The other items that were also on the altar, the branch of laurel leaves, the bundles of wheat, the ceremonial dagger and the chalice of coins were probably meant to mimic the four holy articles carried by the Goddess Ailisha.
The laurel leaves likely signified her crown and her status as a Goddess of Life, as well as her origins as the Earth Goddess. The bundle of wheat identified Ailisha's authority over agriculture and thus the necessity of her blessings in bringing a good harvest. The ceremonial dagger was something used to slaughter livestock for sacrifice during the winter solstice celebrations, so it might be meant to symbolize cleansing and renewal through the payment of blood, as well as communion between the people and the Goddess. Rudeus knew that blood itself was often used to symbolize life in this world, and as the sacrificial animals were always killed by exsanguination, the blood that flowed into the soil during the act of sacrifice was most likely meant to bless the land with fertility, renewing the life of the land.
This idea of renewal probably also came from the fact that the majority of livestock were slaughtered before or during the early parts of winter, as there would not be enough food to sustain the entire herd or flock throughout the icy season, only for the livestock population to begin to recover come springtime. And as meat from the animals sacrificed by the temples would be given out to residents of the villages or boroughs where the temples resided, it also had the effect of bringing the community together.
The last holy article, the chalice of coins, not surprisingly symbolized wealth that the Goddess brought unto mortals who worshiped her. It also took the shape of the intricate drinking chalices used by the elites in older times to hold ale or beer. In doctrine, the view that fermented sugars were holy was the reason why the Temples of Ailisha were often considered synonymous with good alcohol. In practice, as most of the tithe donated by residents tend to be in forms other than coins, sometimes animals but mostly wheat and other grain crops, each temple dedicated to the Goddess also generally ran a brewery where they would process the wheat into beer or ale, as a way of supplementing their income.
During folk and religious festivals such as the Harvest Festival that was still ongoing outside, some of this alcohol would be sold to the nearby residents for just above cost in order to liven up the sacred celebrations. It was also another way for the temple to tie itself to its local community.
"May the blessings of the Goddess be with you always," the Priestess, now finishing the last recitation of her prayer, took the branch of laurel leaves and lightly flicked its tips to the top of Rudeus' forehead three times.
"Hoo~...Those weren't bad at all," was all Rudeus could think of. Though, he wasn't referring to the feeling of being touched by the leaves. His eyes were squarely leveled at the sight directly in front of him, at the Priestess who was performing the rites.
Or more specifically, at the Priestess' sizable bust.
As the ritual finally ended, Paul took his son in his arm, "Come Rudi, it's time we see your mother. We can't leave her waiting for too long," and left the temple to meet with Zenith and Lilia who were waiting outside. Though of course, this didn't happen before Paul actually spent some more time chatting up with the Priestess.
"So much for "can't leave her waiting for too long"," was what Rudeus wanted to say at that point.
He also came to realize that throughout the long conversation about nothing of substance, Paul's eyes were shifting around, but most often they were stealing glances on one item in particular. That is, the Priestess' captivating cleavage. Indeed, Rudeus certified that the valley between the Priestess' twin mounds most definitely had even Zenith squarely beat.
"Sigh...what's with that dirty look you're giving? Realize that you're a father and a husband already!" dismayed, Rudeus was giving Paul the dirty look.
"I can't believe that my old man is such a dirty geezer!" Rudeus lamented of his one dissatisfaction, to be born as the son of a young man who has never failed to behave like someone more than twice his age. A dirty old man. Rudeus realized his assessment of Paul couldn't get any lower and his disappointment was apparent.
"Look, I understand that she has a big, beautiful, voluptuous chest. Large, yet well rounded. And that the tight-fitting clothes she's wearing accentuates the puffiness of her bosom, making it seems as though they would burst out if she so much as untangle a string. And the icing on the cake, that mole on her left breast just 1.2 centimeters from the center of her cleavage certainly added another alluring factor to complement what was already a pleasantly charming asset, yet that doesn't mean you should be...Hmm, wait a minute...!"
Rudeus finally realized an important detail that he had missed.
That look Paul was giving when he placed the coin inside the chalice the Priestess was carrying, Rudeus finally realized what it was.
"You were leering at her even then, weren't you?! Dad, could it be that you planned this all along? Don't tell me that you came all this way to this sacred place and on this hallowed day just to gaze at some Grade A rack?!"
Half sobbing inside, Rudeus continued, "...Yet, why can't I find it in me to actually condemn this? Sigh...10/10 topkek,"
In his mind, Rudeus was raising a thumbs up to Paul while shedding two rivers of tears.
The thumbs up was more of a mocking gesture to himself as he realized that deep down, he didn't actually disagree with Paul's actions or motivations when in actual fact, he should actually resent Paul's unrefined behavior that was unbecoming of a respected member of society. He may be disappointed at Paul for behaving the way he did but Rudeus can't say much for himself either.
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, huh?" was what Rudeus eventually concluded. He realized once again that at his core, he was indeed, without any doubt, a Greyrat.
"Like Paul, perhaps I should just be more honest with myself,"
And thus, the rest of the festival ended without a hitch.
.
=][=
.
.
=][=
.
Three weeks went by like a breeze for Rudeus. Since he officially became a year old on the 10th day of the 10th Month, he had been more active in pestering his parents and even his maidservant, Lilia, to read him the books that were available at home. Although he wasn't really in need of any literacy instruction, it was important that such actions were taken early on so that he may be able to present plausible explanations for his rapid learning ability and early mastery over language and literacy. Rudeus had every reason to showcase his abilities sooner rather than later so that he may quickly be able to truly explore his actual limits.
He didn't want to keep on pretending to be an illiterate and unintelligible baby for much longer. Although they were necessary to maintain his cover, it was still a tiring exercise. Rudeus had especially wanted to quickly train in those aspects that he was poor at during his previous life. Things like mastery of swordsmanship and more economic ways of fighting were especially high at the top of his learning agenda.
The harvest of the spring crops had also finally ended a few days before. Rudeus' father, Paul, was preparing for his last expedition to the City of Roa. It was one of his duties as a knight to ensure that the caravan of wagons carrying grain and legumes destined for the county's capital would get there without trouble. Everything down to the last bean and pea and grain had to be accounted for.
Not wanting to take any chances given the recent concerns over bandit infestation, Paul was also fully dressed for the occasion.
He was wearing his full combat gear minus the helmet, reasoning that unimpeded sense of sight and hearing were far more important to him than cranial protection. The armor he wore consisted of an arming doublet with mail attachments. On top of that, a metal plate cuirass covering the front and back of the torso and a set of pauldrons made up of overlapping segments of curved lames, riveted to allow for articulated flexibility. The lamellar faulds and cuisses were made of small rectangular pieces of metal sewn onto pieces of hardened leather similar to the haidate in Samurai armor. The poleyn and greaves were made of metal plates, articulated and attached together using rivets. Leather gloves with vambraces made of overlapping metal plates and a pair of sturdy leather shoes along with a cape emblazoned with the heraldic symbol of the Notos Greyrat House complete the armor set.
The metal armor were all lacquered black and some parts, such as the cuirass were even imbued with magical reinforcement, something that most knights would not actually be able to afford. Hanging on the side of of his waist was Paul's most valuable property, his personal custom-made and magically-fortified longsword, Gram.
"Right, you're all gathered here. Well...except one. While we wait, make sure to double check your equipment,"
Rudeus watched keenly from the veranda as 6 armed men were gathered before Paul on the front courtyard.
These men were actually serfs who were assigned to work the Greyrat family's land in Buena. As part of their feudal contract, each household of serfs were required to make available one healthy adult male who would answer the lord's call to arms, meaning that these 6 represent two-thirds of Paul's total feudal levy. They would then have to serve in the lord's army without pay for a maximum period of 2 months a year. As they were farmers by profession, they were generally only called upon into service when their labor were not required in the fields, or when their absence from the farms would not cause significant harm to the lord's revenue.
Of course, the lord was expected to make available to these peasant levies their supplies of food as well as equipment of arms and armor for the duration of the campaign as these represent significant investments that were outside the reach of most of the toiling classes. Paul's men were all wearing gambeson, three were armed with falchions, two with battle axes and one with a flanged mace. All of them were carrying heater shields in conjunction with their weapons. Topping everything off, the men wore various types of kettle helmets over padded coifs. By any standards of this world, they were suitably well-armed for peasant levies.
On Earth, it would have been more probable that feudal levies like these would have been equipped with a variety of polearms which not only provide greater reach but also tend to be easier and thus cheaper to manufacture. In this world however, pole weapons had unfortunately became a taboo in most of the world thanks to the events of the Laplace War. Of course, the idea that a weapon can gain such notoriety as to be avoided simply because it was wielded too effectively and succeeded in its purpose of brutalizing countless victims was a logic that escaped Rudeus.
He simply could not understand given that his recollection of Earth's history two lifetimes ago showed that weapons tended to become more popular the more blood they were able to spill. Only thermonuclear weapons saw a stop to their use and only because using them could spell the end of the world.
A young man quietly arrived at the courtyard. He was sporting golden blonde hair and has a unique pair of long, pointed ears.
"Oh you're finally here, I was wondering if you weren't going to show up," Paul said half-jokingly to the young man whose arrival he'd been anticipating.
"Haha, why wouldn't I be?" The young man responded.
The long-awaited help finally arrived. The village's sole hunter and archer extraordinaire, and the man who had consistently won every one of the village's archery competitions, he was Rawls the half-elf.
"Well, when I first asked you, I had actually thought that we'd wrap everything up just like last year. I didn't expect the harvest would be so plentiful this time as to require a 4th trip...Anyway, I'm sorry, this must be keeping you from hunting right?" Paul regretted having to inconvenience someone who was already preoccupied with other obligations.
Unlike the farmers who were now free from any field labor post-harvest, hunters work nearly all year round with the exception of the coldest periods of winter. While as a freeman, Rawls was still obliged to provide military service to the Count, this was already fulfilled by serving his time as a part-time village watch.
And Paul wasn't Rawls' liege lord either, so unlike the serfs assigned to work his land, Paul cannot compel Rawls to join his band. It was strictly voluntary and a paid arrangement. And as far as Paul understood, hunting can be quite profitable given the prices that meat and furs can be sold for. So Paul was also wondering if it wouldn't be better for Rawls to be out hunting.
Rawls, however, interjected this thought.
"No, not at all, Sir. If anything, I'm thankful for the chance to be making some good coins. Few jobs here pay nearly as well what you offer, Sir Paul," the half-elf answered. "And hunting isn't that stable a job. While I can earn plenty from the meat and fur after a good hunt, it's not everyday that I can come home with big games," the half-elf explained. "Since I have more responsibility now, I'd much prefer something stable so by all means, feel free to contact me whenever you have an offer," he added.
"Will do. Ah, now that you've mentioned it, I heard that your wife gave birth around this time last year," Paul remembered hearing something about it from his wife, Zenith, the year before. As there were only a few dozen households in the village, everyone knew everyone else and so news and rumors tended to travel fast.
"Yes, to my daughter. Sylphiette's her name," Rawls clarified.
"Hmm, knowing you couple, I'm willing to bet that she's going to grow up to be a beauty," Paul commented with a grin. "You know what, when she's grown a bit, why don't you introduce her to our little Rudi over there," said Paul, grinning as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards Rudeus, who was sitting on the veranda behind him, before continuing, "I'm sure they'd make a fast match,"
"Haha, right, I'll be sure to remember it," Rawls vaguely accepted while rubbing the back of his head.
Unbeknownst to Paul, Rawls wasn't actually sure what to make of the suggestion. One the one hand, he's heard plenty of nasty rumors about the Greyrat nobles, on the other hand, given his own experience with discrimination, he was the last person who would presume a person's character based on mere rumors.
However, there were just too many unsavory tales to ignore when it came to the Greyrats. As far as Rawls knew, Greyrat was a name largely associated with the 4 most powerful noble Houses in Asura. These distant cousins controlled the largest territories in the realm and each had themselves branched out into numerous minor noble families, all calling themselves Greyrat.
What made the Greyrats especially infamous, however, were their renown for profligacy. Rawls himself has heard numerous horror stories of how the Greyrat noblemen would scour their territories to find and bed countless beautiful women, especially from the villages, only to toss them aside like a used rag once they've grown tired of them.
While Rawls may be a poor commoner standing near the bottom of the social ladder, in fact, a relative outsider who wasn't even trusted to farm a lord's land, like any loving father, he didn't wish for his daughter to end up becoming a nobleman's plaything. Though, "if Sir Paul's son can come to truly love Sylphy and would seriously take responsibility, then I'd have no reason to object. But this is just an assumption for quite the distant future," Rawls thought. "I suppose there's no need to think about them now," was what Rawls concluded.
Once the 7 men had all gathered before Paul, he ordered them make their way to the village's main watermill where the caravan was awaiting them while he bid his family farewell before following suit. When they arrived at the watermill, which also doubled as the village's main granary, they noticed that the villagers and coachmen were still loading and accounting the last sacks of grains and beans under the watchful eye of the Reeve. Paul approached Faust to ask about the caravan's preparations.
"So, how's it looking? How soon will we be ready to move?" the knight asked.
"Maximum? In one hour, give or take," the Reeve answered. "The harvest is plenty enough this time that we're having to keep people working on post-harvest processing, threshing and winnowing the wheat and beans longer than usual each day. Since we've been making them work overtime, I'm sure they're rather tired so you'll have to forgive a little tardiness, Sir," Faust explained.
"Well, I just hope we'll be ready sooner than that. These single-horsed, 7.2 tonne wagons will take nearly 10 hours to get to Roa at full capacity, not accounting for rest stops," Paul pointed at the 6 wagons that were still being loaded up with the Lord Count's rents, clearly annoyed that they were still not ready for departure. "Unless we leave long before the sun is at peak, we won't be able to arrive before evening," he continued.
Indeed, the four-wheeled Konick Wagons Paul was pointing to, were the most popular and thus prevalent wagon design across Asura. With their huge, 6-tonne load capacity, they were also the most cost-efficient wagons when it came to the transportation of goods and people, and were thus favored by merchants. However, they were also exceptionally heavy for the horse. Though, by heavy, this did not mean that the horse would struggle to even pull the wagon, rather it would not be able to go at sustained gallop speed which would be case when pulling lighter two-wheeled carriages.
Of course, the horses pulling these wagons weren't slouches either. The most common and popular breed of workhorses, the Boxer breed, were generally the ones utilized for this purpose. While not known for their speed, these large horses, which in adulthood would stand imposingly at a height of around 195 cm from the base of the front feet to the top of the withers and weigh over 920 kg, were especially notable for their herculean strength. These horses were known to be able to able to pull gigantic wagons with over 30 tonnes of load, although this will only reduce the speed to a slow walk and wasn't sustainable for longer than a few minutes.
So, generally, wagon loads were much lower both to account for road conditions and to achieve an acceptable speed of travel. When pulling the Konick Wagon at maximum load, the Boxer horse could canter at a sustainable speed of 28 km/h on good roads. This might seem high at first sight, but it's only around 3/5th of its sustained gallop speed of 43+ km/h when pulling carriages weighing under a ton on good roads and well below its maximum gallop speed of 72 km/h on good roads. And given Asura's large landmass and relative sparseness, traversing from city to city would still take a very long time.
"Sigh...what are you being so grumpy about Sir Paul?" Faust asked, amazed at Paul's curious response to a bumper harvest. "If anything, I had thought that you'd be thrilled at the windfall you're getting this year. That we'd need another 6-wagon trip in addition to the usual three round trips of 10 to 11 wagons is something to be celebrated," the Reeve claimed.
"Look, from what I can see, of the Count's 8 gentis of farmland in this village, the 320 hectares under plow this year yielded a net harvest of nearly 320 tonnes of food, after accounting for the seeds required for re-planting as well as weight losses from post-harvest processing. Since 7/10th of that is the Count's rent, that comes up to just shy of 222 tonnes of food! That's a full 35 tonnes more than what the data for last year showed! I'm sure this means that you, Sir Paul, must be making somewhere above 83 tonnes of food from this year's harvest!" as Faust continued rambling on and on, he became visibly more and more agitated. The tone of his voice became more and more forceful while his usual sleepy-looking eyes were opening wider and wider until it became a glare, and Paul could swear that Faust's jet-black hair was beginning to stand on ends.
Faust continued, "Were you to sell that incrementally when the prices are higher, I'm sure you'll be making somewhere in the neighborhood of 90 Asuran Gold Coins! And that's just what you're making from crops! Not even counting your earnings from your many farm animals!"
"Aah, I'm so jealous that what I make isn't even a small fraction of that!" the Reeve lamented. "So you, Sir Paul, of all people, shouldn't be complaining that you have to guard the caravan to Roa for a 4th time!" Faust pointed out.
"Uh...eh...huh?" Paul was stunned, his mouth agape yet unable to voice a response.
He didn't know what to make of Faust who was suddenly listing one number after another in such a complicated way. Paul remembered though, that he'd made nearly 76 Asuran Gold Coins from the sale of last year's crops that were his dues. Zenith told him about it.
He didn't know how and when exactly she had sold the crops but he was confident that his wife must have been managing things well. That's why he'd left pretty much all of the stuff regarding the management of the farms and the serfs and the family's accounts to his wife, Zenith, who seemed to be more adept at it anyway, and certainly more interested.
Paul actually wanted to retort how 76 or even 90 Asuran Gold Coins wasn't actually that much given his household expenditures, especially for expenses relating to the purchase and maintenance of weapons and armor enough for 10 people, including himself, whose set of equipment was extravagantly expensive. So much so that he had actually spent almost all the money he'd made from adventuring just to afford those major purchases.
However, Paul held his tongue, realizing that such comments might actually come off as insensitive. He realized that commoners could only see that he was making a lot of money, but they could not understand that Noblesse Oblige was a very expensive thing. Not only did he have to maintain an expensive arsenal, he would also have to make himself available for campaigns for up to 1/6th of the year at his own expense. This include financing the supplies for himself and his own men for the duration of that campaign.
The only saving grace for him was the fact that Pax Asura, the Asuran Peace, has continued to last for over 400 years and counting, saving him from having to be called to campaign.
An hour after, the caravan was finally ready to depart for the City of Roa.
.
=][=
.
By the time the caravan had traveled just 1/5th of the way on the 208 km route to the City of Roa, it was already past noon. Paul estimated that it had roughly been an hour since the sun was at its peak.
The caravan was now rested by a small lake, both to allow the crew their lunch as well as give time for the horses to feed and hydrate. The men were eating loaves of white bread, with small slices of cheese along with a pottage of peas, beans and onions they've been cooking in a large, cast-iron pot over fire. Supplementing those were chicken eggs, which were boiled in the same cauldron along with the pottage. The wagon coachmen also shared their small treasure of berries and pickled fruits with Paul and his men. And to top it all off, they were washed down with moderate quantities of ale.
It was a simple yet sumptuous fare, extravagant and luxurious, in fact, by the standards of most of the known world. Most non-Asurans were unlikely to be able to eat the wheat-based white bread as wheat required a fertile and well-cultivated land to grow. As in Asura, most peasants outside the kingdom ate a staple of what their land could grow, though this usually meant dark bread made from rye, or in colder climates, bread made from barley or pottage of oatmeal.
"Right men, we're about to enter the Boreas Highway soon," Paul announced to his men just as they were done with their meal. "It should be smooth stretch from there on, so I don't want to make another rest stop until we get to Cyril village, which we should arrive at by dusk." Paul insisted, referring to the last village in the Barony of Antseil.
The village of Cyril was located right at the border between the Barony of Antseil and the Barony of Rubenhild, which is where the County's capital city, the City of Roa was located. The village of Buena itself was located in the same barony as Cyril, that is, in the Barony of Antseil.
Paul assured his men, "If the last three runs were any indication, I don't think there will be any bandit attacks on our caravan,"
Though, after pausing momentarily to look at each of his men in the eyes, he continued, "That said, we should not take any chances!" he stressed. "Therefore, we're changing the guard formation,"
Paul began giving each of his men their new orders, "Anthony, Laurence, as well as Edmund and Bernard, the four of you will take positions on the 3rd and 4th wagon, a pair will ride on each wagon. Make sure to keep your eyes open. Anthony will take command for your section," Paul commanded.
"Yes, Sir!" the four confirmed their orders.
"Siegmund and Klaus will team up with Rawls and guard the rear of the caravan. You will all ride together in the last wagon, so make sure to transfer a few bags of the grains and beans to the other wagons if you need any additional rooms. Rawls, you will take command of the rear," Paul ordered, to which Rawls acknowledged with an, "On it, Sir!"
"Now I will guard the front on my own," Paul continued. "This arrangement should allow for a more consolidated defense of each section. Needless to say, if your section is attacked, remember to shout loudly so those in the other sections can reinforce you. In case of an attack, just do as you've been trained to do and we should all come out of this in one piece,"
Having dispensed with the orders he needed to give to his subordinates, Paul looked at Rawls and repeated the same thing he had been saying during the last three runs, "Right, Rawls, how many times do I have to remind you that I'm not your liege? You should just call me Paul," he petitioned.
However, the half-elf did not buy Paul's request, insisting on respecting their relationship by reminding Paul, "But you, Sir Paul, are a knight and my employer, so it's only right that I refer to you by your title. Also, I don't believe it's a good idea to refer to you any differently from how your men does," the half-elf responded.
"Sigh...suit yourself," Paul relented in resignation.
"Now, as for the six of you," Paul pointed to the coachmen, "Just stop your horses and hide in your wagons at the first sign of trouble,"
"Hehe, we've planned to do that even if you don't tell us, Sir," the six coachmen affirmed.
As the crew were finally ready to depart, Paul mounted his horse and led the caravan on their journey.
The caravan's travels along the winding, cobblestone-paved roads of the Boreas Highway was largely uneventful. There were only a few interruptions such as when they had to make way for a carriage with higher priority, likely one belonging to a noble going by the crest the carriage conspicuously displayed. More commonly, they had to stop at the occasional toll-gates interspersed along the entire route. As the paved roads were only 2 meters wide, or just 1/3rd wider than the 1.5 meter width of the Konick Wagon's bed, no two carriages can ride past one another at the same time.
Even though that was the case, it also would not make sense to invest in building wider paved roads just to allow the occasional opposing traffic to pass one another without interruptions. As such, customs had developed surrounding the use of these convenient highways that gave different road users classification of priorities when it came to the use of the road. In a lot of ways, these customs were simply mimicking common courtesies and unwritten rules of everyday behaviors.
For example, just as commoners were expected to give way to nobles on any city street, so too do carriages and wagons belonging to commoners must part and give way to those belonging to nobility. While the 6 wagons of Paul's caravan may be on official business for the Count, they were not actually the Count's wagons. Rather, they belong to merchants of Roa who were contracted during the post-harvest period for transportation duties, so obtain no special privileges aside from waivers on toll charges when travelling the contract routes.
Needless to say, while nobles and their carriages were given the highest priority on road use, military personnel also has priority over commoners, as these highways which had been built across Asura over the centuries were initially conceived in order to facilitate the rapid movement of military personnel. It was only due to the long periods of peace that their economic benefits then became clearly noticeable.
By the time the setting sun had reached twilight, the crew could finally see Cyril Village on the horizon. However, they still had some way to go, having to travel downhill and through a forested area before they could reach the village. Paul also remembered that the last toll gate before Cyril Village was set up in the forest right before a bridge. Once they were past that, they should be able to stop for a rest in Cyril Village, likely for the night as travelling the roads at nighttime was never recommended even in peaceful Asura.
Aside from the unlikely threats posed by bandits attacking at night, there were also the occasional appearance of nocturnal Magic Creatures which tended to be rather dangerous predators. These Magic Creatures were, in fact, far more likely threats than bandits. And while Asura may not be a land infested by these perilous beasts, it was still not completely free from them either.
As the caravan finally neared the last toll gate right before Cyril Village, Paul's men began to disembark from their wagons. While the crew were holding on to waiver passes, these were individual passes, or in the case of the coachmen, personnel and carriage pass. So to speed up processing, it was better to get out from any carriages and show the pass to the collector who would have to walk up to each individual, check their passes and stamped the records.
They would also often check carriages to ensure that no person was being smuggled without paying. Recording these transactions were especially meticulous because the right to charge toll on the highways was a very lucrative business. Lords grant these privileges to villages or towns that straddle the highway which then had the legal obligation to maintain the roads. And while these town and villages would earn income from the toll charges, lords would still demand a portion of the proceeds for granting those privileges in the first place. Hence a rather complex system of records was established to ensure that all sides can obtain what was their due.
The caravan finally stopped at the toll gate just as a toll collector exited the administration building. Every toll gate was furnished with one of these buildings which were necessary as a place for the collectors to live in, as well as to store both the payments, which can sometime be in kind rather than coins, as well as transaction records. The man gingerly approached Paul while greeting him.
"G'day Sir. Here on your way to the market at Cyril, perhaps?" the man greeted.
"No, Roa actually. The city, I mean," Paul answered cordially. "We have passes for a waiver on the toll," he added.
"Right, let me go get the record book," the man said, before turning to head back towards the building. However he was stopped shortly by Paul who wanted to ask a question.
"Wait, what happened to Gil?" Paul asked.
"Pardon me, Sir?" the man slowly turned his head, seemingly confused.
"You know, Gil, the young man who was usually here along with the old man, Jason," Paul clarified.
The collector then smiled while nodding his head. "Oh, yes, the Old Man Jason seemed to be feeling a little under the weather. So he is now resting in the village with Gil looking after him. And they've asked this humble servant to watch the toll gate for the day,"
"I see," Paul quipped, his expression clouded over.
The privilege of managing the toll gate before Cyril Village fell to none other Cyril Village itself. Paul knew that. He also knew that the village was supposed to appoint trusted people from among their numbers to collect tolls at the gate. And while Cyril village may be larger than Buena, with twice the number of households in fact, the living arrangement was also more compact, with a majority of the houses congregating close to each other. This was due to the village's relative proximity to the Boreas Highway and thus the village had therefore grown to benefit from travelers by serving them with drinks, recreation and accommodation. This meant that the village had effectively grown into an inn town rather than just a simple agricultural village which was all too common.
That said, it was still a village. Therefore, everyone knew everyone else. Certainly, for trusted members of the village who were appointed to look after an important revenue-generating business such as a toll gate, it was only reasonable to assume that every villager knew of them. So, there was absolutely no excuse for a fellow villager not to know who Gil and Jason were.
"Gilbert is the old man who had been collecting tolls at this gate, for decades I was told. Jason is his young apprentice. I doubt there's any villager of Cyril that doesn't know the pair. And while I don't frequently travel through this road, I'm confident I know enough of the old man to know that he isn't stupid. He may be old, but I don't think that Gil would be senile enough to call on a stranger to take over his job. Likely, he would have at least insisted that his apprentice, Jason, remain here as well. Yet, neither of them are here...And this..." Paul recounted everything he knew of the friendly pair of toll collectors, confident in his conclusion that something was definitely amiss. Though, he wished that everything was just his imagination, he was having a terrible sense of foreboding.
"You there! Halt!" Paul ordered the toll collector as he drew his sword. Paul's men were also alerted by this unannounced act.
"Sir Paul!" Rawls called out, wanting to hear an explanation for the sudden belligerent stance.
The toll collector Paul called had stopped in his tracks. He was staying completely stiff, however, not even turning his head around.
"Rawls, I'm sure you've a keener sense of smell than mine. Tell me, what do you smell?" Paul shouted, wanting some confirmation from Rawls.
Rawls began sniffing for a bit before answering, as his body tensed up. "Now that you mention it...damn it...this stench, it's definitely blood! Likely human,"
That statement caused quite a stir among the crew, especially the wagon coachmen, who had already began scurrying to hide inside their wagons the moment they heard the word "blood".
"No way, that can't be right," Anthony interjected, thinking that it must be a misunderstanding. He began walking towards the toll collector in order to have a word with him. "Hey there, buddy! Could it be that you were preparing some chicken, or maybe mutton for din–"
Before even reaching halfway to the toll collector, however, Anthony was stopped in his tracks as missiles whizzed past his head and right shoulder. He reflexively raised the heater shield he was carrying with his left hand, though not before one punctured his left abdomen and another pierced his right knee.
"Ambush!" Paul shouted. "Get behind the wagons now!" he commanded. The toll collector was already running desperately for the administration building just as the missiles started flying. Paul charged after him, swinging his sword as the momentum of Kalajav's charge cleanly carried the blade through the man's neck. As blood gushed forth from the man's severed jugular veins, Paul rushed towards Anthony who was now lying down helplessly. He dodged a few missiles coming his way, while parrying another. As he arrived beside Anthony, Paul quickly jumped down from Kalajav, then slapped the horse's rear hind to spur it to keep running.
"Quite the unlucky one, aren't you?" Paul joked, just as he was lifting Anthony with his left hand.
"Haha, ouch, I'm sorry, Sir. This shouldn't have happened," Anthony answered apologetically.
"Shut up. Never mind that. You'll be fine," Paul assured.
Paul rushed to escape the scene along with Anthony, whom he was carrying under his left arm. They retreated to where the rest of the crew were, hiding from the missiles on the other side of one of the wagons.
"Rawls, how is it, can you see where they're coming from?" Paul asked, just as he delicately laid the wounded Anthony, who had been gritting his teeth, down on his back. The rest of the men had started barricading the space between bottom of the wagon's bed and the base of the wheels with sacks of grain and beans in order to block the oncoming missiles.
"4 of them are shooting from the building, another 4, maybe 6 from the woods. They might have melee units as well, but I'm not seeing them yet," Rawls answered.
"Yeah? They'll have to start making an appearance soon since they can't kill us from over there," Paul commented.
"I have to say, these men don't seem to be using bows," Rawls noted as he was taking peeks at the occasional shots coming from across the other side of the wagon train.
"Yeah, these are crossbow bolts," Paul answered, as he knelt while looking at the missiles that had struck Anthony. "I have to say Anthony, you did good to raise that shield on time," Paul commented while patting the wounded man's head, "Otherwise..." he continued, while pulling out a bolt that was stuck to Anthony's heater shield, "this...would've gone straight through your heart," Paul proclaimed, while holding the large missile for Anthony and the rest of his men to see. Anthony however, was too weak to respond aside from flashing a halfhearted smile.
"Crossbow, huh? I think I vaguely remember something like that," Rawls commented.
"I've never heard of this...crossbow," Bernard chimed in. Even though he was the second oldest man among Paul's serfs, and had gone on quite a few excursions to eliminate Magic Creatures, he had never heard of such a weapon, much less seen it.
"Neither have I," Siegmund added.
"Me neither," The rest of the crew also gave similar comments.
"Well, I'm not surprised," Paul answered. "It's a Dwarven weapon. The Dwarves are the only ones to use these weapons in any quantity. The Holy Millis Kingdom also furnished a few of their units with them, to my knowledge. But most of their crossbow units are Dwarven mercenaries anyway," Paul explained. He threw the crossbow bolt that he was holding, stabbing into the ground in front of him. "In any case, they're nearly impossible to find in the Central Continent, much less Asura," Paul concluded.
"So, what you're saying is...these aren't ordinary bandits," Rawls asked, to which Paul nodded his confirmation.
"Well, even if we know that, it doesn't change the fact that we're in trouble," Edmund carefreely opined on the matter. The youngest member of the crew was more concerned with Anthony Bach who was starting writhe in pain while sweating profusely. "Rather than that, shouldn't we be removing these bolts?" he asked, while reaching out his hands to pull out the crossbow bolts stuck on the wounded man's abdomen and knee, only to receive a firm smack on his head from Paul.
"Don't be stupid! You'll just end up bleeding him to death," Paul explained. He quickly unfastened his cape and cut 2 long pieces of it with his sword. Paul then handed them to Laurence, whom he deemed to be the most capable of his men when it comes to first aid tasks. "Laurence, patch up his wound," Paul ordered, referring to the wounded Anthony. "Just bandage around the bolts. The important thing is to minimize his blood loss. Once we get to Cyril, we'll find him proper treatment," he explained.
Laurence, however, was reluctant to use the makeshift bandage. "But Sir, this is your cape. I don't think it's fitting for you to sacrifice such an expensive item for us serfs. I heard that for nobles, heraldic capes are really important artifacts and heirlooms. Even Anthony himself wouldn't feel good about it once he came to," Laurence objected.
"Ah, yeah...uhm...Well, look it's my fault," Paul answered. "I've actually prepared proper bandages in a bag...but Kalajav was carrying it. And I spurred him on while rescuing Anthony. Now I don't know where Kalajav is," Paul explained. "Anyway, just use that," he ordered.
"Ooraaah!" "Ooraah!" "Oraaah!"
From across the other side of the caravan, deafening shouts could be heard. Both Paul and Rawls peeked to look at the source and found that the enemy were gathering out in the open, seemingly having given up on taking pot shots from their hiding spots. They were standing on the clearing between the administration building and the caravan, seemingly beckoning Paul and his men to fight them there.
There was a distance of some 25 to 30 meters between them.
Paul noticed that a few of the men were wearing sections of plate armor in addition to mail. Some were wearing steel lamellar armor over gambeson. But most were equipped with mail hauberks over gambeson. Only a few of them, mostly the crossbowmen, were wearing simple gambeson. They were equipped with a variety of steel helmets. Many were wearing fearsome-looking helmets that tapered into a conical shape towards the top, while having an attached veil of mail that covered the face and neck, leaving only the eyes visible.
Rudeus would have recognized these as armor resembling those of medieval Russia, common to the elite warriors of the Kievan Rus. Paul recognized them as armor common to the great warriors of the frigid Northern Lands. Aside from the crossbowmen, they were mostly armed with battle axes. The majority with one-handed battle axes and round shields, many with two-handed ones. Others were carrying a combination of maces and shields with a few equipped with sabers and shields. There were easily two dozen of them, perhaps three, including those who were still trickling out of the woods around the toll administration building.
"Oi, oi, oi, just what on earth is going on?! Forget bandits, aren't these guys some seriously well-armed mercenaries?!" Paul exclaimed.
Rawls too was displaying a combination of surprise and worry on his face. None of them signed up for this kind of trouble.
That said, this has now become a serious matter of life and death. They couldn't afford to go easy if they wanted to come home alive. While Paul wasn't clear of just how strong these warriors were relative to himself, he was certain that with the exception of Rawls, his men wouldn't even stand a chance in a short bout with them. It was clear that any clash would be thoroughly one-sided.
Rawls too, with his simple tunic wear and absolute lack of armor, would only do well from a distance where his skills as an archer could shine.
"Laurence!" Paul called. "Look after Anthony. If it's starting to look bad for us, move Anthony into the first wagon. Throw out everything inside the wagon, get the coachman to help you. If I fall, you better spur that horse as fast as you can and get to Roa! Warn the Count of what happened! Understand?"
"Ye-yes, Sir!" Laurence responded with an affirmative. It was starting to dawn on the rest of the crew the gravity of their situation. However, it was their leader, the knight Paul, who understood this more than anyone else. Having traversed across many countries and continents as an adventurer, and getting into numerous life and death combat along the way, Paul can instinctively discern the disposition of forces at a glance. He can judge whether the outcome of a clash would be favorable to his side or not. Paul was a survivor, and his senses were warning him that this fight would be dangerous. Even assuming that none of his enemies could match him individually, their numerical superiority would definitely show.
"Rawls, you'll lead the rest of the team. Keep your distance and provide me with support," Paul ordered, to which Rawls nodded an affirmative. "The rest of you, form shield wall and protect Rawls. Do not engage these guys in melee!" he barked. "I'll do everything I can to keep them off you. But should any of them get past me, maintain defensive posture while engaging. Shout for my attention while at it. Remember, surviving this is far more important than killing them! Understood?"
"Yes, Sir!" the men loudly affirmed.
"Right...NOW!" as Paul shouted his signal, he rushed towards the clearing in a furious charge. His first target was a mail-armored burly warrior who wielded a two-handed battleaxe. As Paul approached, the man swung down his axe with frenetic strength. But Paul sped up his charge at the last moment while pointing the tip of his sword forward and over his shoulder. He arrived long before the axe could land a blow. Paul thrust his sword through the man's mail hauberk, letting the momentum of his charge carry the blade through. It exited the other side of his abdomen. But Paul didn't stop there. He dragged the blade upwards just as quickly, slicing through the man's ribs, lungs and shoulder blade, while severing his left arm entirely as his sword exited over the man's shoulder. The warrior collapsed as his innards fell out in a shower of blood and bile.
However, before the man's body had even touched the ground, another warrior was already closing in within inches of Paul. The warrior swung down his flanged mace, aiming to crush Paul's skull into a bloody mess. Paul parried the strike towards his right just in time, then sidestepped to his left. Using his left foot as a pivot, he swung his sword down diagonally, bisecting the lamellar-armored man across from his unshielded right shoulder through to his left abdomen. The splattering of gore and organs bathed the grassy ground, turning it from green into shades of red.
But, there was no moment of respite for Paul. Another warrior was already swinging his two-handed battleaxe just as Paul was bisecting his second victim. Paul dodged the blade by mere millimeters as he jumped back just in time. Unfortunately, there were already two warriors waiting there. They clearly anticipated his movement. One was swinging a one-handed battle axe to his left, another was swinging a mace to his right. Paul had but a moment to make his decision. He could swing to engage either but not both. More importantly, the warrior to his front had followed Paul by jumping after him. It was a near-simultaneous, 3 on 1 assault. At this rate, he faced the prospect of leaving at least one blind spot behind him, while another attack came from his side that he won't be able to defend against.
"What to do?! Left?! Right?!" Paul considered. But he had to make a decision, fast. "Right!"
As Paul shouted the word, he used his right heel to stop the momentum of his jump, then almost instantaneously using it to propel himself into a spinning high jump, over the shoulder of the warrior who came from diagonally behind him. It was a highly risky move. Short jumps were one thing. They were useful in closing distances quickly. But high jumps kept a person above ground for a second too long, allowing skilled enemies time both to anticipate one's landing point and to respond accordingly. There was no way to change trajectory once you've made a high jump, either. For Paul though, this was a necessary gamble. He had to avoid getting butchered from three sides. If there was no escape on a level plane, then it was only sensible to go up or down, was Paul's reasoning.
As Paul was jumping over the shoulder of the enemy on his right, he swung his sword and cleaved cleanly through the man's right shoulder, severing his arm. The mace that hand was swinging had already reached where Paul's right shoulder would've been had he been even quarter-of-a-second late. As the blood was spraying from that stump of a shoulder, however, Paul immediately faced another danger.
The relentless warrior who had pursued him from his front was changing the direction of his axe's swing. The two-handed battleaxe the man was wielding was bound to cut horizontally across Paul's midsection before he could even make his landing. Paul had no way to parry the swing without a footing to provide sufficient counterforce. The best he could do would be to block it, but that would still leave the destination of his landing up to his attacker. Depending on the momentum and direction of that swing, he could end up right in the middle of the main mass of enemies.
"Damnit!" Paul cursed his mistake.
As the large axe was about to reach him. Paul prepped his sword to block the strike. However, it never came.
Just as Paul was readying to receive the hit, an arrow flew past him, heading towards his pursuer. It punctured through the relentless warrior's left eyeball and exited through the back of his skull, instantly killing him. Paul didn't have time to dwell on that, however.
As soon as his foot touched ground, he sped toward's the last able warrior of the three, swinging his blade vertically downwards. Although the warrior had put up his shield on time to deflect the strike, the strength, direction and momentum of Paul's swing had rendered it useless. He cut through the man, shield, arm, armor and all. The warrior was bisected into two from his left shoulder blade vertically downwards. His organs spilled forth as a puddle of red formed on the ground below him.
Paul then swiftly turned around to finish off the armless warrior. He thrust the point of his sword hoping to impale and kill the man. However, the warrior successfully parried the oncoming sword strike towards his left with his shield. Paul responded by using the momentum of the parry to swing his sword in a circular arc, utilizing his right foot as a pivot. The sword swung back towards the armless warrior's exposed right, and with nary a sound, his head was severed.
Rawls and Paul's men looked on in amazement at the sight before them. The bandits Paul was facing were strong, very strong. So strong, in fact, that among Paul's crew, only Rawls was able to keep up with their movements. Even then, he found it difficult to intervene and provide the support Paul requested.
The rest of the bandits too, seemed to have stopped their attack for the moment, their eyes clearly displayed their shock. Among them, whispers could be heard going back and forth. The intense melee had not lasted even half-a-minute and already, five of their numbers had fallen. Their blood and innards painted the once verdant field into lakes of crimson. Their severed intestines adding blotches of other colors, while the thick and pungent smell of iron wafted through the air, its domineering presence bearing down on all the living.
It was clear now that this place had become a stage. A stage for the warriors who have gathered there to dance. Dance their dances of death. And neither side could leave this stage unscathed.
After a long moment of deafening silence, a tall and imposing man steps forth from among the bunch. Paul believed that he might be the leader judging by his armor set and the two sabers on his hip.
"State your name, warrior!" the man ordered. His voice was gruff and raspy. Paul presumed that he might be a middle-aged man, judging from his voice alone. The man also had an accent common to the north, beyond the Red Dragon Mountain Range.
"Is that your definition of courtesy between warriors? You first!" Paul shot back, as he rested the blade of his sword on his shoulder.
"Hmph, I'd very much like to do that but unfortunately, our contractor forbade us from making such exchanges," the man acknowledged, his eyes seemingly conveying his regret. Paul couldn't tell for sure, however, as the man was wearing a silver mask that obscured everything but the man's eyes.
"So, that's it, huh? You guys are mercenaries, not bandits. Didn't your employer tell you to conceal the fact that you're hired help?" Paul asked.
"He never specifically said not to reveal the fact that we're mercenaries, so I believe it's fine," the merc explained.
"Hah! Quite the flexible one, aren't you?" Paul joked. "Name's Paul, Paul Greyrat. Lesser Knight serving the Count of Roa," he shouted. He was beginning to hope that he might be able to find some common ground with these mercenaries. Their presumed leader, at least, seemed like a flexible guy. If these men were mercenaries, surely they would care not to take on jobs that would cost them great loss for little gain. Skilled and experienced warriors were especially hard to come by, and its unlikely that these men would want to die for some petty job.
"Paul Greyrat...I see," the man contemplated. "I have to say, I found it surprising that a Lesser Knight could outmatch us to that extent. Here I thought that the warriors of Asura have long gone soft from your many years of peace. Yet, your swordsmanship showed otherwise," the man commented. "Based on what I can see, the speed of your strikes, the way you smoothly received each of our attacks and connected it into peerless counters, the way you danced across the battlefield as though it was your own personal stage...I'm guessing you must be at the advanced rank, both of the Sword-God style and the Water-God style. Perhaps even for the North-God style," the man concluded. "Am I right?" he asked.
"Well, your assessment isn't wrong," Paul answered. "That aside, you must be quite strong yourself, old man. To be able to discern all that on just a few bouts," he continued.
"Hahahaha!" the man roared a thunderous laughter. "I see, there are actually warriors like that in this world! Seems like this wasn't a wasted trip, after all!" the man proclaimed, seemingly shrugging off Paul's compliments for him.
"Very well, Paul Greyrat. Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier," the man continued. "I am Yaroslav, Yaroslav of the Twin Blades! I lead the Raging Bears of the Northern Lands," he declared. "My company are few in numbers but we are all veterans of numerous campaigns. Many of my men are Intermediate-ranked in the North-God style, a few are Advanced-ranked in the style. I, myself, am an Advanced ranked practitioner of the North-God style," he ended. As the man was announcing so many details of himself, Paul was getting flustered.
"Oi, oi, stop just for a moment right there," Paul interjected. "Whatever happened to not being able to say your name and all that?" Paul asked, confused by the mixed messages he was receiving.
"Hahahaha! That doesn't matter now, does it?"
"Huh?"
"After all, at the end of the day, only one side will live through this," Yaroslav stated matter-of-factly. The already cool temperature suddenly dropped a few degrees further. Paul and his men could feel the hair on their backs standing on ends. There was just something chilling with the way the veteran mercenary leader said it.
"Wa–wait, wait just a moment there. Can't we discuss terms? We should discuss terms. Look, I'd pay double of what your client's offering," Paul was desperately trying to salvage the peaceful resolution he was hoping for. He might be able to keep up with these men, but he knew that his own men couldn't. If what Yaroslav said was true, there was no way his crew could survive a melee with these mercenaries for longer than a few exchanges.
"Hahaha! I appreciate the offer, lad, but you can't afford it. And neither could your Count," Yaroslav answered. "Our boss this time is paying far above and beyond even our high rates. Now, I won't say I'm not worried for my men, or for their kin who may lose their loved one. But the money we've received were more than enough to set our families up for life. Now that's not something you'd get everyday in the north. Even if all of us were to die here, it'll still be worth it," the man explained, adding, "More importantly, the Raging Bears never reneged on a contract,"
"..."
"Well, no worries, lads, we'll give all of you proper burials. It's the least we could do to show our respect," the mercenary leader assured, only to heighten the tension.
"Damnit!" Paul spat, as he rushed to stand directly between the mercenaries and his men.
"Raging Bears, steel yourselves!" Yaroslav shouted.
"Men, formation!" Paul yelled.
"CHAAARRRGE!"
As Yaroslav gave the order, 5 men rushed at the same time towards Paul. A few were waiting behind them, ready to support. Paul knew he could only count on the fact that the radius of their swings would limit the number of men that could attack him at any one time. He stepped backwards to avoid the opening strikes, then rushed to his right towards the axe-wielding warrior at the left end of the 5-man formation. As Paul was about to swing his sword, however, a slash came from his left side.
Unable to avoid the imminent hit, Paul switched the sword to his left hand, parrying the strike. He swiftly thrust his sword towards his assailant, only to be parried by another. Then, two swings came towards him from opposite sides, forcing Paul to step back from the attack with only millimeters to spare. As Paul was kept busy by the relentless back and forth, 2 mercenaries quickly slipped past him. They were heading straight for his crew.
One merc was stopped in his tracks as an arrow pierced his throat and another simultaneously went through his chest. He had actually succeeded in deflecting an arrow heading for him using his two-handed battleaxe, only to find two other missiles lodging themselves one after the other almost instantaneously.
The other merc, however, managed to reach Paul's men in that time. The warrior ferociously swung his mace down towards the youngest man in the formation, Edmund, who could only stare blankly, petrified. Having anticipated this, Bernard rushed forward from right beside Edmund, pushing the young man aside with his right hand and blocking the oncoming attack with his shield on the other.
But it was futile.
The shield shattered and splintered as it came into contact with the furious blow. Before Bernard could even register what had happened, his assailant had swung a brutal kick from his right, sending him tumbling several meters away. He couldn't register anything after that, only that he was spilling the content of his stomach, probably more, much more.
He felt sick. He couldn't feel his hands. He was finding it painful to even get up, his strength fast leaving him. Dizzied and breathless, he was slowly making out the faint sounds of the battle. Turning his head around, he could see only blurred images of the unceasing clashes. But he could see it, and it was hell.
His friends had scattered, battered and beaten. He could see splotches of red, but Bernard didn't know whether that was just his eyes or something else. He didn't want to know.
He wished he was back home in Buena. He wished he was sitting beside his family, watching over his young wife and newborn son. He wished they could all be together, quietly enjoying the rewards and blessings of the harvest. He wished that this was all just a nightmare, these faint, perpetual screams that were hollering across the battlefield unceasingly, and the constant sight of bloodied and mangled men.
It seemed as though the flickering flames of life were sooner being snuffed out, one by one, by one.
As dusk turned to darkness, the curtain was at last drawn on the final act of this unnamed battle.
.