Meanwhile, at the front lines of Thermopylae, the surrounding rock faces were studded with broken arrows and shattered javelins, and every inch of the ground was scorched black. Some craters of various sizes were filled with blood, mangled flesh, and the entrails of men and horses alike. Others were charred to an extreme, wisps of bluish smoke rising from them as the stench of burnt skin and roasted meat spread through the air.
Soldiers in different uniforms and with different features lay tangled together across the battlefield, dead and wounded alike. Some were shoved off the cliffs to be carried away by the seawater below. Others were hauled to the breaches and piled up in front of the shattered low walls.
Congealed blood stuck to the corpses and hardened into clumps, forming a gruesome wall of flesh.
Pshhk!
A spear drove into a body that was still twitching, then twisted. The foreign soldier, who had raised a hand to beg for help and cling to life, finally spat out blood. His pupils spread, the convulsions gradually ceased, and his limbs went limp.
As the weapon was yanked back out, it drew a spray of blood with it. The burly red-haired man, with several savage scars across his chest and a gash near one eye that had nearly split open his skull, casually picked a scrap of cloth off a nearby corpse, wiped the blood from the spearhead, then climbed onto the low wall and looked out ahead.
"Alexander, how bad are the losses for the city-states?"
"Of the 7,000 elite troops we brought from the Tempe Valley, fewer than 3,000 are left. Of Corinth's 400 warriors, 150 are dead or wounded. The 300 from Mycenae ran into the Immortals and were wiped out on the northern line. Thebes sent 400 men and lost more than half. Of Thessaly's 500, only a two-digit number are still alive. Even my Macedon pikemen are down by two-thirds. The 1,120 Arcadian archers and skirmishers were targeted by the Persian Magi and scattered. I'm still trying to regroup them, so I don't have the final count yet..."
Prince Alexander of Macedon, his face smeared with blood, a bandage wrapped around his head, and one arm hanging in a sling across his chest, calmly reported the condition of the allied forces despite the crimson blood soaking through the gauze. His one exposed eye remained fixed on the battlefield, his expression stern and still as a statue.
"It's about the same on my end. Reinforcements from Mantinea, Thespiae, Phocis, and the other city-states have all taken losses of over half. Some were even wiped out to the last man. As for Sparta's 300 royal guards, only 100 remain. Of the 1,000 second-class infantry, only four or five hundred can still move. With this little manpower, we can barely fill the gaps."
Leonidas, King of Sparta and commander of the army, stood there with a dark, heavy expression.
"What about the Magus and the priests?"
Alexander glanced toward the several cone-shaped deep pits behind them, where thin streams of bluish smoke still drifted upward, and frowned.
"Even worse. That bastard Karna nearly wiped out our entire caster group with that full-power spear strike just now. Good thing we joined forces to block one wave of it. Otherwise we'd all be in the Underworld having tea with Hades by now."
The muscles in Leonidas's face twitched violently, his heart aching at the thought.
Ever since the Council had shut down the Academy of Athens to keep the status of the divine-blooded families from being threatened by spellcasters, many Greek Magi, unwelcome in their own land, had fled to Egypt and Rome. The most elite priests and ritual officials, meanwhile, were concentrated on the Areopagus. The makeshift caster force he had scraped together from all sides was now close to being wiped out.
"Even getting through this battle would just be a temporary stroke of luck. The divine chariot wheel I obtained from Zeus through a great sacrifice was already damaged in the fighting just now. From here on, we can only rely on ourselves..."
Alexander lowered his head and looked at the short sword in his hand. Its light had dimmed, and a faint crack could be seen in it. His face grew even gloomier.
Leaning on his spear and resting against his shield, Leonidas looked out toward the sea of white-topped tents stretching into the horizon and the seemingly endless Persian army beyond them. A trace of self-mockery flickered in his eyes.
"The situation just keeps getting worse. At this rate, we may be going to have tea with Lord Hades tonight."
"Not necessarily."
The prince of Macedon gazed toward the mist-wreathed valley in the distance, sharp light flickering in his eyes as he spoke with calm certainty.
"In that last clash, that man named Karna clearly still had strength left, but he gave up pressing the attack. And the Persian withdrawal was hurried. Otherwise, whether Thermopylae could have withstood that assault at all would be questionable. I'm guessing something went wrong behind their lines and forced them to turn back and prepare."
"Reinforcements from Athens?"
Leonidas shot back the question, then shook his head with a derisive snort.
"You really think those lords on the Areopagus would suddenly show mercy and send help to a bunch of disobedient barbarians like us?"
Alexander shook his head slightly, but his confidence in his judgment did not waver.
"The Areopagus is hard to say, but it doesn't have to be them. The Egyptians' defection was strange no matter how you look at it. Looking at the broader situation, the most likely explanation is that something unexpected really did happen on Rome's side, and that created a fulcrum capable of shifting the balance of the war in Greece."
"So, Romans?"
"I don't know. Greece is already a battlefield on every side. Anyone could show up. The key is whether they're friend or foe. But for now, they indirectly saved our lives and gave us a rare chance to catch our breath. If an outside force is tying down part of Persia's military strength, our situation may improve. Barely counts as good news, but still."
Hopefully...
As the Spartan king muttered to himself, his gaze fell on the Persian camp before the lines, and he immediately noticed obvious movement within the enemy ranks.
At that moment, atop a high platform built from nine tiers of square bricks, fragrant wood, fuel, and animal fat had been piled high. One corpse after another was cast into the blazing sacred fire. Purified by the flames of light, their sins were washed away, their flesh reduced to ash, and their spirits returned to the embrace of the true god Ahura.
"Ashem vohu... yata ahu..."
Thousands of white-robed Zoroastrian priests stood with their hands crossed over their chests, while female attendants nearby cast incense into the flames and twisted their bodies in wild, provocative dances.
"What are they saying?"
Alexander blinked, looking confused.
"The Zoroastrian chief prayer!"
Leonidas's pupils shrank sharply, and his face stiffened as he forced out the answer in a dry voice.
"If they're doing this, there's only one possibility. The Persians are going all out!"
At the same time, as if to confirm the Spartan king's words, ranks of Immortals marched out in perfect order, their faces covered by silver masks, scimitars and round shields in hand, dressed in black robes and black armor. Under the sacred fire and the fever of the war dance, their bloodlust and madness surged higher and higher. They looked like demons crawling up from hell, and the crimson-black Ether tide rolling off them was like a towering plume of bloody smoke crushing forward with overwhelming force, enough to suffocate anyone who faced it.
Moo~ Moo~
And in front of those black-armored soldiers, dozens of deep, muffled cries rang out across Thermopylae. War elephants with dense Chants carved into their hides advanced with heavy, crushing steps, steel barriers mounted on their backs as they carried groups of secret Magi holding divine lamps, along with archers from the Meteor Legion.
The great hero Arash and the secret Magus Scheherazade were among them.
And seated cross-legged atop the largest and strongest of those giant elephants was a little girl holding a short-handled axe.
More than that, a golden-crimson sun slowly rose from within the Persian ranks. A gigantic golden-red spear drew in endless flames, its terrifying power climbing higher and higher, just on the verge of reaching the limit!
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