The ruins of a random town, Danh's temporary base.
Danh's POV
Standing before me is a vast crowd of animated skeletons and some dozens of humans. The group consists of both the ones that are retreating from the tribal army and the ones that came to help despite not being attacked. Thanks to the retreating groups, I learn that the tribal army has begun their expedition into this area.
Whether it was because of my scouting or because it has been planned for a long time, I don't know.
What I do know is that they seem to move in a wide front to attack every hunting party possible. In fact, they are so spread out that even though the hunting parties can't observe them for long before being driven back, they can still count the tribal army's number properly. Combining their counts and removing those that are clearly exaggerating and then including those back in once I realized that they had met the tribal's main forces, I have my intel.
An army numbering some 30 thousand strong is marching towards here. Based on what I remember from wiki, only about half of them are combat troops, the other half are camp followers. To make matters worse, they have horses which they use to ride here. Although, based on their equipment, they are not cavalrymen and are going to dismount to fight on foot, the horses still increase their marching speed.
Because this place has no grass to feed horses, they have to bring along fodder. Which requires more horses to carry fodder. Which comes down to the march here being very expensive, so their perceived reward must be at least equal to that. Considering that I have taken a visit to their camp earlier, they are probably coming for me.
Now then, since the aides haven't finished counting my troops yet, I'm going to think again about my options. The cold here limits their ability to supply their army for long and I can continuously retreat further from them as the undead have no need for food or water. So, I can simply leave and they will have to go back eventually…Unless some magical bullshit I can't possibly expect appears.
On the other hand, I can try to delay them through harassing attacks which will keep them alert and fatigued. That may backfire with them seeing losses and keep pushing on, not wanting to go back empty-handed while losing so much.
Utilizing everything that I know, it is very obvious which is the better choice…Except for just one tiny thing. I didn't expect any hunting parties to come to my aid. I was gathering the retreating groups both to gather forces to myself and to make sure nobody got left behind. As a result, my forces are larger and many people are determined to battle under my command. So, if I am to say that we will retreat now without a fight, it would be demoralizing to say the least.
Fortunately, I can still reason with them if the number disparity is too high.
"Your greatness, the headcount has been finished. Our host numbers about 9000 skeletons and 90 humans." The aide said.
Oh, that's not low enough. Alright, I will get in a scuffle and then immediately pull out with the excuse of sufficiently frightening the tribals. Now onto addressing them.
I correct my posture and speak loudly: "Faithful followers of the Dark One and subjects of mine, I ask for your attention."
All the humans and skeletons, the horses included, turn to look at me.
"Our hunters hunt only on our turf, keeping off the land they called their own. We keep our distance, do no harm to them and focus on our tasks." At least I hope so.
"Despite that, they still march upon our hunters, driving them away for no apparent reason other than to starve us. Will we stand by and let them do whatever they want?!" They are about to shout back before abruptly stopping, their mouths agape.
Uh, why? Oh right, "Speak at will."
"NO!" They shouted in near unison. At least I don't have to worry about discipline in the following battle.
"I'm glad to see your discipline and courage. However, I ask that you remain rational and consider our situation carefully." The excited atmosphere quiets down at my words.
"We, as you might have heard already, are outnumbered three to one. Even counting only the ones actively fighting us, they are almost twice our number. Therefore, in a direct fight, we will lose." I let a moment of silence pass to emphasize my point and increase drama.
"BUT!" A strange glimmer appears in their eyes. "We are not alone. What we have here are just a small part of our forces. Right now, I am certain that our allies are gathering to help us and Olta is going to hear about our situation and assemble a mighty host to crush the tribals for good." I actually prefer them not to do so, because the tribal army will have to retreat soon and the time and skeleton-power wasted on mobilizing are very useful elsewhere. Anyway, the 90 humans cheer while the skeletons, following orders, lift their arms up and wave.
"Now, we march on them like how they march on us to remind them that the harm they wish to inflict upon us will be returned. Faithful, to WAR!"
A loud cheer echoes across the entire group, "For our lord, the Dark Lord, and for our master, the Dark One!"
As they are preparing themselves, the former commander of the scouting unit and newly promoted general of this makeshift army walks to me, "Amazing speech, your greatness. However, I do wonder why you referred to the barbarians and tribals?"
"I consider them to be more organised and dangerous than mere barbarians, by my old world's standards."
He nods, "I see, an interesting point of view. What should we do with the carcasses of the hunted animal? I plan to leave them here so that we can bring them along later during our retreat and not let them hamper the skeletons' ability to fight."
"Go with your solution, good initiative."
"Thank you, your greatness." He said and then walks away to prepare the army for the upcoming fight.
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In the forest of Nybera, heading east.
A while later
Thyrison's POV
A slight breeze passes by, bringing a bone-deep chill with it. I do my best to tough it out. With me wearing proper warm clothes and chain mail, it won't bode well if the soldiers see me cold. I take a deep breath in and smell something off. Warchief Rajirson seems to have noticed it as well and halted the advance. He quickly orders the army to make camp as the closest acceptable position that the scouts identified.
The position is a nice flat place atop a hill, defensible, close to a frozen river and right next to a trail. Work quickly begins as trees are felled, a moat and a palisade around the camp are beginning to take shape.
Still the chieftain as I haven't been demoted yet, I technically have to command my men. Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, few of my officers still follow my commands. Most see serving under me as a chore now with my eventual demotion. Instead, they follow the training, experience and warchief's orders. Honestly, I'm glad I don't have to work as hard anymore.
While I am sitting on a boulder, overseeing the group that still follows me, Rajirson approaches me. I swiftly stand up and nod to him. He glances me up and down and says:
"I know that you are expecting to be demoted and probably don't have any motivation to fight. However, I do need your experience to calm the troops during battle and command them. Most importantly, you have sworn an oath to serve the clan. So, now I call on you to serve under my command until we return."
"Of course, I will follow your orders to the best of my ability."
He stares at me for a moment. Then, seemingly satisfied with the answer, he turns around. Just in time for a rider to gallop towards us, barely dropping to the ground as he gets near. Before either of us can react to him sliding to a stop in front of us, or the uncontrolled horse galloping past us and crashes into something important, he blurts out:
"Warchief, the cultists have engaged our scouts and are quickly pushing us back."
Waiting one second for the messenger to catch his breath, Rajirson questions: "How fast? When can I be expecting to meet the retreating scouts?"
Then, on the horizon to the east, small clouds of snow appear. Behind that, so much snow is scattering into the air that it seems like fog. They are here. I tap the warchief's shoulder and point there. He is taken aback for just a moment before yelling out:
"All troops, assemble into battle formation on the plains east of the camp."
Taking a sip out of my water skin to calm myself, I rush out to rally whoever I can to the front.
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East of the camp
Ryggnason's POV
As I force the horse to gallop as hard as it can, I whisper an apology to its ear. Then I force it to gallop even faster than that anyway because I really don't want to die. Behind me are hundreds of skeletons riding their skeletal horses. Arrows fly out from some of them, falling uselessly to the ground before it can reach me. In front of me are my subordinates who are riding just as hard as me. Even further ahead is the warchief's army, slowly gathering into formation.
Come on, just a bit more. The moment I can get behind the shield wall, I'll be safe. In an attempt to calm my mind, I look around to see other scout groups are also returning. Most have arrived before me and are rushing through the gaps between the formations. Then, in loose formation, several hundred men rush out of the gaps. When I get close enough to see my fellow men's faces, rocks whizz just above my head and into the skeletons.
Facing the slingers, the skeletons are forced to halt and fall back to their army. I reach the slingers soon after. Giving them a nod as thanks, I ride into the gap with my team. My horse violently throws me off the moment we reach the rear. I drop down and sit on the snow-covered ground to rest.
The clan's army is still forming with columns of men marching into positions. Near the camp, I see the warchief watching over the battlefield from atop his horse, his bodyguards and senior officers gather around him. Aides constantly ride back and forth, delivering orders from the officers.
To think that there will be a battle this far from everything that I know of is unexpected. However, it does have its benefits. Only a glorious one can enter Valhalla and, serving a quiet front so far, I haven't had enough glory yet. So rest and be ready to fight, myself. I will have my glory.
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Further East of the camp
Danh's POV
"Get that company back here!"
"We are doing our best, your greatness." My general answered, ordering one of the few aides to pull the company commander back, literally if need be.
I've known that gathering a bunch of hunters together with very few middle commanding officers and thousands of mindless skeletons is going to lead to chaos, but not this fast! It hasn't been an hour since first contact with the tribal scouts, yet a quarter of my army has already run off to chase after the scouts. With very few aides left, I can barely be able to rein them back in line. Fortunately for my mental state, the tribal army and their camp are in view, forcing every company to cease their chase.
After the speech, I divided the army equally into the basic unit of company, each consisting of a hundred skeletons and led by a human. As it turns out, the original unit used for hunting had been of a similar size to ensure that all of the skeletons could hear the human's orders. When applied to an army, it quickly showed its flaws.
The skeletons made for terrible messengers, being unable to speak or remember anything in their empty skull, so I have to rely on individual initiative and the reserve commanders. Individual initiative resulted in them chasing glory in the form of the scouts and none of my reserves had commanders because I had used them all as messengers.
I decide to calm my nerves down the same way I had every time my allied AIs do something stupid in computer games, looking back at my forces. 90 companies each have their own makeshift banner. 9 battalions of 10 companies each, all with their own, makeshift, flags.
Opposite to us, all the way across the open land, is the tribal army assembling into place. Similarly, their most basic unit is also a company of a hundred men. At least this confirms that they are also limited to shouting orders and sending messengers rather than any magical abilities.
Though they are still getting into place, I can still guess their composition. A loose skirmishing force of slingers, followed by rows of archers in tighter formation, behind that stand a sturdy shield wall of infantry with spears. There are gaps between units for the skirmishers and archers to retreat behind. Near the gaps are light infantry units who will quickly plug the gaps the moment any of my units try to exploit them. Attacked from the front and both flanks, my units will be forced to fall back. The scouts' horses haven't been led into the camp yet, so they may continue to fight as light cavalry.
Half an hour after that, the chaos finally reduces as each side forms their lines, facing each other. To the battlefield's left and right are denser forested areas and hilly terrain, making any attempt at outflanking the tribal army a near impossible endeavor. Considering the organization in my army so far, specifically the lack of it, I will take my chances with a frontal assault.
Putting 2 battalions on either flank, 4 in the center and one with me as reserves, I swiftly assign the commanders for each group, mostly based on the most disciplined commanders so far. With a blow of the horn, my frontline begins to ride towards the tribal army.
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The battlefield
Third person POV
The tribal army finalizes its organization just in time to receive the approaching skeletons. The honor of the first kill belongs to the slingers as a lucky shot cave in the skull of a skeleton, its mana quickly drained into the air and it collapses soon after. The others fare better with injuries that slowed their movements, ignorable thanks to the relatively uninjuried skeletal horses. The skeletons ride hard to eliminate the slingers' range advantage. Even then, dozens of skeletons fall before they can return fire.
Just as the skeletons begin firing, arrows descend upon them from the tribal archers. Its blunt and heavy tip crack bones, injuring many and even killing some injured skeletons. On the other side, the arrows rain down on the slingers and archers, wounding many.
For the average person, the sight of arrows falling around them, whizzing through the air, is terrifying. Even more so when the screams and groans of the injured reach them. That's without mentioning the possibility of themselves being injured or killed by the arrows. The tribesmen on the other hand, well, they are as equally terrified as the average person. However, they have their culture, their honour and their faith in their god who would grant them blessings for their glory. As such, they press on and look to their enemies in hope of seeing the same terror inflicted on them.
As for the skeletons, what thoughts may they have when they see the skeletons next to them get their skulls crushed by pebbles? Simple, they don't. Empty with thought other than the consistent echoes of their master's orders, they keep on loosing their arrows. They keep on riding even as their skeletal horses trample over the bones of their former comrades. Their human commanders are the only ones showing fear, surrounding themselves with skeletons to protect them. Yet, there are too few cultists for the tribesmen to see fear. All the tribesmen can see is a wave that remains undamaged, unslowed even with the rain of arrows and stones crashing against it.
Under the lead of the battalion commanders, the companies cycle in and out, ensuring a constant rain of arrows onto the tribal forces. The sheer disparity in the number of arrows let loose and the undead's lack of fear results in the wavering of the slingers' and archers' determination. The men at the rearmost take steps back to get out of the firing range. The men in front of them see that and also step back. This continues, slowly moving back the entire tribal front.
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Rear of the tribal army
Thyrison's POV
"Tell the skirmishers to fall back behind the shield wall." Rajirson gave out orders for his aides to deliver.
Then he turns to me, "Where's the heavy weapons that you have prepared against the cultists and their undead?!"
"They are still being brought to positions." I point to the camp, where catapults on sledges are being dragged out by the draft horses.
We return to observing the battlefield. A breeze passes by us, bringing with it a scent of blood and…rot? Weird, I have never smelled that even when inspecting the undead before. Soon, the catapults and their crews are in place.
"Shall we commence bombardment, warchief?"
"Yes, commence bombardment." Rajirson answers as I raise my arm high and pull it down swiftly, signaling the crews to fire at will.
A volley of rocks fly over our head with a sharp whizzing sound. Rajirson says: "I trust your knowledge in fighting these undead."
"Don't be worried, warchief. My officers and I have been preparing to fight the cultists the moment we heard that we were going to be assigned here."
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Rear of the Danh's army
Danh's POV
"Good enough, let's retreat."
My general abruptly turns around, "Your greatness! But they are falling back!"
"Yes, that's why we are falling back. We have dealt enough damage already. Attacking a shield wall from the front will decimate our forces. Let's return back and fight them again on a better battlefield."
He nods and begins to send out messengers to pull the front back, albeit rather reluctantly. As I wait for them to return, I look over the catapults that have just been installed at the rear of the tribal army. They should have just enough range to fire at my skeletons. However my skeletons on horseback can easily dodge the large projectiles.
A volley of some 15 rocks is launched and falls down onto my charging skeletons, scoring a handful of kills each. As the kicked up snow falls down, the skeletons are still charging, loosing arrows at the retreating skirmishers and the shield wall.
…Why did they not dodge? Why are they still charging?!
"General, have our messengers reached them yet?!"
"Yes, they have, your greatness. A messenger is about to return to us right now." My general answered.
Just as he has said that, a messenger pushes past the skeletons and says: "The commanders have refused to fall back. They say that the barbarians were on the run and they could take those bastards down now."
"Go…" No, gods are real here. Don't take them lightly. "Damn it. General, stay here and direct the battle. I'm going to personally call them back. Also, I'm taking 3 companies as bodyguards."
He nods, "Yes, your greatness. But, um, that's a third of our reserves. They may misunderstand your actions as reinforcing a potential breach in the tribal line."
"Don't worry. I have my reasons for doing so."
The reason is that I don't want to die and risking a misunderstanding is significantly less important than keeping myself alive. Now, the left flank seems most bombarded and damaged, so I should start there. Both because I can convince the commanders to retreat more easily and that the tribals probably won't focus another volley there.
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Rear of the tribal army
Thyrison's POV
"That's surprisingly damaging." Rajirson commented as the second volley was being prepared.
"Indeed, so long as the shield wall holds, the archers, slingers and catapults can steadily decrease the amount of undead until they retreat or are wiped out."
Rajirson nods and suddenly focuses. I look back to the battlefield to find a few hundred skeletons are riding to their left flank. Are they attempting a penetrating attack?
"Messengers! Tell our frontline to close the gaps and brace themselves for a charge."
The messengers listen carefully and glance over at Rajirson. Only when the warchief nods that they ride off to relay my orders. As they leave, I watch the newly joined forces intently.
They, the skeletons, reinforce a part of the line that has been hit particularly hard by the catapults. Immediately afterwards, they are moving away to other parts of the line. As for the forces left, they retreat? Huh, everywhere that new units arrive, the cultists fall back. So those might be the enemy's own general trying to get his men to retreat.
"Catapults, focus on those moving units."
The aide rides away to relay my orders to the catapults' crew just as the warchief says: "You guess it too? The enemy's general?"
"Yes warchief, that and he seems to be pulling his forces back. We should stay put and launch rocks as they leave. Should be able to score a few hundred kills."
He nods, "After that, with our camp fortified, we can stay safely inside."
Suddenly he stiffens and pales at the sight of the enemy's general riding back to reinforce the retreating enemy's left flank.
A sudden premonition washes over me. "Warchief, the men stationed there are?"
Warchief Rajirson answers, slowly: "The soldiers of the nobles supporting my inheritance, not of our clan."
Just as he has said that, our right flank breaks rank to chase after the enemy's general and left flank.
"Messengers! Tell the rest of our shield wall to stay put and maintain order. Tell the light infantry to plug in the gap between the right flank and the rest of the front."
The messengers, seemingly realizing the severity of the situation, immediately run off without checking for the warchief's approval. As for Rajirson, he grips his horse's reins and says: "I must get there to convince them to hold back. Stay here and direct the army."
He unlatches and throws me his sheathed sword, "Here, this will be the proof of my approval of your authority."
He immediately rides away with his bodyguards, leaving me with a bunch of senior officers who formerly have ignored my commands without his approval. However, I can't care less about that at this point and command them as we have trained.
Still, what's this stench of rot?!
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On the cultists' left flank and the tribals' right flank
Danh's POV
"Your greatness, the barbarians are charging at us!" A company commander shouted.
"I can see that! Keep retreating!"
"But there's a large gap, we can charge in through that!" Another one shouted.
"And then what? Be surrounded on all sides? We don't have enough skeletons here to pin them down and I have ordered the line to retreat. We must fall back."
As we are having the small shouting match, the tribal warriors keep chasing after us. Even when a boulder nearly hits them, they still chase after us. Even as the gap between us keeps getting larger, they still give chase. Still, they won't catch us. Well, so long as I can keep these reckless people from charging in.
"Your greatness, the barbarians are being reinforced." The battalion commander, who is still looking at the tribals with regret of not being able to charge in, reports.
I turn around to see a hundred cavalry riding up to the tribal warriors. Their chase ceases just a few moments later as their light infantry close the gap. With that, the day is done, the battle is over. Time to go rest and return to Olta.
Suddenly, a white flag is raised high above the crowd. The battalion commander and the company commanders halt the retreat. Pushing through the skeletons, I ride to the battalion commander, "What does a white flag mean?"
He replies: "Either a surrender, or, more likely in this case, a request to parley."
I turn to look at the rest of my army. Seeing the white flag, most have halted their retreat after dodging the rocks still in the air. I look over the tribal army. With the white flag raised high, their catapults have ceased lobbing rocks, their archers have stopped loosing arrows and their slingers have stopped slinging stones. The sole thing left untouched is the rotting stench
Watching a whole battlefield turns silent as the appearance of a single white flag, I have to ask,
"Battalion commander, how is attacking during a white flag viewed in this world?"
He answers: "Very terrible your greatness. As far as I am aware, even the greatest of armies and vilest of villains don't attack during a parley because it will invite hatred from everyone."
Good to know. "How many magic wielders are under your command?"
"Two, your greatness." He answered and called for them.
"Those two, another and 30 skeletons will be my bodyguards."
Quickly enough, a group to parley with the tribal army is formed. Riding in the center, I watch as about 30 men split off from the tribal army, carrying the white flag. Both groups halt about 5 meters from one another. Close enough for me to see the whites of their eyes, too close for my taste.
A man, whose armor is well decorated and seems much better than the others, rides forwards. At the midway point, he stops and speaks aloud: "I am warchief Rajirson, son of clan leader Rajir, commander of this army! I request to parley with the commander of yours!"
Stabilizing my breath, checking my sword and spear, running out to things to buy time, I ride forth to meet him. When I feel that I'm sufficiently close, I speak: "I am Danh, the Dark Lord, commander of this army! I accept your request!"
He focuses on me. His eyes squint as he scrutinizes me. In response, I try my best to maintain a slight smile to hide my thoughts. Whether that works or not is beyond me.
After a while, he starts: "To call oneself the Dark Lord is both insane and incredibly reckless. The Goddess's followers have defeated one such man and aren't going to be pleased to see another. That's not to mention all of the pretenders and believers that would, without enough proof, kill such a person. I hope that you are aware of such things."
"I know."
He looks at my eyes for just another moment before his gaze softens and a smile appears on his lips. I also can't read his face anymore. He says:
"I will go straight to the point. I am here for a mage who is powerful enough to scare my best. Though, I am rather certain now that mage was you. Was it?"
"Indeed, I apologize for lying and spying on your camp."
He shakes his head: "That's alright. Just to be clear, we have no desire to get in any conflict with your people. In fact, we were worried that the mage would harm you, so we came here to make sure that you were aware that the mage's allegiance doesn't lie with us."
I doubt that, but it is as good a resolution as any. "Very well, let this misunderstanding be a misunderstanding corrected and for us to live in peace once more."
He nods, I still can't read him, "Alright then. Though, I must advise you to clean your undead better. Even in the cold, the terrible zombie disease can still spread."
"What do you mean? I did not smell rot in the rear of my army. I only smell it here."
Now I can read him. He seems surprised, "I also only smell rot here and when the wind brings the stench to the rear of my army."
Suddenly, something clicks in my head. Most of the undead here haven't been boiled yet despite several days behind schedule because of this battle. The sub-zero cold prevents the magically infused virus from duplicating and thriving. However, if there are, let's say, animals that are warm inside, then the virus can spread and raise the animals as zombies. Like the carcasses from my hunters, whose butchering process has been halted because of this battle, allowing them to maintain the warmth inside their bodies.
A boar charges out of the forest next to us. Moving exceptionally fast due to the adrenaline and its lighter weight, lacking the head. Following it are a horde of animals with various lethal injuries, proving my hypothesis.