(AN: We have a death in the family. So the update will be few for a while.)
Ramposa's heart swelled as the image of the war drew closer and closer in his Kingdom's favor.
And while the clash at the center wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. He didn't dare hide his relief as he watched the Horned Paladin cast spells upon spells for the levy's benefit. Strengthening them in more ways than one.
Even from afar, he could still see the royal blue banner she held. Swaying like a beacon of light among flesh and blood.
His ears registered a slight rattle of steel and he turned to see Gazef Stronoff, looking longingly at the other side of the conflict.
Ramposa smiled wearily the moment and when he turned to the man's attention, his heart skipped a beat.
If Lady Albedo could inspire hope, Ser Momonga brought about fear.
Fear and despair at what he could cause. Making him glad he's their ally rather than their enemy.
Ramposa's eyes watched as the man fought like an unmoving block of steel.
He smashed through enemies with overwhelming strength. Cleaving through them with frightening ferocity. And moving from one battle to the next with surprising speed and agility.
But no one stopped the man, not even him.
Because despite his brash and attention grabbing actions. His existence forced the Empire's attention. Allowing his people to strike where they weren't looking.
He was a monolith of despair. Making imperial hands shake and in their fears, force their eyes and hands upon him.
'...long enough to save my people.' Ramposa thought.
"...power so overwhelming. That the truth is what he makes it huh..." whispered Gazef.
And Ramposa grimaced. Remembering those words even today.
'Truth has no place among the tidings of the weak.'
The words were as strong as a slab of marble. And seeing the man in action, he couldn't really deny it.
"Father!"
Ramposa turned to his eldest son, Barboro who rode armed to the teeth. Followed by Marquis Bouloppe and a handful of veterans. Men whom he judged entirely on their grim countenance and battle tested armaments.
"Let me lead the central forces!" shouted his son.
But Ramposa frowned, easily hearing his son's bravado. "Son, such a task is far too dangerous. Even for you, Gazef will–"
"Your Majesty," interrupts Marquis Bouloppe. "My men and I are more than capable of defending the Prince. And as Heir to the Throne, there is no better time than now, to learn how lead an Army."
Ramposa remained undecided but the support his son was receiving from the Noble's around him was not something he could ignore. Not wanting to escalate the situation, he nodded.
"Very well, Marquis."
"By your leave your Majesty."
Ramposa watched them ride off. A feeling of dread settled into his heart. And within a heart beat, he turned to his most trusted and said. "Prepare to intervene if needed Gazef."
"I will your majesty."
And with that, he turned his attention back to the whole of the army. Leaving him with a tightness of his gut.
With a weary heart. He turned to the one dubbed, 'The Black Knight of Re-estize' and whispered,
"Please... end this. Let war end."
—.—.—.—.—
Barboro's first impression upon reaching the center was confusion.
The eastern wing had moved like a disciplined block. Their shields were locked, banners held steady, and men were moving into action to reinforce weak points before they collapsed.
The west, though bloodied, had at least held its line with stubborn consistency. Each man followed the lead of the recently Knighted commoner. Leading forward in a slow and steady pace but each man that followed him fought overwhelming ferocity.
Supported by cavalry that remained in motion. Taking advantage of any opening the Knight would give as he dove headstrong into Imperial Lines.
The center, by contrast, was noise.
Shouting overlapped with shouting. Orders contradicted one another mid–breath. The front lines bent, straightened, then bent again as officers argued with each other's action.
Men were dying, not because the enemy pressed harder, but because no one told them where to stand.
'And I will be the one to fix it!' Barboro inwardly rejoiced.
"Form ranks!" Barboro shouted with a raise of his sword.
The cry went up unevenly. Some obeyed while others didn't hear. With a not–so–few looking over their shoulders, uncertain whether the command had been meant for them.
And when they moved, Barboro's smile cracked.
The spear line formed too far forward, exposing its flanks. Another section pulled back without warning, opening a gap–
And from that gap, blood spilled.
The Imperial Cavalry took the opening and pierced through.
Shouts of pain and and death reduced moral into cinders in seconds.
Men died one after the other as the Imperial Cavalry entered through the opening and created a massive wound as they exited to the side.
Marquis Bouloppe rode to his side, visor lifted, face tight. "Your Highness—do not shout. Issue commands through the captains. They must relay—"
Barboro cut him off. "There's no time for ceremony. They're collapsing!"
"Then stabilize first," Bouloppe snapped. "We can anchor our lines with the stability of the Left Wing. The right is already—"
A horn sounded, cutting him off mid speech. Imperial horns, they noted.
And without warning the Imperial Infantry that had watched so far, raised their shields and marched forward in unison.
Seeing it as a challenge, Barboro gave one command. "Advance!"
And while he wanted them to surge forward, they instead began to march.
The men moved unevenly. With too few marching and most surging too far and too fast. Causing the line to break cohesion instantly.
And the Empire wasn't one to miss the opportunity. The Imperial Cavalry that had just bled them, circled for another bite and tore through a chunk of the Kingdom's central forces.
Hundreds dead in less than a handful of minutes.
Angered, Barboro gave no command to pull back and thought to give chase. But the cavalry –much to his surprise– instead of piercing throughnto the other side, vanished instead behind the shield wall of the Imperial Infantry.
"Cowards!!" Barboro shouted.
While his Father-in-law, Marquis Bouloppe commanded the men. "Pull back! Pull back! Form Line!"
The order was drowned out.
What little structure existed folded inward. Men retreated into each other and to themselves. Someone dropped a banner out of fear. Another tried to pick it up only for a spear to tear his throat.
The center was routed and bled, steadily and without purpose.
But Marquis Bouloppe was veteran and in seconds, he regained command. Leaving behind a thousand dead bodies, all of them from the Kingdom.
And many glared at the man who made the mistake.
Barboro's throat tightened.
This wasn't like the drills or the maps.
This was the Kingdom's rot made visible. And he was being introduced to it atop the safety of his horse and with eyes far removed from the horrors of war.
"Your Highness," Bouloppe said, voice strained, "we must disengage and re-form. The men don't know who to listen to!"
"I am right here," Barboro growled. "They should listen to me."
"They don't know you," Bouloppe said bluntly.
The words cut deeper than steel. But before Barboro could respond, movement rippled through the imperial ranks.
Their cavalry that was previously skirmishing behind Imperial Shields, suddenly pushed forward in clean arcs.
Bouloppe was ready to give the order to pull ranks— until cavalry from the Kingdom pierced the Imperial Riders from the side.
Princess Sylvia led her riders, taking advantage of the exposed side.
She urged her horse with her dress stained red and her armor, nicked and dented.
Her shield was beaten but it still held her front. While her sword was sleek with blood. Yet it rose and cut down those she could reach.
And when the Imperial Cavalry pulled back behind Imperial Infantry, she instantly redirected her men with seemless movement.
Keeping a tight enough arc in their turn to avoid the infantry spears. While keeping enough momentum to re-engage the section she had just left.
And from there, the battlefield changes.
Another Imperial Horns blared, three in quick succession.
The imperial infantry suddenly moved in controlled acceleration that closed distance faster than before. But the most notable change was the seemless assimilation of three different sections into one.
But while Marquis Bouloppe was assessing the sudden shift in the Empire's tactics, his son in law was–
"What are they doing?" Barboro demanded.
Bouloppe's eyes widened. "That bitch shouldn't even be in his fight!" Barboro felt it envy lick his skin like slime and he hated it.
Bouloppe ignored the childish tantrum of the Prince and instead redirected the men. "They're compressing their lines. We can't be drawn in."
And then horns sounded again but different this time. It was shorter, sharper, and it made Bouloppe's veteran skin crawl.
But without warning, with envy burning behind his eyes, Barobor commanded.
"Advance!"
This time the men moved too eagerly, emboldened by Sylvia's success.
But the Empire was ready.
The imperial infantry slid to a halt, shields already nearly arranged and angled. And without warning, spears flew en masse but targeted.
The cheers died mid-breath. As courage was snuffed out like a candle light as steel tipped spears killed many unarmored men.
From the rear, imperial cavalry reappeared. Not charging the center, but sweeping wide, and forcing Re-Estize's flanks to turn inward.
The center compressed unintentionally. Men collided. Shield angles broke.
"Hold!" Barboro shouted. "Hold the line!"
But there was no line to hold.
Imperial Cavalry advanced in wedges, driving separation where cohesion was weakest. They didn't overextend and made sure that each push paused just long enough for the next to overlap.
And then, another factor was added.
*BOOOM!
Another explosion echoed. Erupting with power and heat,l with the smell of burnt flesh mix with he steely tang in the air. And from high above floated an old man holding a gnarled grey staff in his hand and another fireball converging on his other hand.
Fluder Paradyne has joined the battle.
—.—.—.—.—
Momonga noticed the change. What was once confidence has now turned dangerous.
Caution.
The Empire that previously entertained engaging with cavalry first while keeping the infantry at the back. Had now switch to actually using tactics.
'It seems they are done playing.'
The lines tightened into three sections. Shield walls were placed intact and from above... several fireballs flew.
*boom- *bom! *Bam! *BoOom—!
"Aahh!!"
"My arms!"
"Help me!
"It burns!"
Thousands dead in seconds...
And it shook the moral of both armies.
With the Kingdom's men shaking in doubt, doused in fire.
And the Imperial Knights feeling the light of hope in their eyes.
"[•Fly•]!" Momonga flew up above and thought to sail above and beyond the imperial lines but–
"[•Dragon Lightning•]" Momonga swerved to the side, avoiding being swallowed whole but the lightning swerved right back.
"Tsk!"
Momonga flew outpacing the spell by a large margin. And as soon as his eyes locked on to the floating bearded man above the central forces, Momonga flew to engage.
"Hmm... Such young and passionate Hero." Fluder whispered as he stroke his beard, observing Momonga's movements. "A shame, it appears this old man would have to teach you a lesson."
And around him three magic circles bloomed.