CHAPTER 264: ADVENTUS IN SANGUINE

Adventus in Sanguine

The Second Hill Path Battle

They were hot to the touch, Lansius knew, yet it still seemed unbelievable that human blood wasn’t just warm but truly hot as it splattered from one of the rebels his guards had fought just a few steps to the right. The rebel, young, brash, and poorly armored, staggered from a deep sword cut to the neck that slashed the main artery, spraying blood upward as he fell back. The burst of blood, a red fountain against the backdrop of ever-encroaching white light, was rare, and for a moment it mesmerized the rioters, giving them a full taste of war.

Lansius drew a breath, as did his veterans, holding tight to their formation and refusing to waste strength seeking glory.

But even with their boldness dented and fear fresh in their minds, the rebels kept fighting, trapped by the folly of their own making.

"No!" another screamed, but the halberd came down, fast and sharp, cleaving his poorly armored shoulder and giving the men behind him another dose of reality.

As the rebels' behind recoiled in horror, the veteran simply pulled his bloodied weapon free and raised it again.

Yet more rebels were pressed into this meat grinder. In desperation, they fought to survive, and their sheer mass made up for their lack of skill.

Amid the chaos and loud noises of war, in Lansius’ tired mind, Audrey was smiling gently, saying, "You’re almost a father. Don’t do anything reckless without me."

Just wait for me...

The hot blood now trickling down his chin and seeping into the sweat-soaked linen padding of his helmet snapped him back to reality. Against the fresh wave, his guards were once again overwhelmed and stretched thin. Two rebels slipped past. A man-at-arms beside him grunted as he met one head-on. Meanwhile, Lansius faced another, this one still reeling from a blow to the side.

Not wanting to risk the edge getting stuck, Lansius slammed the blunt side of his axe into the shocked rebel.

With a dull, wet sound, the axe struck the man squarely on the shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground. It would be the last anyone saw of him, as the next rebel, brash and aggressive, stepped over the man's body to thrust his spear. With a grunt, Lansius blocked with his shield. As trained, the ranks behind him surged to assist. One leveled a spear and another aimed a crossbow.

A bolt thudded into the attacker’s chest, sending him reeling, and Lansius finished it with a savage axe blow to the helmet that knocked the man sideways.

Still, against the onslaught of greater numbers, his formation took another step back. It was the only way to preserve themselves.

Lansius took a shallow breath. Despite the rebels’ desperate fight, he sensed the attack had slackened. The initial pressure and momentum were gone. Pulling in air, he shouted, "They faltered. Punish them!"

Recognizing his voice, veterans and recruits alike roared in unison, staggering the inexperienced rebels. Dozens were still fighting, but the rest halted their assault.

Sensing the same weakness, the captain shouted, "For the Blue and Bronze! Charge!"

His men-at-arms, against the odds, launched a counterattack and caught the rebels off guard. For the first time, his side pressed forward.

The front erupted into a bloodbath as his veterans fought without restraint. One violently hacked off a limb with a powerful overhead stroke, another drove a blade through a rebel’s chest, and next to him, another brutally clubbed a man to death with an iron mace. Despite fighting in desperation, the rebels died left and right. Within minutes, bodies were scattered across the ground.

Witnessing the slaughter, the rebels’ front line broke. They ran like water from an overturned bucket, streaming to the sides, screaming, weapons tossed aside.

"My Lord, shall we press on?" one asked Lansius with beads of sweat running down his tense face.

"No, reform the line," Lansius replied, fully aware that pressing the attack would doom them. There were only a hundred men-at-arms left, all exhausted. At best, they could only stand against a similar number.

The men shouted Lansius’ decision, and slowly, they rebuilt their formation around him. Tirelessly, they brandished their blood-soaked weapons as they took the lull in the battle to catch their breath and rest their heavy limbs.

Just two hundred paces ahead, a fresh crowd had gathered.

"The fools keep coming," one muttered, disbelief in his voice.

"Have all the carts reached the camp?" another asked hoarsely.

"Halfway through," someone with a crossbow answered from the back.

"Prepare to take another assault then," the captain remarked, turning to Lansius, who gave a firm nod.

His guards disliked that prospect. "My Lord, there are too many of them."

"The cavalry will come, then we can make our run," Lansius answered.

The guards around him let out a sigh. They had thought about grabbing Lansius and making a run for it, but they knew the entire defense would scatter and the evacuation would collapse the moment he was gone. Worse, they would likely lose all the riders as well. With the horses ridden hard for so long, there was a real risk the cavalry would be captured if they failed to reach the hill camp.

Even though their main task was to protect the Lord’s life, they couldn’t ignore the risk of losing Dame Daniella, Sterling, or Camp Commander. That kind of loss would be too disastrous for their House.

"Oh, it's a big one," one muttered about the rebels' crowd, unable to hide his nerves.

“The bastards are getting smarter,” his captain muttered in disgust, motioning for them to take a few steps back into the hill path to better secure their flanks.

"Where are our horsemen?" one muttered. The signaler had blown the cornu a few moments ago, but there was still no sign of them.

There was no time to ponder. The ground shook as the rebels advanced, three hundred strong. Their chants and mockery rang out, coarse and loud. They slowed only to look at the bodies of their fallen, then blindly pressed forward.

Fearing his men might have second thoughts, Lansius said, "Remember what we're doing here. The men on those carts could be you, and I'd do the same for you."

Hearing him, some of his men smirked while others chuckled under their breath.

"You seem to love us a little too much, My Lord."

"Leave us, and ride to the castle. Your firstborn is waiting for you." The men sounded murmurs of support.

"Not until this is over," Lansius replied firmly. Watching as the mass in front advanced closer, he signaled his slingers to attack, hoping to shift the flow of the fight.

Two earthen projectiles of Burning Sand, probably their last, arced into the advancing rebels. Soon, violent clouds engulfed the front, scattering men in hoarse coughing and screams.

Watching the chaos, Lansius’ men, now thoroughly desensitized, began to laugh.

"Fuck them good," one said, and many cheered or hurled taunts.

Lansius turned to his crossbowmen. "Sally out, and put a bolt in anyone who tries to regroup."

"Yes, My Lord." Fifteen recruits, led by three veteran crossbowmen, moved in from the back and set out to hunt.

The Burning Sands and the crossbowmen tore into the enemy, but still, the rebels crawled back into formation.

Lansius turned to his slinger. "Do you have any left?"

"Just one more, My Lord. But we still have a bag of smooth round pebbles."

"Give it to them when they're closer."

"With pleasure."

The last jar of Burning Sand flew, smashing into the enemy. Wild disruption tore through their ranks, but it only delayed the inevitable. The rebels scattered but refused to break. They reformed beyond the cloud and surged forward in a fury.

"Brace, here come the traitors," the captain called his voice hard.

The moment of respite was over. Lansius and his men tightened their grips on blood-slick weapons.

Despite the screen of bolts and stones, a wave of three hundred crashed into Lansius’ line. Every man grunted and strained to hold the line. But disaster struck as the rebels’ back ranks, untrained and reckless, shoved their front straight into the defenders. Powerful spear thrusts and accurate sword slashes demolished the leading rioters, bodies dropping in heaps, but the sheer weight of the assault nearly broke the smaller column’s back.

"Hold! Hold the line!" the captain bellowed.

Lansius grunted as he and his battle brothers locked shoulders and shields, fighting to keep the line from collapsing.

Within seconds, the battle devolved into a savage brawl.

Both sides exchanged frantic, powerful thrusts and murderous swings. Violent clashes of metal echoed through the air, mingling with gasps, ragged breaths, taunts, and desperate curses. They hated each other, thirsting for their enemies' blood. Even poorly armed and armored, the rebels gave everything they had. After a short round of fighting and losing ground, Lansius’ hundred finally faltered under the immense pressure and began to give ground.

Even Lansius thought he had miscalculated. He had witnessed how the fanatics fought, but still couldn’t comprehend that the enemy would keep pushing men to their deaths. Like a blunt wedge, the rebels used their weight and senseless assault to plow their way through.

With his guards overwhelmed and spread thin, and his veterans in front exhausted and nearly broken, Lansius dragged one man back just as a blow was aimed at him.

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"My Lord, don't!" his guards shouted as they struggled.

But Lansius had already parried the blow and stepped forward to meet the first attacker, who was wild-eyed and ecstatic to face him. He would not enjoy it for long. The traitor’s second spear thrust was fast but predictable. With two blocks of his axe, Lansius took control. The man tried to follow up with another thrust, but Lansius’ axe crashed into his chest, tearing through the poorly made ringmail. He gasped a ragged breath as blood burst out and he fell to his knees.

There was no time to breathe as another slipped past his overwhelmed guards. Eyes locked on Lansius, the man shouted and swung his sword at him. Lansius' blood-smeared shield met the attack. The heavy blow splintered wood and the force jolted up his armored arm. The rebel tried to follow up with another strike, but Lansius, hidden behind his shield, lowered his stance and blindly swung his axe in a tight arc at the man’s legs.

A shrill scream erupted as the man crumpled to the ground with a gashing wound.

Lansius was ready for a third attacker, but his guards at his side fought like monsters, cleaving and breaking men apart with unbridled rage and superior martial skills. They had already cut down nearly a dozen each and showed no sign of stopping.

Given a moment, Lansius turned and shouted over his shoulder, "The carts, have they all gone up—"

But in that instant of stillness, a rebel crossbowman waiting in the branches let fly a bolt. It struck Lansius in the right chest, sending him reeling. He lost his footing and fell sideways.

...

Amid the chaos of the battle, the men called Lansius' name as they scrambled, dragging him back to the rear.

"My Lord, can you hear us?" they called again and again.

At the same time, the rebels cheered wildly. "We killed him!"

"The Black Demon is dead!"

The assault suddenly became even more brutal and vicious. They wanted to claim the corpse.

But Lansius blinked in a moment of clarity. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to stand. Anger welled up from deep within. The bolt had struck like a hammer blow, rattling his chest before lodging in the accordion-like crevice of his right pauldron.

He saw his slingers react, launching smooth stones toward the crossbowman. Even with the white light scattering here and there, it was still dark, but the rioters had crowded at the base of the tree to congratulate the man. That blunder had revealed their position.

"My Lord," his men called out again, faces still filled with worry as he rose.

"I'm alright." Lansius stood, regained his balance, and quickly realized nothing was seriously wrong. Meanwhile, a surge of magic was already flowing warmly into him.

Surprising everyone, he yanked the bolt from the crevice of his pauldron. It hurt, but it hadn’t penetrated too deep. Without hesitation, he fixed his gaze on the front, on his embattled line and the enemy. Trusting his instincts, even empty handed, he strode forward.

"My Lord!" his men shouted, many still locked in desperate combat with their foes. Some tried to block his path, but the gemstone of strength had already activated, and he overpowered them without effort.

Against the protest of his men, Lansius shoved his exhausted comrades aside and forced his way to the front. As he reached the frontline, a rushing rebel greeted him with a spear thrust.

Moving with renewed strength, Lansius dashed forward. He used his armored wrist to brush the spear shaft aside, then finished with a powerful shoulder tackle that sent the man crashing back into his own ranks. From the side, another rebel saw an opening and swung his blade, but Lansius advanced faster, smashing the man’s face with a gauntleted punch.

As the last man fell backward, the tens of rebels facing him stared, wide-eyed.

Hundreds of eyes fixed on Lansius. His allies watched with a mix of worry and relief, while the rebels burned with vicious hatred.

Lansius snatched up the fallen rebel’s sword and brandished it at the mob. "You want the Lord of Midlandia?" he taunted the sea of enemies.

"My Lord!" his guards bellowed, still locked in combat. They could only beg him to stop.

"Come and get me!" Lansius leaped forward and brought his sword down on a shield bearer, splintering the shield and sending the man sprawling. Then the fight devolved into a savage brawl.

It was a calculated move. Lansius knew that in a brawl, the enemy would struggle to use their weapons or loose bolts against him. Thus, he intentionally fought at close range, cracking bones and bashing skulls with armored fists and brute force, giving his line a chance to breathe and regroup.

His bold challenge stirred the enemy, but it also set fire to his men. Many rushed down from the hill path to join the fight, desperate to defend their Lord.

But from a different path, a sudden hulking figure crashed down into the midst of the rebels, scattering mauled bodies beneath her. The ground shook from the impact, blood, and dirt spraying as the creature landed in a crouch. For a heartbeat, the riot froze in shock. The beast-like figure rose to her full height, fur bristling, fangs bared, crimson-stained claws curling and flexing.

Cries erupted from the mob. Fear and confusion swept through their ranks. A few tried to raise spears or shields, but most only stared in terror, their courage draining away.

Lansius recognized her immediately. "Francisca!"

"My Lord, apologies for being late." She glanced around, squinting as she noticed thousands more rebels advancing, then turned to meet his gaze. "You must go, now." She readied her bardiche-like axe that dwarfed the rebels around her.

"The cavalry will be here soon," Lansius argued.

“All the better.” She let out a guttural roar and hurled herself into the crowd whose eyes still held a spark of fight. Even a half-breed would struggle to cut down several men at once, especially when exhausted, but Francisca felt an unnatural heat coursing through her veins. Strength flooded her limbs, fierce and unrestrained. With a savage sweep of her giant axe, she carved through five men in a single stroke, bone and flesh bursting apart like butchered carcasses.

Blood sprayed everywhere, splattering faces, armor, and limbs. In seconds the rebels shrieked and panicked. The stench of piss rose sharp, mingling with spilled guts and the iron tang of fresh blood.

Francisca’s eyes glowed with a predatory golden light as she reaped lives, hacking through men as if they were stalks of grain. Her advance was so violent that severed limbs and broken bodies were hurled left and right. Her breath came in steaming bursts, each exhalation searing, her muscles straining under the inhuman power driving her.

Even Lansius faltered at the sight, utterly shocked. He had been the one to bestow her with the captured gemstone from the Cascasonne battle, yet he had never imagined it would unleash such carnage in a half-breed’s hands.

While he stood transfixed, his guards and a dozen more men rushed from behind and seized him. "Hold him tight."

"What are you—" Lansius started, but they refused to hear him. Strong arms grabbed his limbs and dragged him back through the column.

"Our apologies, My Lord, but it's time to go," his guard leader said, voice stern.

As they passed through the ranks, the captain met his gaze, speaking with weary resolve. "Leave the rest to us, My Lord."

All along the line, men echoed the promise in tired voices, some offering weak grins or forced smiles as Lansius was pulled past.

Lansius could have fought his guards off; the gemstone’s power still coursed through him. But he knew they were right. Right now, he was a liability.

"Men, Francisca is fighting for us. Let's give her all our support!" the captain cried, and the men rushed to aid their half-breed ally. Even clad in thick ringmail, she was not impervious to weapons.

"My Lord," his slingers and young aides came to send him off.

Lansius saw them and urged, "Don't get reckless. Go to the hill camp."

"We still have some stones left. I assure you, you won't be disappointed by our service," they said, tired but with proud grins.

Lansius snorted. "You two have my full gratitude and a lifetime contract."

The two bowed their heads. "Our deepest gratitude, My Lord."

The guards and Lansius finally reached the horse, already waiting for him. Lansius asked, "Have all the carts been secured?"

"Almost," the nearest guard replied, helping him mount up.

"Then have Francisca and the rest of the men retreat," Lansius said, climbing into the saddle with ease and taking the reins of his horse.

"The captain will surely do it after you leave."

Lansius was still in doubt when Francisca’s loud growl cut through the chaos.

Supported by accurate crossbows and slingers attack, the half-breed crashed into the rebels' line, her massive left hand sweeping out to shatter two skulls and send the dying bodies crashing into their comrades. Now gripping her axe with both hands, Francisca unleashed a monstrous horizontal swing. Flesh, bone, and armor gave way as nine men fell before her, blood spraying as hacked limbs were torn asunder.

Taking that as a cue, one of the guards slapped the horse’s hindquarters, sending him galloping away with five horsemen as his escort.

As they sped away from the hill path, the sounds of battle faded behind Lansius.

He took a deep breath as they disappeared into the night, riding east toward the looming walls of Canardia.

***

Canardia Castle

At such a late hour, the tall and heavy west gate groaned as it opened wide. The commotion quickly drew the attention of the townsfolk, who slid from the warmth of their beds and peered nervously from the windows of their second-story homes along the main road. It had been one of the most terrifying days of their lives, with whispers of riots and rebellion inside and outside the city walls. Rumors had run wild, and many feared for what tomorrow would bring. It seemed unfathomable that the joy of the races and the long week of festivities had been swept away, replaced by madness and terror.

In this grim hour, Lansius and his growing escort, their lanterns glowing, rode along the empty cobbled road. The thunder of horses' hooves echoed between darkened buildings, sending wild shadows racing across the walls.

As the citizens of Canardia were drawn to the commotion, the city’s patrols also hurried to intercept the riders. "Halt! In the name of the Lord of the City, identify yourself!"

The leading guard slowed and rode closer, lantern raised to illuminate his face as he approached the ten armored men armed with spears and crossbows.

The patrol leader’s eyes narrowed, then widened as he recognized the Lord’s personal guard. "By the Ancients," he muttered, then barked, "Make way!"

At once, the patrol parted to let Lansius and his riders pass.

With the empty road ahead, his horse eagerly picked up speed. She knew this was the way to the castle, to the stable, to home.

Lansius too had his thoughts turned away from the war, settling instead on the anxious, personal fears of a husband.

As the chill night air streamed through the crevices of his bloodied armor, he prayed he wasn't too late. His mind was tormented by the risks of medieval labor, miscarriage, and even death. Every kind of dread poisoned his thoughts as they rushed toward the castle. He had seen so much blood and loss that day, and a part of him feared it was not yet over.

Some might say that even if the unthinkable happened, a noble like him could simply find another.

But Lansius rejected the thought coldly. His love for Audrey was irreplaceable and complete.

His guards, fully aware of the urgency, broke protocol at the castle gate. Lansius tore off his helmet and forced their way through, showing his face and hardened gaze while his men barked orders at the startled gate guards.

Their unannounced arrival quickly sparked chaos and a brief panic as the commotion spread among the castle garrison.

Sir Omin, who had taken it upon himself to oversee security on this dangerous night, rushed into the courtyard in full armor, his squire and helpers close behind. He caught sight of Lansius and his men as they dismounted.

“My Lord,” he bellowed, then let out a deep sigh of relief. “Come quickly. We’re going to need your help.”

“Help?” Lansius frowned but did not wait for an answer. He strode forward, his guards flanking him.

As he walked, the castle guards erupted in uproar, barking instructions and scrambling to open the doors and greet him. But Lansius wasn’t going to wait. His heart ached:

from the sting of his first defeat,

and the longing for his beloved.

As they unlocked the door from inside, the heavy double doors groaned under Lansius’ impatient shove. The air of the Great Hall swept past him, carrying a floral scent that, tonight, he was deeply grateful for. It was so warm and beautiful compared to the battlefield stench that had clung to him all night.

His sudden entrance startled everyone inside. Heads bowed and murmured greetings rippled through the hall at the sight of his bloodied visage. It was clear to them that he had been through battles to come here.

Lansius ignored their sights and strode through the Great Hall, intent on reaching the castle’s inner chambers. But from deeper within, a new commotion erupted that rivaled his arrival.

He and his five guards halted as the doors at the far end of the hall burst open. Pleading voices echoed as a figure in a black leather doublet fought her way forward, dragging a tide of maids and ladies who struggled to restrain her.

There, beneath the soaring arches of the Great Hall and the dim glow of the night’s chandelier, their eyes met, and both were stunned by each other's presence.

"Lansius!" Audrey called out first, and for a moment, Lansius realized just how soothing her voice was to his ears.

The maids and ladies who had been clinging to her, including Ingrid, Valerie, and Claire, finally let go, collapsing to the floor in exhaustion and relief. A few maids covered their faces, weeping softly.

"You're here," Audrey said, striding boldly toward him, while Lansius stood frozen. Something wasn’t right.

The guards exchanged glances and began to step back.

"Are you injured?" she demanded, eyes blazing as she closed the distance with quick strides.

"I'm fine," Lansius replied, finding his voice. He took in her face, the sight and presence that had brought him so much warmth. "Forget about me. Why are you dressed like that?"

She stopped in front of him, her archery doublet plain for all to see. Likewise, his blood-stained armor was plain to see, yet it did not deter her. "Apologies," she said. "I should have been at your side."

Lansius frowned. "Why would you? You're—"

"That's a stupid question," she snapped, cutting him off. "You were out there fighting. Of course I was going to join you. If only they had told me earlier, I’d have finished this sooner."

"What do you mean, 'finished this sooner'? And—" Exhausted, Lansius struggled to find the words. "You… you were in labor. How could you wear that?"

Audrey pouted, gaze thrown aside as she muttered, "The baby is out."

"Out?" Lansius blurted, his voice echoing through the Great Hall.

The maids and ladies snorted softly, wiping tears from their eyes with trembling hands, while the guards grinned wide, slapping each other's shoulders in delight.

"It's fine," Audrey said with a dismissive tone, suddenly a bit embarrassed. "He's with Mother Arryn and Tanya."

Lansius latched onto the word. "He?"

A cheer erupted behind him. His personal guards, bloodied and exhausted, let out their fiercest roar of joy.

Amid the brutal end of tonight’s battle, a son and heir to the House of Blue and Bronze had been born. Their lineage had just begun.

***