The rebels had shed oceans of blood, arms severed, legs cleaved from bodies, heads rolling like forsaken spheres upon scorched earth. What they believed to be their assured triumph, backed by sheer numbers, crumbled into delusion.
Though they vastly outnumbered their foe at the outset, the tide turned with ruthless swiftness. From a formidable force of 10,000 rebels rising against the weakened Latence, only 2,000 remained. It was the arrival of Sanen's armies—marching in defense of their ally—that shattered the rebels' momentum and drove their numbers into ruin.
Latence had already been stripped of its standing armies before the rebellion even began. Yet, it was not overwhelming strength that reversed the tide, but the mind of a single boy. Rezoun Henouvara's brilliance became the blade that severed the rebels' hopes. His intellect alone shifted the balance of war, bringing downfall swifter than the passage of time itself.
...
"Damn it, damn it... FUCK NO!" a rebel screamed, his voice trembling as he staggered backward, sword trembling in his grip. His eyes were locked on Rezoun, who stood motionless, cold, composed, terrifying. An unseen weight crushed the rebel's chest, the sheer pressure of Rezoun's stillness enough to paralyze his breath.
"WAAHHHHHH!" Desperation overtook fear as the rebel charged. But before his blade could even threaten the boy, he froze, his eyes wide, mouth agape. Blood spilled from the deep gash in his stomach. He hadn't even seen the strike. Crumbling to his knees, hands clutching his opened abdomen, the rebel collapsed slowly into death's arms.
Rezoun flicked his sword in a single, clean motion, casting away the blood that clung to its edge. But no pause was allowed.
Five spearmen stormed him, their weapons thrust forward with killing intent. Rezoun didn't strike. Instead, he met their spears with his blade, not cutting, but redirecting. In a fluid spin, he harnessed their momentum, guiding one spear off course. It pierced cleanly through the abdomen of another attacker coming from behind, an ally turned victim in the blink of an eye.
And before that man could even scream, Rezoun was already behind him. A blur of motion, a flash of steel, his head was severed, soaring into the air before crashing into the dirt.
The remaining three halted, fear slicing into their courage. They approached slowly, uncertain, their grips tightening, spears wavering.
Rezoun dropped his sword.
Their confusion deepened, eyebrows knit, bodies tense.
Without hesitation, Rezoun seized the spears from the corpses beside him. Then, with one in each hand, he hurled them.
Two spears whistled through the air and struck true, embedding deep into the chests of the confused spearmen. Their bodies jerked violently from the impact, weapons falling from dead hands before they hit the ground.
Only silence remained, and Rezoun, standing amidst the fallen.
"W-what…? That was… heavy…" The final spearman in the center stammered, his voice trembling as his body shook, frozen by sheer terror. His grip on the weapon was weak, limbs betraying him as fear consumed his every breath.
Rezoun bent down, picking up a sword discarded on the blood-soaked earth. Without a word, he measured the weight in his palm, then, with flawless precision, hurled it forward. The force tore through the air, a piercing gust following its path. The blade struck the spearman's skull dead center, the impact lifting his body slightly before sending it crashing lifeless to the ground.
A thunder of hooves echoed behind Rezoun. The Knight Commander arrived astride his steed, armor streaked with the dust of battle.
"I took care of the rebels from the other side. Are you hurt?" he asked, dismounting.
Rezoun casually brushed dirt from his clothes with one hand, eyes still locked forward. "I'm not. Just a few scratches, Uncle."
Then he looked beyond, eyes widening in stunned silence. The field that once teemed with enemies was barren. Corpses littered the ground. Not a single rebel stood.
"Did… did you do that… alone?" Rezoun's voice faltered, awe cutting through his usual composure.
Clause gave no answer.
"There are still enemies left. I'm going to help you," he said instead, and with that, his horse surged forward into the distance.
Rezoun stood still, watching his uncle ride off, the silence louder than any war cry.
"Just how strong is he…?"
...
A man slammed his fist against the wooden desk with a loud crack, his expression twisted in fury. His mouth curled into a scowl, eyebrows drawn tightly together as his eyes fixated on the map of the Kingdom of Letterune spread before him.
"Damn it! Damn it!" he roared, his voice echoing through the war chamber. A second man stood nearby, silent and composed, watching the outburst unfold.
"How did this happen?" the furious man demanded, his voice heavy with disbelief and rage.
The man beside him lowered his head in a respectful bow. "My lord, the Marquess of Sanen has intervened. His forces reinforced Latence and launched a strike against the rebels. They now seek your aid to crush the Marquess's army."
The viscount's eyes narrowed. "Did they commit all their forces?"
"They did, my lord. However... despite their numbers, our enemies hold the advantage. They remain stronger."
The viscount's jaw clenched. "Mobilize my thousand mounted bowmen immediately. How long will it take them to arrive?"
"They will be here within one to two hours, my lord."
"Good. Give the order. They are to depart at once."
"At once, Viscount!" The man bowed once more before swiftly exiting to carry out the command.
His gaze fell once more upon the map, but rage consumed him. With a furious motion, he seized it and hurled it aside. His voice, though smooth in tone, trembled with barely restrained madness as he spat out the names.
"Marquess… Sanen… Are we truly going to cross swords again?"
The names dripped from his tongue like venom, each syllable stirring a storm of memories. His expression darkened further as his mind was dragged back, three years into the past, to the brutal war between Sanen and Letterune.
The memory burned vivid in his mind: the moment his foot slammed into the Marquess's chest during a savage clash, the sharp pain of the blow he received in return. His hand moved instinctively to the scar at his side, fingers pressing against it as if to silence the phantom pain.
And in that moment, it became clear, this man, masked in fury and strategy, was no mere commander. He was the Viscount himself. The very man whose actions on the battlefield had planted the seed of vengeance deep in Rezoun's heart.
...
Knight Commander Clause and Rezoun fought with unyielding resolve, carving their path through the chaos as the hours wore on, crushing the rebel forces and dismantling their armies with ruthless precision.
Eventually, the last two rebel leaders found themselves cornered, trapped against the crumbling remnants of a wall, surrounded by ten knights. Back to back, the two men pressed close, swords trembling in their hands as they turned slowly, eyes wide, tracking the encircling blades.
"D-Don't kill us," one of them stammered, desperation thick in his voice.
"Y-Yeah, please... I don't want to die," the other pleaded, his voice cracking.
The knights stood silent at first, their gazes cold and unmoved. A few chuckled darkly, their laughter devoid of mercy.
Then, Rezoun stepped forward, his tone sharp and final. "Kill them. There's no merit in letting them live."
In perfect unison, the knights slammed their right feet into the ground and shouted, "Yes, sir!"
Without hesitation, they closed in. Steel flashed, slicing through flesh and bone. The rebel leaders screamed in agony, voices twisted in terror and pain.
"AHHHHHHH!!!"
"NOOO!!! AHH!!!"
As their cries echoed through the battlefield, Rezoun turned his back to them, his expression stoic, untouched by the brutality. He walked away with measured steps, the fading screams behind him trailing into silence.
Just as Rezoun turned away from the dying echoes of the rebels' screams, a faint, rhythmic sound reached his ears, distant yet unmistakable. The ground trembled ever so slightly beneath his feet. Hoofbeats. Many of them.
He snapped his head to the left, eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon. At first, nothing but the haze of battle's aftermath, but then, he saw them. Small silhouettes emerging through the dust, the glint of armor catching the light, horses thundering forward with a banner raised high.
Rezoun's eyes widened in shock as the realization struck like a lightning bolt.
"Uncle! More enemies, they've brought reinforcements!" he shouted with urgency, his voice slicing through the din. "IT'S A BACKUP!"
Knight Commander Clause turned slightly, his seasoned eyes following Rezoun's gaze. The figures on the horizon grew clearer with every heartbeat, undeniably a fresh wave of foes charging into the fray.
As the last of the rebel forces fell, their fresh allies surged onto the battlefield. Clause and Rezoun stood side by side, their gazes locked onto the advancing enemy, their expressions hard and unflinching.
"Uncle…" Rezoun said quietly, tension tightening his voice.
Clause gave a brief nod, eyes never leaving the approaching force. "Yeah… I know exactly what you're thinking, kid."
Without another word, the two stepped forward, placing themselves at the vanguard. Behind them, the remaining knights and soldiers began to shift into formation, slowly but deliberately, falling into place as the thunder of the enemy's charge grew louder.
The battle was not yet over, and they would meet it head-on.