January 1731 City of Ber, Province of Ciresia, Osterian Empire.
"What the hell were they thinking?" mutters General Beck, his eyes locked at the map before him, trying to find any traps.
"Sir! Sir! Scouts have arrived bearing with them news." An officer runs in with a message.
He waves his hand. "Tell me what's written."
"They seemed to have scoured the kilometer and could not find a single sign of cavalry." The officer said as he read through the letter.
Beck slams his hand as he looked up at the view before him. The two armies relentlessly firing at one another as the smoke rises from the battle.
He then grins, the sounds of explosions erupting before him as the armies exchange another volley, his officers relentlessly protecting their troops with the best of their abilities.
He shouts to his officers, "Someone tell Volk! Have all the infantry at the ready! Half of all mages are to stop in their volleys! An opportunity has now arisen. Prepare yourselves!"
His red eyes glow in excitement. The stalemate that has lasted for an hour was about to be broken with a swift strike, and this battle will end once and for all.
"Colonel Volk! the General has called for you and your men, the opportunity has come." A horseman run to Volk's side.
Volk looked up, his demeanor weary as the sounds of battle and explosion erupt through his ears. His eyes flashes back to years before as he watches the battle unfold before him.
"It has been long, hasn't it Simon?" he asks the man beside him.
The man nods, a soft smile gracing his features. "It has. Though this time, we get a choice on how it ends."
Volk then unsheathes his saber, "All men! At the ready! Today, we go to war!"
The ground trembles from the collective shout that followed. Volk gives a satisfied smile. His eyes now looking forward as he points to the Osterian lines, "Charge!"
Maj. Gen. Fabian has found himself in a conundrum. The repeated calls for cavalry or whatever available reinforcement have been ignored. Even high command asked him to hold firm, implying a situation that would require him to buy time.
A fact that has left him greatly disturbed, after all, he shuddered to think on what could be worse than what we have already been going through.
To reiterate his point, an explosion rips through beside him, his shield crackling from the fire that was spreading chaos and confusion to all the ranks of his mages.
He shakes his head at the view. Their plan was apparent from the rapid pace of the Drissian advance.
It left him stuck, his mages vulnerable.
And to make things worse, a thunderous explosion rips through the Drissian lines. He widens his eyes in recognition of the sounds as he scrambles for his spyglass.
"Oh my, this isn't good." He mutters tiredly before a shout erupts from his throat and his men jolts from in shock from his orders.
"All infantry enter square formation!"
His voice echoes through all of his men, before a chaotic scrambled ensued, plunging whatever form they have left into a mess of men scrambling for cover against the oncoming enemy fire.
He looks up to see another volley strike against his mages. This cannot go any longer.
"All mages are to retreat immediately!"
One of his officers shouts back, "But, sir! We need the fire support now more than ever."
He points to the mages behind him, "Those men are tired, the relentless battery and the fire thereafter have left them drained."
"But, sir! We cannot possibly just abandon our men to their fates. Without mage support fire, this will turn into a slaughter."
Fabian only looks back with a steely resolve, "The battle is lost and those men are precious resources, one that we cannot risk if we are to conduct battle."
He turns his back as screams erupt through the Osterian lines, "It is time we cut our losses."
"Sir! We can't just let them die!" the officer shouts back in panic.
"I already have."
Volk spurs his horse forward. A barely cohesive square formation formed before him. Though before they could ever fire, a hundred fireballs flies above him.
One that would dot his sight into a fiery hell. Destroying whatever formation they had into a disorganized mess.
"All men, charge!"
With those words, thousands of hooves thundered through the clear plains. Volk raises his saber as he rode. His eyes squinted through the torrential winds, his focus directed to the infantry inching closer.
It felt like hours as bullets strike against his magic. Their guns aimed directly in his direction and as they inch closer, their horrified expression becomes more apparent as the horses before them slam like torrential winds.
Whatever bayonet the enemies have raised was ineffective, their loose and pathetic formation gave enough room for them to weave through, slashing, ripping and killing their way to the center of their formation, directly headed to their officers.
Volk slashes his hand down, his saber flashing right after, The colonel before him then screams as blood spurts to his face, the smell of blood leaving him in disgust.
He gives no thought to such a view as he rides, ripping through their lines as he rode and trampled the men before him, the smoke blowing through his face.
"How nostalgic." He mutters.
But before barely any thought could form, Osterian soldiers charges against him, their bayonets raised as a magic concentrate in his sword, fire bursting as he rode forth.
And with a mighty slash, he rips apart any resistance with an explosion. The strength destroying the landscape as he rode forth through the fire, the shouts of retreat prevalent behind him, the enemy in full rout.
"Kill them all! Simon, take your men and clear out the stragglers!" Simon nods in affirmation before he breaks off. He and his men riding towards the retreating men.
Volk then raises his saber, "Everyone else, come to me! A thousand more victims await!"
The resounding shout was all he needed as he spurred his horse forward.
The bloody screams and ashen faces looking back at him.