—-Battle of the Grey Grass, Brien Flowers, 107 AC.
The armies of Pheonix and Sari clashed at the break of dawn on New Year's Eve. Or so they agreed.
Half the camp was missing that morn, and it turned out that Prince Rhaenar had secretly led his forces out under cover of twilight.
They executed their plan flawlessly, leaving behind bunks stuffed with straw to create the illusion of sleeping soldiers. They carefully dispatched squads one by one to maintain secrecy.
Unbeknownst to us, members of Team Sari had deviously orchestrated a series of guard duty swaps with soldiers from Team Pheonix the night before.
It was a seemingly generous act, but little did they realize an ulterior motive. Nobody paid much attention to these seemingly innocent exchanges during the chaos and anticipation of the upcoming battle.
The tracks left by Prince Rhaenar's army indicated they had headed east, leaving the Lieutenants (now 'Lt.' for brevity's sake) of Team Pheonix to debate whether or not to pursue them.
"They're running scared," argued Lt. Zane. "Let's follow 'em."
Lt. Asher had a different perspective. "Pursuit is always your answer," he retorted. "It could be a trap."
"The Prince wouldn't do us like that, would he?"
None among us found the situation more perplexing than Pheonix himself. Throughout the entire boot camp, it was clear that Sari possessed an insatiable appetite for challenges and revelry through violence.
We all expected Sari to be the first one on the battlefield, standing proudly in the middle, eagerly awaiting the ex-Unsullied.
But that was not the case. All that remained of our once bustling camp were empty tents, the lingering footprints vanished comrades.
Whispers of unrest spread through the ranks. Speculations ran wild, from thoughts of their demise, haunting spirits or even a mythical dragon devouring them.
We had been privy to the thunderous roars of Sundance as he communicated with an elusive counterpart that dwelled within the Dragonsmont. Falling asleep had become a skill honed amidst the nocturnal symphony of reverberating roars between the two mighty creatures.
Pheonix ultimately decided against pursuing Sari's army, instead choosing to form lines on the agreed-upon battlefield and patiently wait for their arrival.
It wasn't long before the sun had fully ascended the sky that we finally caught sight of Team Sari.
They emerged on the horizon as specks of black sand, gradually growing larger as they approached.
The sunlight escaped the morning mist and pierced through their formations, casting a golden glow upon the silhouettes of their Bravosi Titan-inspired helmets, round shields and long spears.
It was an imposing and formidable sight, so much so that many of the soldiers in Team Pheonix had to shield their eyes from the bright, rayed brilliance.
The light shone on the morning dew, beaming the field with blades of grey-gold, glittering like diamonds in the grass.
Sari's army formed their ranks, with their distasteful and insulting banter echoing across the grassy field.
"Weaklings!"
"Cravens!"
And even some howling like wolves, "Ow, ow, owwwwwww!"
From my vantage point on the hill, I observed Prince Rhaenar step forward, beginning the expected parley between the two sides.
Rhaenar's titan helmet, adorned with a striking line of violet horse hairs, made him unmistakable even before he departed from his ranks to meet in the middle.
Prince Rhaenar ventured alone, while Lt. Asher and Zane accompanied Pheonix. Theodore rode down to listen to their exchange of words.
Pheonix confronted Rhaenar with a piercing glare. "We say dawn. Why you no dawn?"
"Apologies," responded Rhaenar, a hint of arrogance in his tone, "But they say a Prince is never late to his own victory."
Lt. Zane crossed his arms, his confusion evident. "Who said that?"
"Me. Just now."
Lt. Zane shook his head in bewilderment. "Hold on. You're telling me no one else has said that?"
"We are here to parley," said Lt. Asher impatiently, "Not for… whatever this is."
"He's right," acknowledged Rhaenar, "How would you like to surrender?"
Pheonix scanned the army standing behind Rhaenar, his gaze searching for someone specific. "Where is he?"
Rhaenar raised a brow, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Who, Sari? We thought he might skip the foreplay and charge you during the meeting. Better safe than sorry."
Lt. Zane possessed the kind of height that allowed him the perfect view of the front whenever there was a gathering in the town square. He surveyed the army behind Rhaenar.
"Now that you say, I don't see him anywhere."
"About that," said Rhaenar, "Sari went on about how 'None but one are worthy of my blade,' or something along those lines. But worry not, Zane. I suspect you will have fallen before he makes his move."
The prospect of glory shimmered in Lt. Zane's eyes.
"I was planning to take the commander's head. Even sweeter that it's the Prince!"
Rhaenar teased him, "Your delusion is admirable. Shall we make a wager?"
Lt. Asher, noticing the deviations from the expected course of the mock battle, stirred with concern. "Is the honor of our squads not enough?"
Lt. Zane widened his eyes, eager for the challenge. "Why would you say that before knowing the stakes?!"
"He's right," agreed Rhaenar. "Don't be such a spoilsport. Besides, this one is fun: the team that loses will prepare a generous New Year's feast for the winner and watch them eat before they can partake themselves."
When I heard that's what the Prince had said, I felt it contradicted of fellowship that permeated the bootcamp until that point. A strange deviation for Rhaenar to make.
"Seeing as we're gonna win anyway," said Lt. Zane, "A meal from the Prince is the cherry on top."
Throughout the bootcamp, the volunteers were often confronted with unfamiliar tasks and experiences. With so many firsts, Prince Rhaenar would playfully remark that he was "popping cherries" left and right, alluding to the notion of taking someone's maidenhood. The slang quickly caught on within the camp, becoming a light-hearted reference among the troops.
"You are not the commanding officer," Lt. Asher barked with a reminder, "Don't speak for Sir Pheonix."
"What do you say?" said Rhaenar.
Pheonix remained solemn, taking a moment for a dramatic pause. He then put on his helmet and, while walking away,
"Extra cheese."
Pheonix's remark referred to the cheese Rhaenar had managed to import into our camp, which melted onto our bread.
"Fucking aye!" exclaimed Lt. Zane, eagerly following his commander. "They'll be toasting to my praises tonight!"
"Just focus on keeping your men in line," cautioned Lt. Asher.
Observing their departure, Theodore noticed a subtle smile on Prince Rhaenar's face.
And so, the terms were set.
Pheonix positioned his army in a formation seven units wide and three units deep, with additional reserves held in the back. Lt. Zane and Asher assumed command of the left and right wings, respectively.
Meanwhile, Rhaenar deployed his forces in a formation that I immediately recognized. It was one thing to see it sketched on paper, but witnessing it in action was another matter entirely.
Rhaenar had arranged his troops in an inverted-crescent formation. The concept involved presenting a seemingly vulnerable and slightly exposed center in a semi-circle or V-shape, while maintaining a stronger presence on the wings and reserves.
[HERE]
To me, it appeared as though Prince Rhaenar had resorted to this suicidal strategy due to Sari's unpredictable nature.
However, many on Team Pheonix interpreted it as yet another display of Rhaenar's almost fanatical belief in himself.
Even blockheads like Lt. Zane, who had dozed off during Rhaenar's lectures, could recognize how weak the Sari centre was.
From my vantage point on the hill, I could more or less make out Rhaenar's envisioned plan:
(1) The centre of the army would appear vulnerable and engage the enemy.
(2) As the battle progressed, the centre would gradually simulate a retreat or fallback.
(3) Simultaneously, the wings would advance and strike the enemy's flanks, eventually encircling them.
[HERE]
However, as is the nature of chaotic battles, things often deviate from the intended.
It started when Prince Rhaenar and his centre of 140 men stomped their feet and clacked the wood of their spears onto their bronze shields.
Rhaenar held a raised fist, and his army stopped, "Let's do this, fuck heads! Who wants to die first?"
Then the Rhaenar centre erupted in unison. Howls, cackles, roars, insults.
Rhaenar sang, "I smell a whore?"
His army answered, "Zane's mum's a whore!"
Lt. Zane bulged his veins, "Hey!"
"Why do we snore?"
"Cause Asher's a bore!"
Lt. Asher let out a subtle eye twitch.
The rhythm got to Rhaenar, and he danced in his place, "And everywhere we go, oh!"
His men parroted him, "And everywhere we go, oh!"
"The realm is gonna know!"
"The realm is gonna know," they sang.
"Hahahaha!"
"Oi, that's not on!" said Lt. Zane.
Phoenix observed with an intense glare, tightening his grip on his spear, creating a gritty sound. With calm authority, he issued the command.
"Advance."
The order rippled through the ranks of Phoenix's army like a game of whispered messages, echoing with determination, "Advance, advance, advance!"
In perfect unison, the formidable line of Team Phoenix surged forward, their imposing presence bearing down on the center of Rhaenar's forces, their wooden shields pointing ahead like a menacing wall.
"They're coming," remarked Rhaenar.
Chit, his shield brother, stood by his side, questioning, "Are you sure about this?"
Rhaenar chuckled, "I am positively certain of my uncertain uncertainty, absolutely."
As the densely packed front line of Team Phoenix closed in on Rhaenar's center, he shouted a signal, and within moments, the command reverberated through his ranks.
Meanwhile, positioned behind the second line of Rhaenar's right-wing, Lt. Evelyn stood alongside the stewards and talented slingers. In a swift motion, they unleashed a volley of tomatoes, bombarding Lt. Zane's left-wing with a spray of red pulp.
Using slings was generally avoided during the mock battles due to safety concerns and the difficulty of confirming hits or 'kills'. Rhaenar's decision to employ the camp's tomato supply served no purpose other than to dirty Lt. Zane's left-wing and amuse those who watched.
"Target the yellow!" barked Lt. Evelyn.
Rhaenar believed that his captains, leading 100-man units, would serve as the backbone of his army.
"Captains are the gold standard," he emphasized in his lectures. "Their helmets will be adorned with gold or bright yellow."
Therefore, Lt. Asher and Lt. Zane, entrusted with leading the left and right wings respectively, were permitted to wear titan helmets adorned with yellow horsehair.
Zane, towering above the others, was easily recognizable with his golden-domed helmet. Lt. Evelyn and her slingers focused their tomato barrage on Zane, unleashing a rain of projectiles toward him.
"Bastards!" Lt. Zane screamed, rallying his men to tighten their formation and continue their advance.
The Zane-led onslaught targeted the Sari right wing, striking earlier than the rest of their army.
Lt. Asher, possessing sharp battlefield awareness, observed Lt. Zane's premature charge from the Phoenix left wing.
"Fool!" Lt. Asher lamented. "How hard is it to maintain formation?"
"What do we do, sir?" a soldier in Asher's squad asked.
Taking a moment to adjust to being referred to as "sir" by one of his peers, Lt. Asher swiftly replied, "Stay in line. We advance with Sir Phoenix!"
Meanwhile, Prince Rhaenar observed Lt. Zane's brutal assault on the right wing.
"Orders?" Chit inquired.
"Stick to the plan," Rhaenar responded. "Evelyn will buy us time."
At that moment, the remaining forces of Team Phoenix engaged with the center of Rhaenar's army. A bloody melee erupted, with blunt swords and spear tips thrusting against shields and flesh. The resounding clack of weapons meeting wooden shields filled the air, creating a chaotic scene of clash, clobber, and mayhem.
It didn't take long for Rhaenar's front line to falter under the relentless advance of Team Phoenix. Inch by inch, they were pushed backward, their defenses penetrated more easily, resulting in losses.
"They're pushing us back!" Chit announced.
"Tighten up!" Rhaenar ordered, his command echoing throughout his ranks.
The situation descended into chaos. Lt. Zane, having fought his way deep into Rhaenar's right wing, displayed impatience and erratic actions. After being pelted with tomatoes, Zane diverted from his original path toward the Prince and instead targeted Lt. Evelyn, whose squad awaited in the second line.
Prince Rhaenar found himself locked in a fierce clash with the Pheonix center. They used all their might to withstand the relentless, well-disciplined onslaught.
But Rhaenar was prepared. He ensured his communication network was solid. Even in the brunt of the melee, word of Lt. Zane's zealous charge reached the Prince's ears.
And with a signal from the Prince, a flaming arrow was shot into the sky.
Lt. George, who waited in the reserves of Rhaenar's right wing, saw the arrow.
"L-Let's do this!"
Lt. George led the Rhaenar right wing in a flanking maneuver, engaging in a fierce clash with the fringe units under the command of Lt. Zane.
Lt. Evelyn and the right wing fought valiantly, doing their best to hold on. They shielded up and focused on survival as Zane rampaged through their ranks. However, when Evelyn saw George approaching with reinforcements, she knew what to do.
"It's time!" Lt. Evelyn declared, and her right-hand man shouted the order.
"Now!"
The Rhaenar right wing, sensing their role was fulfilled, eased up on their shield wall and slowly began to back away. And as Lt. Zane persued, this created an opening for George's maneuver.
Lt. Zane faced a difficult decision. Should he continue the pursuit of the fleeing soldiers, turn his attention to Prince Rhaenar to envelop the center, or divert his focus to Gorgeous George, whose flanking maneuver was wreaking havoc on Zane's formation?
"Sir, what do we do?" a soldier asked.
Having grown accustomed to his new, albeit temporary, rank, Lt. Zane made his choice. "On me!"
In hindsight, Lt. Zane's decision seemed obvious. However, considering the circumstances, he chose the wrong option.
Instead of targeting Evelyn, the de facto leader of Rhaenar's right wing, or countering Gorgeous George's devastating flank attack, Lt. Zane opted to go after the Prince.
"We'll take his head and leave their army leaderless!" Lt. Zane declared, urging his men to pivot toward the Rhaenar center.
By this point, Prince Rhaenar and his men were burdened by fatigue. It required their utmost effort, unity, and determination to work together and push back in unison.
Phoenix stood directly opposite the Prince, his spear thrusting with deadly accuracy, managing to find gaps in the shield wall. At one tragic moment, his spear inadvertently pierced the eye of the soldier standing next to Rhaenar, killing him instantly.
"Not Jeff!"
"I really liked that guy!"
The situation seemed dire. However, once the confirmation came that Lt. Zane was launching his assault, Rhaenar's face lit up with a smile.
"Now!" Rhaenar commanded.
The order rippled through Rhaenar's ranks, and a second flaming arrow shot into the sky.
Lt. Matthew, stationed on the Rhaenar left wing, spotted the signal.
"Go, go, go!" he shouted, inspiring his comrades to push forward.
It was then that the Mathew contingent clashed with the flank of Lt. Asher.
At first the charge did wonders and made progress, but Lt. Asher's leadership was too prudent. He recognized the advantage his line had on Rhaenar's weakened centre and so knew he could afford sending a few squads to bolster his flank.
At this point, as all squads were fully engaged in combat, the fog of war descended, obscuring Prince Rhaenar's understanding of the battle. Despite his emphasis on communication during their preparations, he could now only focus on the overwhelming onslaught of the Phoenix center before him.
Their only recourse was to rely on the agreed-upon plan and hope for the best. The time for intricate communication had passed.
However, upon seeing that Lt. Matthew had finally joined the fight against the Phoenix right wing, Rhaenar breathed a sigh of relief. "We've done what we must. Fall back!"
The entire Rhaenar center began a calculated retreat, never exposing their backs, shields raised, and weapons ready at all times. As intended in the inverted-crescent formation, Rhaenar's adversaries pursued them.
"Hold!" barked Phoenix, rallying his troops. "Line. Hold line!"
Phoenix's men showed discipline and resisted the temptation to break formation and chase the retreating enemy.
Lt. Asher's soldiers initially felt the urge to pursue, but upon hearing Phoenix's order, Asher swiftly issued commands. Most of his men responded, maintaining the line.
Lt. Zane, however, found himself deeply embroiled in the battle. With Lt. George closing in on his flank, Zane made a choice. With unwavering courage, he rallied his remaining men, ~forty in total, for one last desperate push toward Prince Rhaenar's position.
Witnessing Zane's reckless charge, Lt. Asher winced. He knew that once Zane raised his sword and uttered the words "Follow me!", there was no turning back. Asher could only keep his own men in line and do his best to break Rhaenar's left wing.
Zane's men launched a fierce assault, posing a genuine threat to the collapse of Rhaenar's center. Zane himself came within mere yards of the Prince, unstoppable.
Rhaenar's center fought valiantly, defending until the bitter end. But Zane and his squad proved too formidable, their blunt blades chipping away at bones.
Chit's legs trembled from the exertion of holding off Phoenix's men. The deafening noise of battle had numbed their ears. He shouted, "Prince!" even though Rhaenar stood right beside him, but his voice barely registered.
"What?" Rhaenar replied, his voice trembling with exhaustion.
"We have to fall back," Chit urged. "We can't fight Zane and Phoenix at once!"
"We won't have to!"
Just as Zane closed in on their position, the Rhaenar center teetered on the brink of collapse.
"I can taste it now!" Zane gloated as he neared Rhaenar. "Prince cooking!"
But it was too late. The back end of Lt. George's axe struck the side of Zane's head with a resounding impact.
"OOF—!"
When Zane regained his senses, he found his entire left wing decimated, his men scattered and fleeing to the sides of the field, awaiting the conclusion of the battle.
Lt. George triumphantly tore off Zane's helmet, adorned with golden linings, and raised it in victory, prompting cheers from his men.
Amidst the chaos, a helmet with red horse hairs caught the attention of Rhaenar's forces.
It was Sari, leading his squad with remarkable speed through the shattered remnants of Zane's left.
Sullying alongside Lt. George and his men, they effortlessly dispatched anyone who stood in his way. The shield formation proved inadequate against Sari's onslaught as he exploited the smallest gaps to breach the Phoenix center.
Recognizing Zane's fatal error, Lt. Asher swiftly made a decision.
"Front line, push with me! Second line, hold our flank with your dying breaths!"
The battle devolved into a race between the remaining dominant wings of each side, each determined to reach the opposing centre before the other.
This kind of movement was typical when two armies using the phalanx clashed, so it was only natural this would happen with our pseudo-phalanx. With soldiers holding their spears with the right hand and shields in the left, the formation naturally shifted to a left angle as each side endeavored to protect themselves while simultaneously attacking.
This phenomenon was known as the 'Phalanx drift' or 'Phalanx skew', and in most battles, the formation would become too skewed to serve its purpose before long. Every soldier had experienced the detection of this skew after numerous mock battles. However, in the current situation, with the skew intensified by the race between the dominant wings of each army, it became evident to everyone that this was an unprecedented scenario.
Now, it was Phoenix's turn to make a crucial decision.
Sensing that his front line could handle Rhaenar, he ordered his reserves to turn around and focus on countering Sari's flanking assault, exactly how Asher opted to handle the situation on his end.
With that maneuver executed, Phoenix directed a forceful push against Rhaenar. The shift in force was palpable. Rhaenar's center dug deep, joining their shields, and held the line with all their might.
Some soldiers collapsed from fatigue, while others succumbed to despair even before facing an actual blow. Slowly but surely, the Rhaenar center started to crumble. It seemed that the further they were from Rhaenar's presence, the weaker his sphere of influence, and the men's spirits waned under the relentless onslaught of Phoenix.
"Cowards!" Chit cried out in frustration.
"Hush!" panted Rhaenar, his voice strained. "Save your energy!"
Their shield arms faltered, but their determination to win overtook the exhaustion. Witnessing the young Prince, despite his privileged upbringing, grit his teeth and valiantly hold his shield to protect his comrades seemed to inject a surge of morale into his men.
"Bah!" spat Chit, his voice filled with determination. "Tighten up!"
They held their ground valiantly, but one by one, their comrades fell to the relentless assault. The situation grew increasingly dire.
"Don't falter!" shouted Rhaenar, his voice filled with determination. "Together!"
Yet deep within, the Prince silently pleaded, 'Hurry up, Sari. We need you now more than ever.'
And then, Sari finally managed to break through the enemy lines.
At that moment, a circle naturally formed around Sari and Phoenix. The battlefield itself seemed to pause, with all eyes fixed upon this captivating display of martial prowess. No one wanted to miss the showdown.
Sari prowled, his dual blades held in a reverse grip. For a brief moment, he contemplated engaging his opponent with the spear and shield, to challenge Phoenix on his own turf.
However, staying true to his nature, Sari discarded the cumbersome equipment and opted for his signature dual wielding style.
Suddenly, it felt as though the two armies ceased to exist as the centers of both sides huddled around, eager witnesses to the impending spectacle.
Unfortunately, the flanks, led by Lt. George and Mathew, had no time to pause and join in the anticipation. Their focus remained fixed on their own critical engagements, oblivious to the momentous duel unfolding in the center.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
Sari cleaned his ear with his pinky, "Quite the crowd."
"—!"
It was then as if Phoenix defied the laws of physics, a blur of motion that caught Sari off guard. In an instant, Pheonix was upon him, spear poised to strike.
Sari's instincts kicked in, and he reacted with lightning reflexes. He twisted his body, narrowly evading the lethal strike that seemed destined to pierce his flesh. The wind of the spear's passing brushed against his cheek.
Every eye fixed upon the intricate interplay between Sari's evasive maneuvers and Pheonix's relentless pursuit.
Sari couldn't help but grin at the exhilaration of the fight. "Impressive," he commended.
Seizing the moment, Sari closed the distance between them, unleashing a flurry of slashes with his dual blades.
But Pheonix's unwavering resolve proved to be a formidable defense. Sari's movements forced him to shift to Pheonix's left, where his attacks were met with the unyielding resistance of Pheonix's shield.
The clash of metal reverberated through the battlefield as Sari's blades collided with the shield.
The impact threatened to push Pheonix back, yet he maintained his balance.
Recognizing the disadvantage of close-quarters combat, Pheonix swiftly retaliated by charging at Sari with his shield, catching him off guard.
The forceful shield bash struck Sari, though he concealed the pain behind a stoic facade. Even without the shield, the sheer strength of Pheonix's shoulder was a force to be reckoned with, akin to being struck by a falling sack of bricks.
Chit couldn't help but remark, "Nasty!"
Rhaenar winced, recalling his own experiences with Pheonix's devastating shield bashes. "Better him than us."
The spectators watched in awe as these two titans of combat engaged in a mesmerizing exchange of blows, their movements a symphony of two extremes.
Although the duel appeared evenly matched, their approaches were distinctly different. The resolute gaze of the ex-Unsullied remained unchanged, while Sari's grin widened with every passing moment.
"Is that all you've got?" Sari taunted.
In a bid to regain the upper hand, Pheonix lunged with deathly intentions, thrusting his spear towards Sari once more.
But Sari's instincts activated in a split second. He deftly parried the spear downward, using the momentum to stomp on its end, breaking it in a display of raw strength.
The collective gasp of the onlookers echoed across the battlefield as Sari pranced about, his movements filled with a sadistic grace, like a cat toying with its prey.
"What's the matter, don't like getting up close and personal?"
Pheonix didn't dignify him with a response. Instead, he dropped the broken spear, unsheathing his sword with a chilling vibration that sent shivers down the spines of those watching.
With adept footsteps, Pheonix pressed his advance, seamlessly transitioning to his short sword and engaging Sari in a deadly flurry.
The sheer speed and lethal intent of Pheonix's swordplay startled Sari. It became clear to all observers that Pheonix had been conserving himself during sparring.
The intensity of his attacks surpassed anything they had witnessed in previous sparring sessions. Each strike carried the weight of a life-or-death struggle, pushing both combatants to their limits.
Sari licked his lips, "This is what I'm talking about!"
It was a sight to behold, transcending the boundaries of a mere duel. It went beyond the clash of metallic objects and the objective of beating your opponent. This collision of will, ideology, and ego, transformed into art.
In that moment, I began to understand why some minds have a different orchestration, why they see the world through a different and often selfish lens.
The Prince, Sari, Pheonix, and even Theodore with his board games — they were not simply individuals performing actions. The actions themselves were a vehicle for something greater.
The true objective was expression, though most weren't self aware of it. A twirl of the sword held as much meaning as the stroke of Rhaenar's paintbrush.
As the intensity of the duel escalated, a profound realization seemed to dawn upon the spectators.
The cheers, once divided along the lines of allegiance, transformed into a collective silence of awe. The boundaries of sides blurred, and a wave of admiration washed over the onlookers.
In that moment, it no longer mattered which banner they rallied behind. They were united in their desire to witness the spectacle unfolding before them.
"Fuck him up, Pheonix!" Chit said.
Rhaenar nudged Chit playfully in the ribs, a mischievous grin forming on his face. "Have you forgotten? The loser has to cook."
Chit chuckled and glanced at Rhaenar. "I don't care about the cooking. I would give anything to see Sari knocked on his ass, at least once!"
Those who heard had a good laugh, but then the tension came back again. The crowd held their breath, their hearts pounding in sync with the thundering beats of war.
Every swing of the sword, every parry, and every dodge felt like an eternity as if time itself had slowed to savor this final moment of the battle.
The clash intensified, with sparks flying and the clash of steel ringing throughout the air. The combatants pushed themselves to their physical and mental limits.
"Huff… huff…"
Both men took a moment to pause and look at each other in between the fighting.
"Not bad," puffed Sari, wiping the dripple from his mouth, "Maybe if I chopped my cock off, I'd be lighter on my feet?"
"Not you" puffed Pheonix, "Tiny cock make no change."
"Haha, bastard..," Sari rest one of his blades on his shoulder, "Let's end this."
Pheonix's reply made it evident he'd been absorbing the bootcamp culture, "Lady first."
Both men charged. Only one remained standing.
With a dexterous move, Sari deflected Pheonix's sword strike, redirecting the force of the blow. With a precise spin, he positioned himself behind Pheonix in a fraction of a second.
Sensing the shift in momentum, Pheonix turned with lightning speed, his shield swinging around to protect him.
But Sari, fueled by the surge of potential victory, unleashed nothing short of absurdity.
With his dual blades spinning in a blur, Sari aimed not for Pheonix's body, but for a sturdy leather strap that helped hold Pheonix's shield in place. His blades found their mark, severing the strap with a swift and precise strike.
We gasped as it became obvious that one of Sari's weapons were real. The shield crashed to the ground, leaving Pheonix momentarily defenseless.
Sensing his advantage, Sari pressed forward with a relentless assault. His blades sliced through the air with a graceful ferocity, each strike inching closer to its target.
Pheonix fought back, desperately parrying and blocking Sari's onslaught, but the barrage was relentless.
Then, in a twist of fate, Pheonix's foot caught on a discarded helmet lying on the battlefield. His momentary stumble threw him off balance, leaving him open.
At that pivotal moment, Sari's instincts took hold. He leaped towards the falling figure of Pheonix, his blade poised for a lethal downward stab.
A surge of panic coursed through Rhaenar's veins as the prospect of more collateral damage
"No!"
Closing his eyes tight, Rhaenar braced himself for the aftermath, his mind filled with dread and the weight of possible tragedy. The silence that followed was maddening, and his stomach churned.
Summoning his courage, Prince Rhaenar took a deep breath and cautiously opened his eyes. What he saw before him was a scene frozen in time, a delicate balance between victory and calamity.
Sari hovered over Pheonix, his blade pointed just inches away from his neck.
However, the victory was marred.
Gleaming against Sari's stomach was a dagger crafted from black rock—a weapon made of obsidian, more commonly known as dragonglass.
Rhaenar's mind raced as he recognized the significance of the weapon. The isle of Dragonstone, abundant with this ore, held the key to the dagger's creation. He had intended to bestow each legionary with their dragonglass dagger once they completed the arduous training.
Pheonix had fortuitously acquired one of the initial prototypes.
It was Chit who broke the silence, "A tie?"
"No," said Rhaenar. He pointed, "Look."
Amid the gripping duel, Lt. George and Mathew continued their relentless flanking.
Unbeknownst to them, the rest of the battlefield had come to a standstill, captivated by the monumental duel. The members of George and Mathew's squads pressed forward, focusing solely on their individual missions.
Exploiting the diversion caused by the mesmerizing duel, the squads led by Lt. George and Mathew charged the unsuspecting rear of Team Phoenix.
Lt. Asher struggled to rally his remaining men, but the absence of Pheonix made it difficult to regain control as their ranks fell into disarray. Surrounded on all sides, their defeat was quick.
Amidst the thick clouds obscuring the sky, the morning dew long gone, the gray grass now only glistened with sweat droplets.
And Team Sari raised their arms triumphant
"Victory!"
.
..
…
..
.
Upon review, Prince Rhaenar's actions were meticulously calculated. His seemingly late arrival and deliberate choice of the eastern approach were not mere coincidences.
Instead, they were strategic moves intended to sow discontent and create a sense of unease among the Pheonix army.
While Dragonstone's weather seldom offered clear skies, Rhaenar recognized the potential advantage of the golden hues that occasionally graced the horizon during sunrise and sunset. Though the effect may not have been as pronounced as he had hoped, he sought every possible edge in the battle.
The decision to employ slings and pelt Zane with tomatoes was also part of Rhaenar's plan. He understood Zane's zealous nature and predicted that such an action would provoke a reaction.
"There is a predictability in stupidity," Rhaenar confided in me, his voice laced with amusement. "Of that much, I'm certain."
.
..
...
..
.
Later that evening, Team Phoenix emerged from their exhausted reprise and gathered themselves to prepare the feast for the New Year celebration.
However, as they approached their cooking stations, they were surprised to find Team Sari already there, actively engaged in culinary preparations.
Zane couldn't help but express his confusion. "What's this?"
Rhaenar's smile grew wider as he replied, "Did you actually believe I was serious about the wager?"
Zane and Asher exchanged incredulous glances. "Eh?!?!"
The Prince chuckled, "Well, I was serious. But after witnessing the dejected state you all were in after the battle, we couldn't bring ourselves to be so merciless."
Just then, Sari ambled over to Pheonix and extended a piece of bread to him.
"Well fought," Sari acknowledged, his tone laced with respect. "But luck won't favor you next time."
Pheonix accepted the bread, taking a small nibble.
"Next time…" he sighed, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
Sari arched an eyebrow, "Hmm?"
"Next time," Pheonix said, raising the piece of bread in his hand,
"More cheese."