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Chapter 45 - Ashes of Kara: Wolfram’s Cold Justice

As the morning mist lifted, both camps prepared to depart the battlefield. Wolfram's riders, mounted and ready, cautiously circled the enemy blockade. They were alert, their eyes keen on the fleeing soldiers as well as the commanders of the retreating army were high on alert.

Wolfram had given his orders earlier that morning. He ordered his riders to chewed on their food, laughing and drinking water from cups. Riders were chewed on their food and gulping water from cups with exaggerated satisfaction, their faces smug as they taunted the enemy soldiers.They were deliberately flaunting their sustenance, taunting the enemy who hadn't tasted a drop in days. 

One of the riders pointed mockingly toward the distant horizon. "Water, there!" he called out, grinning.Some of the desperate infantrymen from the enemy camp broke rank, rushing toward the perceived river in the distance, their thirst and exhaustion driving them mad. As they neared Wolfram's riders, some of the foot soldiers, gaunt and starving, begged for water, trying to grasp at the riders' cups. The Hunnic riders, calm and composed, laughed amongst themselves, barely acknowledging the bedraggled soldiers scrambling at their feet.

Seeing the enemy in disarray, The riders who had blocked the exit signaled their retreat by opening a narrow gap in the blockade. The soldiers, driven by thirst and desperation, rushed toward the exit, pouring through the gap like a flood breaking free of a dam. For a few minutes, it seemed as if nothing would happen. The Hunnic riders remained eerily calm, their laughter and jeers adding to the confusion. The sense of relief among the enemy soldiers grew as they rushed toward the open field, believing they were free.

King Janusz and King Igor, bringing up the rear of the retreat, were more cautious. heir eyes scanned the battlefield, searching for Wolfram. They knew something was wrong--this retreat was too easy.At last, Then, out of the mist, Wolfram appeared. His horse moved with a slow, deliberate pace, flanked by his most seasoned riders, who were already collecting the spoils of war from the fallen camp. His Nordic features stood out in the morning light, his royal bearing unmistakable.

His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto the two kings. Wolfram rode up to them for a brief moment, there was silence--a deadly calm before the inevitable stormand. Wolfram's eyes burned with cold fire as he approached the kings. his voice calm and commanding said "My name is Wolfram. And yours?" His voice carried across the field with an eerie calm. His Nordic features stood out in the morning light, his royal bearing unmistakable.

"You know who we are, boy." said King Janusz hesitated before speaking. "I am Janusz of Poland. This is King Igor of Galicia-Volhynia." 

How many men did you have at the start of this campaign?" said Wolfram with commanding voice.

Janusz answered, though hesitantly, "Around 60,000. Plus 20,000 more from our flank under King Jerolim of Serbia. But we both know how that ended, don't we?" His tone dripped with bitterness.

Wolfram's expression didn't change. "Aye, I was there in the assault."

Igor's face twisted in fury. "How could you, you damn fool! Your father was at the camp too!"

Before Igor could finish, the Hunnic riders who had been laughing earlier threw their remaining food and water toward the fleeing soldiers, adding to the chaos in the enemy ranks. Soldiers, weak from thirst, fought each other for scraps, their desperation turning them against one another. Hunnic riders laughed as they watched the scene unfold. The kings could hear the frantic cries and see the growing desperation. The plan was working.

Wolfram turned his gaze back to the kings, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yes, I know. I buried him myself, right there on the battlefield.", he said, his voice laced with cold indifference. "But what is even more than that…"

The tension mounted as more Hunnic riders closed in around them, their numbers growing by the minute. Janusz and Igor's eyes flickered nervously, their hands inching toward their weapons. The chaos in the background only heightened their sense of doom.

Wolfram's voice grew colder. , his voice a deadly whisper now. " ..what is even more than that I didn't just bury my father. I will burry you aswell right here and now."

Igor's face turned pale. He opened his mouth to protest, but Wolfram was faster. With one swift motion, Wolfram swung his Norse axe, slicing clean through King Igor's face. Blood sprayed across the battlefield as Igor's body slumped from his horse, dead before he hit the ground.

Chaos erupted in full force. Hunnic riders, now fueled by their leader's brutality, charged at the fleeing soldiers. The gap that had once offered them hope became a deathtrap.

Fleeing soldiers tried to rally, some dismounting the Hunnic riders in a desperate attempt to fight back and defend themselves, , but they were too slow, too weak. The Hunnic riders kept their distance, their arrows finding their marks with deadly accuracy.

Wolfram turned to Janusz, his cold smile still etched on his face

Janusz, frozen in shock, stared at the carnage unfolding around him. He turned to Wolfram, his voice trembling with rage. " You traitor! You are bastard of Timurtaş. You're not one of us!"

Wolfram's smile returned, cold and mocking. "I'm not one of them either," he said, his voice as icy as the morning wind. "I am Wolfram Gengiz."

With a swift motion, Wolfram hurled his axe at Janusz, the blade striking the king in the chest and sending him tumbling from his horse. The Polish king let out a final gasp as his life bled out onto the battlefield. 

 Janusz's body fell lifeless to the ground, and in that instant, the battle turned into a massacre. Hunnic riders closed the exit entirely, trapping the soldiers. Devasted soldiers were hunt down meanwhile while Tanrıverdi and his riders kept chasing and hunting down fleeing soldiers.

Tanrıverdi led his men in chasing down those who had managed to escape the initial charge. Only one in ten soldiers survived, the rest either dead or captured.

Wolfram, still standing amidst the carnage, looked out across the battlefield. His eyes, once filled with sorrow for Kara, were now hard and unyielding. The man he had been was gone. In his place stood a leader--ruthless, cunning, and merciless.

As he surveyed the scene, his face darkened. "Kara's revenge isn't finished yet," he muttered to himself, tightening his grip on his axe. Along the way, he caught sight of more Kipchak riders--remnants of the group Kara had sworn vengeance upon. Kara's revenge had been fulfilled, and Wolfram now stood as the undisputed victor, his legacy etched into the blood-soaked ground.