Chapters 7: Rising From the Ashes
Alaric was surrounded by the roar of conflict as men's cries mixed with steel's collision. The battlefield opened out before him like a turbulent sea, black clouds blotting out the sun as the sky smokled. Alaric, with his sword in hand and his mind keen with concentration, stood at the center of all. This was where he belonged—among the anarchy, where strength and strategy dominated all else. Titles and noble blood were useless here.
With a savagery that would have destroyed a smaller army, the opposing forces were unrelenting in their forward progress. Alaric had, however, studied the topography, the battlefield, the maneuvers of both armies. Over the last few weeks, he watched as the opposing armies attacked and withdrew. He noticed the patterns, the faults, and now, with the enemy coming in, he knew just how to exploit them.
The men surrounding him, hardened by weeks of combat, had learned to admire him, even if they didn't know his complete background. They had watched his fight—fast, exact, and merciless. But more than that, they had seen his mind at work. In the midst of battle, when most soldiers were consumed by survival, Alaric was constantly thinking three steps ahead, predicting the enemy's actions.
A shrill yell broke out as the enemy cavalry charged across the plains, their war horses kicking up dust as they thundered into the front lines. The soldiers surrounding Alaric strained, their grips tightening on their rifles as they braced for the imminent onslaught. But Alaric stayed calm, his thoughts working fast as he appraised the situation. He had been waiting for this moment—the enemy's reckless charge would be their undoing.
"Hold the line!" Alaric shouted, his voice cutting through the commotion.
The guys, though not formally under his command, obeyed without question. They had learned to trust him at these moments. Alaric's presence had a way of soothing the storm, his confidence extending to everyone around him. He had demonstrated time and again that his instincts could be trusted, and now, as the enemy drew down on them, they followed his lead.
Alaric's eyes surveyed the battlefield, taking in every detail—the slope of the ground, the deployment of the enemy forces, the distance between their lines and the incoming horsemen. He knew they couldn't stave off a direct assault, not without taking huge losses. But if they could use the terrain to their favor, they could flip the tide.
"Fall back to the ridge!" Alaric commanded, pointing to a slight elevation in the land just behind their current location. "Let them come to us!"
The men hesitated for only a second before following his order, retiring just as the opposing cavalry closed in. Alaric's keen intellect had already estimated the enemy's speed, the weight of the horses, and the distance they would need to traverse on the rough land. As they fell back, the enemy charged into the now wide space, the front line horses stumbling on the uneven terrain.
"They're too fast—they'll trip on the incline," Alaric mumbled to himself.
And just as he predicted, the initial wave of cavalry hit the crest with too much momentum. The front horses failed, their riders hurled from their saddles. Chaos erupted in the enemy lines as the second wave clashed with the first, the momentum of their charge interrupted.
"Now!" Alaric shouted. "Counterattack!"
The soldiers moved forward, no longer withdrawing but seizing the advantage. Alaric led the attack, his sword slashing through the pandemonium as they struck the enemy with renewed zeal. The cavalry that had previously seemed so fearsome was now in disarray, their charge turned against them by the simple exploitation of the terrain.
Alaric battled with precision, every swing of his sword purposeful, every movement calculated. He moved like a man possessed, yet it wasn't the mindless fury of war that propelled him. It was frigid, unwavering focus. He knew what had to be done, and he executed it without hesitation. His blade found its targets swiftly—no wasted movements, no wavering.
As the conflict waged on, the opposing forces began to waver, their earlier advantage dissolving beneath the weight of Alaric's tactics. The previously confident cavalry, now fragmented and disoriented, were picked down by the warriors who had followed Alaric's command. The tide had turned, and it was evident who held the upper hand.
By the time the enemy forces began their retreat, Alaric's men were shouting in victory. The formerly seemingly insurmountable threat had been destroyed, and it was clear to everyone who had organized the win.
"Alaric!" one of the soldiers cried, clapping him on the back. "That was bloody brilliant! We'd have been slaughtered if it weren't for you."
Alaric just nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. There was no delight in the victory, not yet. This was just another fight in a long conflict. But still, the reverence of the men around him was unmistakable. They looked at him now not as a fellow soldier, but as a leader, someone they could rely on in the heart of it.
Word of Alaric's tactical skill spread swiftly. The officers, initially dubious of the quiet soldier who had entered their ranks, began to take note. Even the grizzled captain who had recruited him viewed him with renewed respect. Alaric had distinguished himself on the battlefield, and though he sought no praise, it found him all the same.
But Alaric's mind was never far from the betrayal that had brought him here. Each triumph, each battle won, was a step closer to restoring his honor. The men may consider him as their rescuer, their leader, but Alaric understood the reality. He was struggling not merely to survive, but to prepare. Each skirmish was practice, each triumph a small piece of the broader struggle that loomed ahead.
For Edwin was still out there, relishing in the authority he had taken. And Alaric would not rest until the man who had framed him, who had torn his life apart, was brought to his knees.
As the sun fell over the battlefield, Alaric sheathed his sword, his gaze fixated on the horizon. The struggle was far from over, but today, he had taken one more step toward reclaiming what was rightfully his.