The Battle Of Hedal And Modor (3)

The man’s eyes trembled fiercely.

His blue eyes crackled with the intensity of imminent lightning.

Everyone lined up behind him felt the same.

An eagle soaring overhead glared sharply, as if unwelcoming their presence. Crows perched on distant trees cawed like curses.

It stood tall beneath the gray sky.

The man’s eyes read the words.

[Behold, this is the visage of the god you worship.]

“Deputy Commander Ber, this doesn’t seem like something we can end by merely camping and setting up tents.”

A knight riding beside Ber spoke, his voice thick with suppressed rage.

Though the deputy commander didn’t respond immediately, the knight, realizing Ber’s anger surpassed his own, quickly fell silent and stepped back.

A corpse reduced almost to bones.

Maggots swarmed the exposed pelvis and skull beneath the spine, amid a foul stench of decay.

Large nails driven into the eye sockets and mouth.

Large nails piercing the arms, legs, and heart.

Beneath, their armor, swords, and helmets lay.

Most striking was the blood-crusted Holy Cross necklace around the neck.

“Yohan, take out pen and paper.”

Ber’s low voice uttered.

The young knight hurriedly pulled pen and paper from a saddlebag.

“Draw this. Add nothing, omit nothing. Though what could be added to this?”

Yohan spread the paper and began drawing the gruesome corpses of Shetil and Lloyd.

After drawing for a while, he stood and showed the sketch to Ber, who nodded silently and ordered him to transcribe his words.

After writing the greeting, Yohan glanced at Ber.

His lips trembled with rage.

“What these barbarians have done is not merely a territorial dispute but a slaughter of those who worship the almighty and Holy Lord, mocking His power. I, Ber Undingen, swear by the Holy Cross necklace around my neck…”

His hand gripping the reins shook.

“I have never seen greater blasphemy.”

The 50 Holy Protector Knights and 150 Legion soldiers behind him nodded.

“If we overlook the lands they’ve seized and lives they’ve taken, their filthy steps will surely reach beyond Nordenheim to Midlenheim. I beseech you…”

Yohan, having transcribed thus far, looked at Ber, who had paused.

After a long moment with eyes closed, Ber slowly opened them.

“Send all available Holy Protector Knights and Legion soldiers to utterly eradicate these barbarians from this sacred land. Also, send a letter to the Eldrig Duchy to join us with any forces ready to march.”

And he spoke his final words.

“As the vanguard, we will kill as many heathens as we can and depart to the Lord’s embrace. Amen.”

Yohan’s hand trembled fiercely.

After reviewing the letter, Ber nodded as if satisfied and signed below.

“Take this and ride as fast as you can to deliver it to the Pope. Also, convey the foul stench, the grim cries of eagles and crows, and our rage, which the drawing cannot capture.”

“Understood, Deputy Commander.”

“Go now. Do not eat, drink, or rest—ride.”

“I will. May the Lord’s grace be with you.”

Yohan gathered the letter, made the Sign of the Holy Cross to all, and rode off.

“What will we do?”

“What use is a barricade? I assure you, even with 200 men holding a wall, will they not come? Having insulted the Lord this much, shall we watch them kill Fjorland’s army and plunder villages?”

“We are too few. It would be better to join the main force when it arrives and fight together…”

“Our task is to reduce their numbers, even by one, until the main force arrives. And don’t forget, in numbers and combat strength, Fjorland’s army cannot lose. Though it won’t win easily either.”

Everyone nodded.

“Which is the nearest Fjorland castle not yet taken?”

“Hedal Castle.”

“We go there.”

The Lord’s office in the Nastrand stronghold.

Unsette and Gestrun sat there.

Kneeling opposite was Münhart, just arrived as a messenger from Fjorland’s Shomhorn Castle.

“Is that true, Münhart?”

Unsette’s expression turned ecstatic. Gestrun laughed loudly, pounding the table. Münhart grinned at them.

“Of course. We’ve taken Shomhorn in one fell swoop and now stand before their stronghold.”

“Just recently, a messenger from the Norger tribe came. They’re on the verge of taking Hedal and Modor. Truly a brilliant pincer attack. Hahaha.”

“Sister, I can’t believe the Fjorland Duchy is collapsing so easily.”

“It’s their arrogance. Spreading their forces thin made them easy to defeat one by one. But it’ll get tougher now. With their territory halved, their army’s cohesion must have improved.”

Unsette studied the spread map intently. Gestrun scratched his head, clueless about it.

Münhart’s eyes turned to the map.

“If Duke Vegard isn’t a fool, he’ll choose one of two options: pour all forces into defending the stronghold or march to Hedal and Modor to annihilate the Norger tribe’s main force in one battle…”

“Sister, couldn’t they defend the castle with some and fight the Norger with the rest?”

“That’s what the biggest fool would do. Absolute superiority in forces reduces casualties. The castle? Drive out the Norger, besiege it, and it’ll fall. Whether they’re that smart remains to be seen.”

Unsette sneered, curling her lips.

Hearing this, Münhart shared what he hadn’t yet mentioned.

“It seems some of the enemy stayed at the stronghold for a siege, conscripting local men…”

“Then at least a thousand are tied up, away from their main force.”

A chillingly accurate prediction. Unsette’s mind raced.

“If it were me, I wouldn’t head for the stronghold. Even with only a thousand defenders, a siege with Nastrand’s forces alone is tough. Better to aid the Norger and flank Hedal and Modor from behind. Definitely.”

“Then I’ll return and inform the Duke.”

Unsette stopped him.

“No, this is Christoph’s fight, a measure of his ambition. I’ll await his judgment and its results. Münhart, forget what I just said.”

“Understood.”

“And one more thing to convey: we’ve conscripted men to build a strong defensive line toward Grandelvald and sent envoys for a peace treaty to Bjoern, so tell them not to worry about the east. Emphasize finishing quickly, of course.”

“I will convey that.”

“At the least, we must annihilate Fjorland’s main force and secure the territory before the troublesome Papal See moves. Surely, the sluggish Papal See won’t act quickly.”

That was the one thing Unsette overlooked, her misjudgment.

It was early dawn.

Having made love several times through the night, they were finally calming down, catching their breath.

“Cavalry, especially Fjorland’s lancers, famed for their speed. Where do you think they prefer to fight?”

Inside the tent, stroking Bryld’s body tenderly, Oden asked.

“Naturally, wide plains.”

“Exactly.”

Oden spread his fingers like a comb, running them through Brild’s beautiful blonde hair. Nestled in his arms, Bryld caressed his neatly braided hair, smiling.

“Are you already planning the next battlefield?”

“I’ve been planning since we crossed the border. Shall I ask the living Valkyrie another question? What’s the hardest terrain to attack?”

“For lancers, it’s definitely forests. Thick with trees.”

Oden, pleased, kissed Bryld’s forehead.

“You’re right. Lancers hate forests. They’ll want to fight on plains, not in woods.”

“Because they’re not fools.”

But they had to be made fools.

If they could eliminate the most troublesome enemy in one blow, it would greatly weaken their main force. For the Norger tribe, with fewer warhorses than other duchies, this was a critical chance to shape the war’s outcome.

“Then we must create an invisible forest on the plain. That’s how we’ll trap the lancers.”

“Create a forest on a plain? How?”

“Simple. I have a plan. Today, we’ll have warriors dig and cut trees—trees about human height.”

“Trees of human height?”

“They’ll make the 200 men bait look like 400. While working, we’ll send swift scouts to ensure we’re not spotted. I’m certain the lancers will take the bait and charge in.”

At Oden’s words, Bryld nodded with an ecstatic expression, vividly picturing his plan in her mind.

“And to deliver the critical blow in that battle, I need you, Skjaldmær.”

“I’ll stand before death anytime, my King.”

“No, it’s the enemy who will face death. You must sow the greatest chaos among them.”

“Tell me anything.”

Oden slowly explained the plan in his mind. Bryld closed her eyes, savoring his voice.

To an onlooker, it might seem like whispering sweet nothings, a beautiful and tender scene. But the content would make any warrior’s blood boil, eager to grab a weapon for such a splendid battle plan.

Perhaps for the warrior woman Bryld, it was no different from sweet nothings. Each time Oden mentioned Skjaldmær and her name, she trembled with an ecstatic expression.

As they greeted the dawning light, Seveldrun and Olaf, having left the Fjorland stronghold, were arriving with their forces at Hedal and Modor Castles.

The battle, the most crucial of this war, was about to begin.