Herald of Steel

Chapter 815 Menes's Plight (Part-1)

Seeing the enemy phalangites run, the legionaries all madly dashed haphazardly, breaking rank against the explicit orders of their officers and making themselves vulnerable.

An opportunity that the experienced mercenaries from the Kaiser Family of course did not let escape, as they quickly couterattacked, cutting down many lives which could have been easily avoided if only these soldiers had exercised a bit of patience.

And in this, somehow their relative small size that was up until now a massive hindrance suddenly became a great boon.

Because the thousand men, arranged in 4 units of 250 men were nothing in size when compared to the 20,000 huge force, meaning whatever damage these bulky, slow units could do, they could only do to a small number of legionaries.

Most of the mad Zanzanians were simply able to bypass the spears by swinging around, not being interested in biting a prey that could fight back, not when there were so many juicy fishes in the sea.

And since this hardened prey could neither cause too much harm due to being so small in numbers, their carnage was never enough to alarm the maddened legionaries enough that they came back to their senses and started forming up to deal with this great threat.

Which resulted in the creation of a rare opportunity for the mercenaries, for as Menes's lines were hollowed out, the sight of the general of the army, dressed in splendid attire standing alongside a huge, eye catching standard denoting where he was standing came into the view of mercenary commander.

He could even roughly make out a path that should never have appeared in the first place.

But it did.

And instantly a greedy thought ran through that man's head- 'The enemy has already broken rank and ran. There is no point in us acting as the rear guard.'

'We can either retreat safely….Or!'

Eschewing the safe option, this commander, who was the second in command of the 3,000 strong mercenary unit daydreamed,

'Or I can go after the enemy commander. He should at best have a hundred men. I can destroy that paltry force with a single hit.'

'Then… if I can get that Lord they call Alexander's head, heh hehe… from the way everyone talks about him sounds like a bigshot.'

'If I can kill him, hahaha… that mercenary leader's position will surely be mine.'

This second in command of the mercenary group gleefully chuckled in his heart.

To be able to receive the great boon of surviving a near suicidal mission and then subsequently so openly disregard it, choosing to instead again so willingly jump into the fray of battle instead of quitting while ahead, just to kill the enemy leader for glory, one thing that was certainly not missing in this man was ambition, anyone would have to give him that.

But then again, if mercenaries were not brave and ambitious, they would not be mercenaries.

So revealing his ambition to his nearest officers, this second in command loudly urged,

"Charge men! Charge!"

"If we can kill the enemy commander, you lucky bastards will have all the gold, wine, and women you could want for life."

"So what are you waiting for?"

"Attack!"

"Today we will drink from the skull of a true lord haha."

"Fortune favors the brave."

The man's slogan very well revealed the motto of his life.

And the 1,000 men seemed ready to attack imminently.

While on the opposite side, seeing this approaching formation of doom, Menes's bodyguards bunched together into a solid, almost impregnable formation before its leader turned to shout at Menes,

"General! Get on your horse and hurry back to the tent. We will hold the men as long as we can. Quick!"

The man sounded very alarmed and the reason was very apparent.

Because in the subsequent chaos following the disastrous disintegration of the army, they had been so busy attempting to get back control of the unruly men, Menes's bodyguards did not simply have the spare capacity to spot these Kaiser mercenaries beeling towards them till the very last moment.

They did notice that the enemy had set up a rear guard, but rear guards were defensive structures, meant to be almost static formations that slowly retreated.

It was common knowledge rear guards did not attack.

So when this one did, like now, it caught the hundred or so men completely off guard.

The Kaiser mercenaries by luck had been able to seamlessly camouflage themselves around the chaotic ocean of men who were running all around and managed to get very close before they were spotted.

So close in fact that it was no longer safe for the hundred or so men to turn around run, as that would mean presenting their defenseless backs to the intimately close phalangites.

And then who knew if a lucky arrow strike or javelin hit their general?

A possibility made true far more likely by the fact that the rough ground and the still chaotic battlefield with men running all around meant even on horseback, the speed of these men would not be much different from running or even sprinting.

Hence, the far better option was thought to be that the majority of the bodyguards would sacrifice themselves in a delaying action trying to hold 1,000 men, while Menes made the short distance into the safety of the camp.

Under the current circumstances, this did appear to be the most sensible plan.

"Bah! Who is leaving? Not this daddy!" But it was also one that Menes unequivocally rejected, as whirling his horse, he loudly ordered,

"Get ready, we will kill as many of these bastards as possible. If the gods have written I will die on this, then they have surely written a lot of men will die with me too Hahahaha."

Menes fearlessly laughed as he equipped his shield and lance, ready to charge.

And it was not like he was putting on a false bravado either, for even as the doom stack of spears made their way towards him, his face only glowed his anticipation and his eyes with zeal.

The man was not afraid of death.

Sure there was a pang of regret that he was most likely going to die from being skewered by the firmly held spears when he charged that tight formation, especially since he had already won the battle and should have been celebrating.

But that was regret and bitterness, not fear.

As a mighty warrior, Menes could confidently say the thing he was not afraid of was death.

And perhaps that was why he did not run even when given the option to.

For if the black giant had been a bit more cowardly and a bit more selfish, perhaps he would not have been so eager to put himself in danger.

"Haha, how can I escape and leave my brother to die? If we are going to die, we are gonna all die together."

And when some objected to try and convince Menes otherwise, it was this what he said loudly,?boldly placing his horse right in the middle of the very first line, intending to take the full blunt of the attack head on by himself.

And if that were to really happen, no matter how well the man was built, no matter the armor he wore, or how good of a fighter was, there really would be no way of saving the man.

But Menes would rather die than leave all his brothers, these men who had been with him since the original mercenary group.

So resigning himself to death, the mighty, black warrior put on his flamboyant helmet, brought his shield right up to his chest to try and protect it as much as he could, and held his lance firmly and with steely determination.

Rather than huddle together and defend like a coward, buying time and praying for a miracle, Menes would rather take the fight to the enemy and kill as many as he could before going down in a fiery wrath of glory.

That was Menes's ideal way to die on the battlefield.

And besides, who knew?

Maybe these men would break upon seeing the charge.

Though in reality, Menes knew perfectly this was not going to happen under any reasonable circumstance.

A heavy cavalry could indeed break formations, but not when it was outnumbered 10 to 1, not when it was traveling through such inhospitable terrain where it would not be able to pick up any real speed in fear of stumbling and destroying the whole formation in the process, and certainly not against a group of highly trained mercenaries.

But hey, a man could dream, right?

It was with these thoughts that Menes lowered his lance and adjusted the aim for one last time, and as he did, his mind became filled with flashes of many memorable experiences of his thirty year old life.

His capture by the slavers, the beatings he endured under them, his purchase by Nestoras, the training under Aristotle, the battles he fought, the adventures he had, and finally the faces of that one man- Alexander.

It pained him to think he would not be able to again see him.

'Sigh, I wish I could have been with him a bit longer. Won a few more wars for him.'

*Bang…. Ahhhhhh*

But Menes's mournful remembrances were suddenly cut short by a heavy cavalry attack from the back of the mercenaries, by uniforms that Menes actually did not recognize!

Something that caused the men at the frontline to become distracted.