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The moment he stepped out of the stone tower, a deafening roar that shook heaven and earth struck his ears.
Varkas turned toward the sound and froze at the sight of the northern wall engulfed in flames.
The infiltration unit had evidently succeeded in destroying the gate’s opening mechanism. Through the wide-open iron gates, he could faintly make out the surge of a massive battering ram.
Seeing the outer wall guards swarming like locusts to block the breach, Varkas quickly turned aside.
“We had best find another escape route.”
Cutting through the enemy lines to join the main force was an option, but the risk was too high.
He glanced sideways at Gareth, who was dressed shabbily in nothing more than a velvet coat over a thin shirt.
If he dragged him into the thick of battle in that state, the prince would be butchered in an instant.
Clicking his tongue, Varkas immediately sprinted around the stone tower toward the southern outer wall. But as soon as he rounded the corner, he ran headlong into guards hauling artillery shells.
In a single motion, he drew his sword and slashed the throat of the nearest soldier.
The helmeted head rolled across the stones, blood fountaining from the severed neck. At the sight, a jagged shriek tore from the guards’ mouths.
“Intruder! An intruder is taking the prisoner!”
Just then, a heavy explosion shook the air—most likely the Imperial Army detonating a shell—swallowing the rest of the man's cry before it could carry.
Yet it had already caught the attention of the soldiers patrolling the outer wall.
Seeing dozens of torches closing in, Varkas shoved Gareth against the wall and swung his sword horizontally at the first soldier within reach.
His blade, lightened so as not to exhaust the arm, tore through armor, cutting muscle, entrails, and bone in a single stroke.
The man was sheared in two at the waist, an agonizing scream ripping from his lungs.
“M-Monster…!”
As if that terror-stricken cry were a command, the soldiers rushing forward with leveled weapons stumbled to a halt.
Varkas did not miss the opening and lunged.
Stripped of heavy armor for the infiltration, his body moved as unburdened as a warhorse cast free of its yoke.
Closing the distance with the speed of an arrow, his blade buried itself deep into the torso of the lead pikeman.
Varkas dragged the steel downward, splitting the man to the groin, then pivoted the blade to sever the knees of an infantryman who had been too slow to brace himself. His legs gone in an instant, the soldier slammed face-first into the dirt.
A pikeman, watching the carnage with a face drained of color, let out a frenzied roar and lunged. It was an instinctive scramble for survival rather than a deliberate strike.
Varkas angled his sword diagonally. He parried the halberd aimed at his head upward, then snapped the point down to plunge it cleanly between the soldier’s neck and collarbone.
Seeing three men fall in the blink of an eye, several others turned and ran.
Ignoring the fleeing guards, he barked back at Gareth.
“Stay on my heels!”
Gareth, who had been standing dazed, scrambled forward.
Varkas began carving through the enemy cordon, careful never to let the distance between himself and Gareth widen. Yet the passage toward the west gate was thoroughly barred.
In this chaos, scaling the wall with a rope was out of the question.
‘It seems cutting through to the main force is our only choice after all.’
His mind raced as his eyes searched for a path through, when a familiar shout came from ahead.
“Your Grace!”
Varkas snapped his head around and let out a brief breath of relief at the sight of the Imperial vanguard already driving into the inner courtyard.
If the main force had pierced the very heart of the fortress, the tide of battle had already turned.
Grabbing Gareth by the arm, he dropped straight into the courtyard where the melee was raging.
“I have secured His Highness! Escort him out at once!”
Half a dozen heavily armored infantrymen immediately broke toward them.
Varkas thrust Gareth toward the soldiers like an unwanted burden and quickly took in their surroundings.
The Northerners were scattering in all directions under the onslaught of the Imperial Army, which poured through both the front and rear gates like water bursting a dam.
It was inevitable. Half the rebel force were militia without a shred of proper training. Once stripped of their fortifications, the Northern rabble stood no chance against the Imperial elite.
Now that they had lost their only bargaining chip—the Crown Prince—there was no salvation left for them.
“Get His Highness beyond the walls immediately.”
“Understood, sir!”
Forming up around Gareth, the soldiers immediately pivoted toward the gate.
Varkas sprang to the head of the formation to cut an escape path.
At that very moment, accompanied by the shrill hiss of cleaved air, a flash of bluish steel streaked straight toward him.
Varkas brought his sword up on instinct. A heavy shockwave ripped through him, jolting from his wrist through his elbow and up into his shoulder.
Quickly centering his balance, he looked up at the man bearing down against his blade.
The faint light of dawn caught the massive silhouette before him. Though the face was concealed behind a black helm, there was no mistaking who it was.
“Bjorn…”
“An honor. To think Your Grace would remember a name like mine.”
The man sneered, pressing his weight harder into the steel. Varkas gritted his teeth against the staggering brute force, then brought the full power of his body to bear, knocking the blade aside. He thrust immediately toward the exposed chest, but Bjorn sprang back, widening the gap.
Varkas swiftly reset his stance, fixing him with cold eyes.
“The outcome is already settled. Surrender.”
“Now why would I let it end so dull?”
The man cackled.
“If everything is going to ruin anyway, shouldn’t I at least enjoy myself until the final breath?”
It was no bluff born of desperation. Behind the slit of the helm, two eyes burned with a madness that welcomed annihilation.
“They call you immortal. Shall we see if that holds true?”
With those words, the massive greatsword cleaved forward.
Varkas twisted aside, sweeping his blade up to parry the blow. But the man instantly altered his edge's trajectory, driving it into a second strike. It was a fluid, agile sequence that defied his sheer bulk.
Rather than retreating, Varkas stepped straight into the attack. Bracing the flat of his blade with his off-hand to catch the blow, he threw the man’s arms violently upward.
Without losing a fraction of a second, he smashed his crossguard down into the Northerner’s helm. The man jerked his head aside just enough to avoid a full fracture, but the blow to the temple was heavy enough to knock him off balance.
Varkas pressed the opening immediately. Heimdal scrambled to recover his guard, but he was a beat too slow. Straight as an arrow, the longsword drove deep into his shoulder.
“This is repayment for last time.”
“Ha… You never forget a slight, do you?”
Clutching the blade embedded in his shoulder with one hand, the man spoke with rasping mockery.
Varkas twisted the hilt, wrenching the wound open. At last, a low groan escaped from beneath the visor.
He watched dispassionately as the man swallowed back the agony, then dragged the sword down, forcing him to his knees.
The rebel commander, having endured this far through gritted teeth, finally collapsed. Planting his iron-soled boot onto the wrist that still clung to the hilt, Varkas spoke in a low voice.
“Your game of war ends here.”
The Imperial soldiers, who had been watching with bated breath, erupted into a roar of triumph.
The rebels, witnessing their commander brought down, saw their resolve shatter in an instant and began to fall back in utter despair.
END