Chapter Sixty-Eight: Kokolan

Shaya sprinted northward at full speed, not knowing how far he had run until the sounds of pursuit faded into the distance, and even the shouts and cries of battle behind him vanished completely. Only then did a measure of relief settle in his heart. Fortunately, the magic within the ring had not been exhausted; having shaken off his pursuers, Shaya was now reluctant to use the ring further. He carefully removed it and tucked it away in his chest, determined to conserve such a precious treasure.

Once he stopped, Shaya sought out a low-lying hollow in the earth and flung himself down, limbs sprawled, tongue lolling as he gasped for air. Though the wind-magic ring had aided him, he’d still drawn upon every ounce of his own strength—without it, he would have been torn apart by the blades of his enemies. Now, as he lay there, his lungs seemed aflame, and he panted until he thought his throat might burst.

Collapsed in the pit, Shaya was so exhausted he could not move a single finger, a state that lasted the better part of a meal before he could barely force himself to his feet. Once again, he had experienced that crimson murderous energy; just as before, when the red glow enveloped his body, all his wounds vanished in an instant. The injuries from the previous assaults were immediately healed under the caress of that red light. Even the gash on his shoulder, where his armor had been split and his flesh and bone mangled by a blow, was now rapidly mending—the only trace a faint redness in the newly healed skin.

Shaya held his head in his hands, pondering. (Damn it, this is nothing short of a trump card. Instant healing, and the power to unleash a killing blow that ignores all defense... If I could wield this at will, wouldn’t I be invincible?)

He clutched the crystal stone in his palm, noting that its surface had reverted to its usual dull gray, but with a subtle difference... Peering closer, he saw it was so. The face of the crystal remained gray, but now, running through it were a few fine threadlike lines of red, thinner than a strand of hair, sparsely distributed across the surface—just like the bloodshot lines in one’s eyes after sleepless nights, though far fewer and even finer. Unless one looked closely, they would be invisible.

He remembered that before, this stone had shown no such peculiar change. Could it be that his two inadvertent uses of the strange red light had altered it somehow? What if he used it a few more times—would the stone turn entirely red?

A few more times... Shaya couldn’t help but smile wryly. Twice the red light had saved him, but he still had no idea how to activate it at will. This deadly move was potent, but... it seemed he could only trigger it when beaten nearly to death, his body battered and his life hanging by a thread. Such a method was far too dangerous! What if, next time, he found himself in peril and the stone failed to unleash its red glow—would he not die an utterly pointless death?

After resting a while, Shaya regained some strength. Though his limbs still felt weak, his remarkable constitution—almost inhuman—allowed him to recover a third of his stamina in short order. He rose, surveyed his surroundings, determined the direction, and decided to continue northward.

Though heading south to rejoin General Adriek’s main force would have been safest, the pursuit of the reindeer cavalry from that direction meant he would likely encounter the Odin warriors before ever reaching his comrades. There was no relying on the fickle red glow to save him again—it was better to go north and catch up with Kevin and his group.

Yes, that bald-headed Kevin. By now, they should have already met up with the Third Banner Regiment...

※※※

While Shaya was setting off north, Kevin had indeed already linked up with the men of the Third Banner Regiment on the northern reaches of the Albaktur Plain.

With three hundred horsemen, Kevin had broken northward under Shaya’s cover, but ran into another ambush along the way—a troop of reindeer cavalry. After forcing their way through, only about two hundred remained.

Near midday, Kevin finally met the silver-haired Butler, commander of the Third Banner Regiment.

The Third Banner Regiment, a light cavalry unit under the Thirteenth Cavalry Corps, was in dire straits. The terrain here was treacherous: wooded hills on both sides, not high but ill-suited to cavalry, with a narrow flat stretch—only two or three hundred meters wide—in the center. Such a constricted plain allowed the Odin forces to block any cavalry charge with a thick line of infantry.

The Third Banner Regiment, after all, were not heavy infantry; frontal assaults against dense ranks were not their forte. By the time Kevin arrived, Butler’s men were battered, huddled defensively on a hillside, making a desperate stand along a narrow path.

They had fought through the night, the regiment’s two thousand reduced to thirteen hundred, most wounded.

Butler was sick with regret. Originally just the vanguard, meant to scout and clear the way, he had encountered a small Odin reindeer squad the previous night. After a skirmish in which the Odins left over a hundred corpses, Butler, eager for victory, pursued recklessly. In the darkness, he was lured into this deadly terrain, and by the time he realized, escape was impossible.

It was a trap—the Odins’ plan was to annihilate the vanguard in one stroke.

With cavalry unable to break free in the narrow terrain, Butler chose to fortify a hillside. At dawn, he confirmed his fears: an entire Odin legion—some twenty thousand—had surrounded them, sealing off every escape. Butler twice attempted to break out, leading his men in desperate charges that briefly forced the Odins back, but the enemy’s numbers and thick ranks proved insurmountable. With only a little over a thousand horsemen, they could not pierce the enemy lines—like a rusty, blunt blade futile against a thick slab of meat.

After two failed attempts, the Thirteenth’s cavalry were forced back to the hill. Had they delayed further, they would have been encircled on the field, with no retreat at all.

When Kevin arrived and saw the dense Odin formations below, his scalp tingled. With only two hundred men, a rescue was nearly impossible; such a small force would be wiped out in moments amid twenty thousand foes.

Yet soon, Kevin noticed something strange—their arrival was quickly detected, and Butler, seeing reinforcements, gathered his remaining strength for another breakout. Over a thousand horsemen charged down the hill, carving a bloody path through the Odin lines!

Corpses littered the narrow terrain below, Odins surged in waves, but where Butler led his charge, they retreated like the tide.

In such chaos, Kevin had no choice but to grit his teeth and charge to their aid. The fighting was brutal, but amid the carnage, he grew suspicious...

The Odins’ resistance seemed far weaker than expected!

The two forces soon merged and tried to withdraw southward, seeking to rejoin the main army.

The roar of tens of thousands filled the air, packed into the narrow, low-lying plain. As the two cavalry regiments united, a deep, somber bull-horn sounded from the distant hillside! The note was thick and solemn, and at once the Odins, who had been stubbornly entangling them, retreated like a receding tide, breaking contact with the Byzantines.

"They’re letting us go?" Kevin wondered.

At that moment, Butler, the standard-bearer of the Third Banner, was soaked in blood, his armor shattered in seven or eight places, an arrow shaft protruding from his shoulder, helmet long lost. He joined Kevin, and seeing the Odins withdraw, wiped the blood from his face, his expression changing suddenly. "Damn, it’s a ruse!"

The Odin infantry withdrew swiftly, and from the woods on both hillsides poured squad after squad of reindeer cavalry! Rested from a night’s respite in the trees, they now charged down the slopes in a frenzy. Butler’s eyes flashed with grim resolve. "Charge south! Everyone, break through to the south! Out of this gorge!"

But it was too late!

The reindeer cavalry, pouring down both sides, quickly closed in on the Byzantines’ rear.

Their tactics were simple: cling to the Byzantines’ cavalry, never giving them a moment’s respite! Forced to retreat under fire, the cavalry’s formation was shattered; there was no chance to halt and reform for a countercharge.

Thus, over a thousand horsemen were driven mercilessly, with infantry blocking their path and archers firing from the slopes...

Kevin had never fought such a humiliating battle! He knew that in a head-on clash, Byzantium’s elite cavalry could crush these reindeer riders. But now, they simply could not turn around!

For cavalry to be effective, they must be arrayed for a charge. Now, scattered and harried, their rear under constant attack, they could not halt without being surrounded by swarms of Odin infantry. If they didn’t stop, they could not shake off their pursuers. The reindeer cavalry were like a blade, slicing away the Byzantine ranks layer by layer.

High on a distant hill, a towering figure stood cloaked in a great oxhide mantle, behind him a massive throne made of beast-bones, draped in a thick black pelt. He had the archetypal Odin build—broad-shouldered, powerfully muscled, a presence of explosive strength. A bear-helm topped his head, a gray fur cloak draping his shoulders, and in his hand he bore not a weapon, but a small banner.

Unlike the rough-skinned Odins, this man’s complexion was almost sickly pale, and his rare green eyes were fixed intently on the battle below.

Behind him stood dozens of towering Odin warriors, each over two meters, clad in thick bear pelts, iron cuirasses on their chests, short axes in hand, their long hair woven into countless braids. This was the famed "Berserker Axemen" of Odin legend.

The bear-helmed man withdrew his gaze, a faintly scornful smile on his lips.

"Hmph, the famed Rodria Cavalry Regiment is not so impressive after all."

He smiled coldly, raising his arm—ringed with black iron—level to the sky. High above, a sharp eagle’s cry rang out, and a gray-plumed falcon alighted upon his arm. He tapped its head with a finger, then produced a strip of raw meat from his pocket and fed it to the bird.

"Oh... Adriek should be arriving with his men soon... heh." His eyes flickered with satisfaction, but before his smile could fully bloom, hoofbeats sounded behind him.

A reindeer cavalryman galloped up, dismounted, and stumbled forward to prostrate himself.

"What is it?" the Odin lord frowned.

The cavalryman, a burly Odin, now trembled in fear. "Noble Lord Korkoran, your... your brother..."

Korkoran raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"

"Your brother fell in battle! He died at the hands of a Byzantine cavalryman... We tried to hunt down the killer, but..."

He trailed off, for Korkoran’s eyes were now fixed on him with a terrifying, piercing glare.

The cavalryman could not stop shaking—such an important man had died under his watch, and he feared the worst...

Yet no expected fury came.

Korkoran fell silent, then a strange smile appeared on his lips. "Oh... my dear younger brother, fallen in battle? What an interesting bit of news. For us Odin warriors, to die on the battlefield is a rare honor."

He spoke as though utterly calm, even gentle, with a faintly sinister tone—yet this was what terrified those who knew Korkoran best. As his gaze grew softer, the cavalryman pressed himself flatter to the ground, not daring to raise his head, his body shuddering as if with ague.

Korkoran idly stroked the falcon on his arm, murmuring, "Hmm, the loss of a son will surely unleash my noble and mighty father’s wrath... Ah, such a sorrowful message."

His words, though, were belied by his placid, even sunny smile.

"Still, the Emperor has over twenty sons—a loss of one or two is hardly significant."

Such blasphemy made the cavalryman wish he were deaf—he knew to have heard such words meant Korkoran would never spare him...

At last, after a pause, Korkoran drew a deep breath, his gentle smile vanishing, replaced by a cold, murderous expression.

"Pass on my order—raise the blood-red banner, for I must avenge my dear brother... Then write a letter home, to convey this tragic news." He paused, eyes glinting oddly. "No matter what, with a brother dead, I must at least put on a show. This is my first time commanding in person—I must not bungle it."

※※※

Kevin and Butler finally burst from the low-lying ground and out of the gorge, emerging into open country. Both were wounded, Kevin’s war mace lost on the field, now wielding a double-edged knight’s longsword; Butler slumped over his horse, unable even to sit up straight, a deep axe wound splitting his armor across his back—a blow that nearly killed him.

Once out of the gorge, Kevin’s heart leapt; with no Odin infantry blocking the way, his cavalry could easily outpace the reindeer riders. If they could regroup, they could launch a counterattack and let the Odins taste Byzantine steel.

Cavalry had always been the pride of Byzantium!

Kevin, his anger boiling, was eager to strike back—but to his fury, as soon as they cleared the canyon, the Odin reindeer cavalry ceased their pursuit, their vanguard breaking off and retreating back into the pass!

(These bastards! Since when did the Odins become so cunning?!)

Finally allowed to stop and regroup, Kevin and Butler counted their numbers—and nearly coughed blood.

The Third Banner and Kevin’s reinforcements combined—less than six hundred horsemen survived!

That is, the enemy’s harrying tactics, though underhanded, were terribly effective—Byzantine losses were catastrophic.

The Third Banner Regiment was, for all intents and purposes, destroyed. In the coming battles, they could no longer function as a combat unit, only await reconstitution after the campaign.

Butler’s heart bled. As commander, he had forged these men with his own hands—now, over seventy percent gone, his grief was beyond words.

If the Odins’ goal was to destroy the Third Banner, they had succeeded. Of two thousand cavalry, fewer than five hundred survived, and only three hundred remained battle-ready.

In this battle, the Third Banner Regiment, though not annihilated, was rendered powerless.

The silver-haired Butler’s face was stripped of all bravado, as if aged twenty years, blood at his lips as he bit down in anguish.

Kevin’s heart bled as well, surveying the battered remnants...

(This is not right—these Odins are fighting nothing like before. They used to be a byword for savagery and valor, favoring head-on clashes, never employing such tricks—luring, ambush, encirclement, and relentless harrying!)

Moreover, what troubled Kevin and Butler most was this:

Though the Odin force numbered around twenty thousand, by their quality they were not elite, but merely a regular second-line unit—far from the standards of Odin’s finest in terms of training and battle prowess.

The Thirteenth Cavalry had suffered grievous losses to Odin before, but that was at the hands of Hastings’ Black Banner Legion. This time, to be so mauled by ordinary troops was unthinkable...

Both men, old soldiers, estimated Odin losses at three to four thousand.

In terms of ratio, the casualties were not disastrous.

But one must remember: they themselves were among Byzantium’s most elite, and all cavalry.

"Damn it, the Odins have learned to use terrain and tactics... Is their commander Hastings?" Kevin spat bloody phlegm.

"No," Butler replied bleakly. "We’ve faced Hastings’ Black Banner Legion before. With his status in the Odin Empire, he would never stoop to command a regular force. The only explanation is that the Odins have another formidable general among them."

Despite being shaken to his core, the old veteran gritted his teeth and gave the order.

Since the Odins were not pursuing, they need not retreat further; instead, they would form up and hold position, sending messengers to await the arrival of the main force.

"Once the General gets here, we’ll give these Odins a proper fight!"

※※※

Shaya dared not travel the main roads. It felt like returning to his days as a lone hunter in the wild, creeping carefully through tangled slopes, deliberately taking a wide detour to approach the rendezvous point from the right flank.

Near noon, he finally reached the valley, but by skirting the main path he avoided Kevin’s force, who were waiting to the south, and instead came swiftly to the right-hand hillside.

As he neared the trees, he heard hoofbeats behind him—by their heavy, uneven rhythm, clearly not Byzantine cavalry. Instantly, Shaya scrambled up a tree like a monkey and watched as a small squad of reindeer cavalry passed below.

He scarcely dared breathe, terrified of making the slightest noise.

Pressing himself flat against the trunk, he soon heard a racket from deeper in the woods—a whole company of Odin soldiers emerging and forming up just outside the forest...

(Damn!)

Perched in the tree, Shaya found himself trapped, neither able to advance nor retreat.