Chapter 83: Kill the Odin Men!

Chapter Eighty-three: "Kill the Odin Men!"

By noon, the defeated and scattered soldiers gradually gathered back, numbering roughly fifteen hundred. Shaya had originally intended to reorganize these men and put them to use, but the majority were badly wounded; even those with lighter injuries were exhausted from fleeing and could barely stand. Their faces bore the indelible marks of terror and numbness, stripped of all fighting spirit by the slaughter of the Odin men.

Shaya knew he lacked the ability to reignite their courage—he was no legendary hero whose words could transform cowards into warriors. That sort of miracle existed only in tales, not reality. So he handed all the routed soldiers to Kato, to bolster the logistics unit, and then drew another two hundred men from those logistics.

By afternoon, however, bad news began to trickle in.

Shaya had divided his two hundred cavalry into six squads, sending them out to scout in six directions. When the squads returned at midday, two had suffered heavy losses after encountering Odin patrols and retreating too late. In every direction, they met small bands of Odin men—it was clear they were surrounded.

"Obviously, these Odin men aim to cut off our communication with the outside," Shaya muttered irritably, scratching his head. "The generals on the front lines likely don’t know about our troubles—or perhaps they do, but are themselves in dire straits. And I worry the Odin men have already seized Wildfire Town behind us. The garrison there is small; once taken, the Odin men have a base, blocking our way south and preventing the imperial reinforcements from coming north."

With a sigh, Shaya gathered in the command tent with Slate, the officer, along with Sharba, Kato, and three other officers. Shaya pulled out the map from the wall.

"Our situation is dire. The plan was for three armies on Wildfire Plain to resist the Odin men on three fronts, with a reserve corps stationed south of Wildfire Town. But with the Second and Ninth Corps destroyed, according to our intelligence, Hasting is now behind us. If they’ve seized Wildfire Town—no, not if, they certainly have—then the reserve corps is trapped there, unable to move north. I suspect Hasting is using these roaming patrols to cut off all news. By the time the reserve corps hears what’s happened and moves north, we might already be bleeding out."

Only Slate, commander of an infantry battalion, had some strategic sense. He nodded, glancing at Shaya. "That Hasting has quite the appetite! He’s crushed the Second and Ninth Corps, then flanked us, aiming to wipe out the Thirteenth and Sixth Corps as well... To defeat four Byzantine corps in one blow, that Odin war god is truly ambitious!"

Kato and Sharba, mere guards, had never commanded troops, so they listened quietly. Sharba, anxious, blurted, "But we have to find a way to contact the generals up north! Let me lead cavalry and break through!"

Shaya looked at him, his expression serious. "No. It’s not that I don’t want to contact the generals, but we simply can’t. Whatever we think of, Hasting, an Odin master, has surely anticipated. I wager both north and south are blocked by patrols; even if you risk your life, you’d only waste our precious cavalry."

Kato, quick-witted and now trusting Shaya, asked, "What do you suggest?"

"We hold our ground," Shaya sighed. "Most of us are infantry; leaving the fortifications, whether we break out or retreat south, is certain death. Our numbers are few, and we must protect the logistics convoy and over a thousand wounded. On foot, how fast could we run? Hasting’s cavalry will outpace us—his reindeer riders could wipe us out with just eight hundred. I’m sure he’s set up blocking forces around us, waiting for us to leave the nest. Our only chance is to stay, relying on our defenses."

He paused, drawing a deep breath, his gaze resolute. "Gentlemen, I’m not afraid of death! And I know none of the Thirteenth Corps are either! But right now, we have a more important task than dying."

"What task?"

Shaya clenched his jaw. "Hold this base! Hold this stronghold!"

He explained, "With our numbers—mostly infantry—heading north to support the generals is useless. Even if we all die, it’s pointless. I believe the generals, once they sense trouble and face Hasting and the Odin army in the valley, will try to break through and return. If we lose this stronghold, then even if they fight their way back, they’ll have nowhere to regroup, no supplies, and will be surrounded on the plain. In a few days, they’ll starve or be crushed. Then we’ll truly have no escape.

The road south is blocked by Odin men at Wildfire Town. Only here, if the generals return, there are supplies and defenses; we can hold out until southern reinforcements arrive. It’s our only hope—not just for us, but for the generals up north as well!"

Shaya’s words stirred those present, all junior officers who hadn’t expected such insight from this newly risen guard.

"And there’s a third reason," Shaya’s voice deepened. "Hasting will try to take this base as quickly as possible. The harder we fight, the more forces he’ll commit, easing pressure on the generals breaking out up north..."

"That’s it! If we hold here, the Thirteenth Corps has a chance. If we lose it... are the cavalry supposed to ram their heads against Wildfire Town’s walls?" Slate shouted.

The officers of the Thirteenth Corps showed no fear, instead cheering and preparing for battle. Kato lingered, quietly asking Shaya, "Are you sure the generals will fight their way back? The enemy is Hasting! Are you certain we don’t need to support them?"

Shaya sighed quietly. "First, we’re too few, all infantry, so we can’t help. Second... trust our generals! The Thirteenth Corps’ reputation isn’t hollow, is it? If I, a rookie, have faith, why should you, a veteran, waver?"

He paused, grinning oddly, his eyes glinting. "Don’t forget, the general is accompanied by General Ruhr—the most cunning rabbit in the Byzantine Empire."

***

The camp buzzed with frantic activity, weapons distributed to every hand—even wagon drivers received leather armor, a shield, and a sword. Kato managed to dig up some gems from the armory.

Three ballistae—heavy, mid-range weapons capable of firing ten bolts at a time, with immense piercing power. Shaya tested one; it could reach eight hundred meters, and within a hundred meters, penetrate two iron shields with ease. A volley of ten bolts covered a wide area, a deadly asset against massed enemy charges.

The only flaw was the limited ammunition, and reloading took time. Considering the range and infantry movement, they could fire only three volleys.

The second treasure was a set of small catapults, with a range over a thousand meters. Finding stones was difficult, so Shaya sent his logistics men to gather them, and Kato prepared jars of oil as well. These were wildly inaccurate—within effective range, you hit whatever you happened to hit. Precision relied on luck.

Thus, in the Byzantine army, these catapults had another name: "Heartless Cannons."

Only four catapults were available, as the Thirteenth Corps was a cavalry unit and hadn’t stocked much heavy equipment.

Shaya’s intuition proved correct.

The next morning, as the camp scrambled to prepare, the Odin men attacked! Just as he’d predicted, to prevent the Thirteenth Corps from breaking out north, Hasting moved to seize the stronghold and block their return.

Early morning, the watchtower erupted with anxious shouts. Shaya rushed up and gazed north...

A sea of dust!

***

A dense mass of Odin men appeared from the north, pouring over the hills and along the roads like a swarm of ants. In the vanguard marched squads of Odin warriors, most bare-chested—born in the icy north, they were unfazed by the winter wind.

Odin warriors brandished axes, roaring in the cold, their breath forming billowing clouds of vapor above them.

The sheer size of the Odin host made Shaya’s heart tremble; there was no end in sight, their ranks packed so tightly it sent chills through him.

Alarmed cries rang through the camp, as officers marshaled their men. Soldiers surged forward, clutching weapons and shields, archers quickly forming ranks, faces taut with anxiety.

Shaya gripped his axe, a cavalry battle-axe he’d shortened for balance.

Morning sunlight gleamed off the Odin axes, casting a field of cold white light.

"Damn it... so many..."

Shaya muttered.

Beside him stood Slate, who patted Shaya’s shoulder and whispered, "Don’t be nervous, there’s only about ten thousand of them."

Shaya turned. "How do you know?"

Through the day’s chaos, Slate had grown to appreciate this guard. "With a few years’ experience, you’ll learn to estimate numbers by formation and density."

Ten thousand! That was a terrifying number. Shaya’s defenders numbered only two thousand, many of whom were wagon drivers or craftsmen pressed into service.

He spat fiercely.

He was afraid.

Truly afraid.

This was no jest. Only fools are born fearless. Staring at the masses of Odin men, Shaya felt his breath quicken, mouth and throat parched, heart pounding.

He could not help but wonder:

Can I really hold off these Odin men? Damn it! There are too many! Can I stop them?

Or rather, will I survive?

Is fearlessness a sign of heroism? Nonsense! Even heroes fear death!

He tightened his grip on the axe, pressing his chest, feeling the hard scales beneath his tunic—he had concealed a few dragon scales, giving two each to Sharba and Kato. As for anyone else, he could do nothing.

Live or die, it all hinged on this battle!

The country bumpkin clenched his axe.

He felt no loyalty to the Byzantine Empire.

If truth be told, he hardly felt loyal enough to the Thirteenth Corps to die for it; to this day, his attachment was only to his companions in the guard.

In dire moments, he’d considered slipping away, hiding somewhere on Wildfire Plain, waiting for the battle to end—whether Byzantium or the Odin men won, he could return to Wildfire Town and resume his hunter’s life.

But... no!

Even a country bumpkin has his pride. His only friends were here; abandoning them would be something he could never do.

And there was another, more important reason.

He had his own dreams!

He’d left the mountains because he refused to spend his life in humiliation. He wanted to be a mercenary, a warrior, to make his mark on the world!

Who says a country bumpkin has no ambition? He had some, even if it wasn’t for power or wealth, but for something more—a name for himself.

At least... to make a "mark"! Though what that meant was still vague.

He didn’t need to think too much.

If he died in this battle, that would be the end. If he survived... that would be the "mark" in his heart.

(I won’t die! Not here! I’m still a virgin! I’ve never enjoyed a woman! I have so many coins left to spend! I want to buy land, a big house! I want a good life!

So I won’t die here! Absolutely not!)

The shouts of the Odin men rolled like waves, wild and beastly, stirring the hearts of the Byzantine soldiers.

Then, a tall figure suddenly stepped forward, facing the distant tide of enemies, drawing a deep breath and unleashing a furious roar!

His shout was fiercer, more spirited, more unyielding!

If all were beasts, then he was the mightiest of them!

"Come on, Odin men! I won’t die! I won’t die here!"

Shaya’s face twisted with rage, his expression wild and desperate. Even Slate was stunned by the sight.

The country bumpkin raised his axe and shouted to the surrounding soldiers, a cry that later became legendary:

...

"Kill the Odin men! Kill the Odin men! Kill even more of the Odin men!"

His voice echoed like thunder!

———

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