The Confederates chanted and cheered, overwhelming the silence of the fewer Aelon observers who were deafened by the noise. They waved their swords as if they were a part of the battle, singing anthems and marching songs. Tootles of flutes and the rolling of drums taunted the colonel and his lancers keeping ready against the third general who would no doubt be the attacker in the renewed battle once more. He leapt forward without notice, seeking their demise within a second, but Florian had since learnt his rhythm and stepped away. Deflecting his strike with his fan, from within the shadow hidden behind his body, unseen by Rzhev, the colonel’s saber swung upward, striking the general’s chest. It did not injure him, the blade ringing, as it bounced off his breastplate. However, the thought that he had been struck may have angered him. His face reddened from the irritation, thinking that he ought to fight with more caution. However it was his own pride that denied a more sensible approach. As if he was undisturbed by the colonel’s warning, Rzhev jolt forth in a feint and Florian lunged back. Realizing his mistake, he dug his heel into the ground to find his standing, hoping that he would be able to catch the rapier charging at him. From his flanks, two lancers rushed inward, pincering the general at an equal speed and an equal distance. Not one sword was slower than the other, forcing the Rus to divert his attention. Grunting, Rzhev finally withdrew, bringing his foes closer as they slowed. He lifted his heel and lowered himself, his rapier swooping into the path of the lancers. Arminius and Colt, like Florian, had long caught onto his pattern of attack, and deflected his strike out of muscle memory. Although it lacked the same power that his thrusts had, the strike pushed the two away, their feet skidding across the mud. In a moment not wasted, giving his enemy little time to rest and recover, Rzhev launched a barrage of jabs, chaining the three Aelon soldiers into a deadlock of defense that he hoped would eventually wear and break them. But it was those same movements he had repeated throughout their battle, of aggression and agility, that enlightened the lancer. He soon discovered the very reason that explained his constant bombardment. To test his theory, Arminius dove beneath his comrades’ and enemy’s sightline, appearing beneath the general’s nose when he released a hint of eifer that thundered for his head. Rzhev’s eyes in surprise told the lancer enough before he retreated as did the allied three. Distanced at two dozen paces, two forces were in a standoff as each belligerent regained their breath.
“There’s a gap in his attack,” Arminius discerned from a clue unveiled by the general himself. “That being his attack itself.” He glanced over to both Colt and the colonel.
Wondering what it was that made his thought, they returned a look of uncertainty, questioning themselves from their own experiences in battle against that general whether it was true or not. However, without another strategy, it was the only plan that they could trust. Colt set aside his ego and heeded him for once. The colonel believed him, as he did for many of his comrades, albeit hesitantly, and marched forward, on a course towards the Rus. The lancers’ steps were soft and precise, drawing outwards that expanded the front, into the edge of the general’s vision whose eyes flicked left and right, watching for who would attack first. Then, they charged, once again, together. It was clear their synchrony was no fluke although it was a trick Rzhev had seen through. The general withdrew again, forcing the two lancers to advance unto a single point that the rapier could defend with ease. Parrying each strike lacking the strength and agility their adversary commanded, the general’s tempo quickened and slowed, throwing his enemies from their rhythm. The battle had become a delirious act, and to Rzhev, it was apparent that their swords would not be able to harm. Their art of swordsmanship were at an imbalance, and by chaining themselves into an assault together, their limit was nigh. Their slashes and cuts did not compliment the other as if their waste of vigor was just for show. With two flicks, he deflected the two, twisting the lancers’ wrists until their grip over their swords diminished. Rzhev spun and propeled Arminius to the ground with a kick. On landing, his cape glided onto his arm majestically before breaking open a new wound on Colt’s body which was caught by the tip of his thin rapier’s blade. Stumbling back, in disbelief that he had been defeated, for someone who had only known victory, his bodily gashes and tears were too grievous, and soon, his legs were frail. Colt dropped to his knees, his blood merging into one stream that soaked the ground beneath him.
Steadily rising from the mud, Arminius’s vision was coated by a layer of dust. Behind it, the glow of eifer warmed like the morning light of summer, drying the earth under him. Rzhev pointed his rapier at the boy who was unafraid to face the third general, and dashed towards him seeking to recover the honor that they had stolen from the lion. But a shadow was suddenly cast over Arminius, and over him, Florian leapt. He met the missile-like warrior who hurtled towards the lancer with a fan and a saber crossed over. It seemed to the colonel that Arminius’s theory was proven true. The surprise of his defense had halted the assault and the third general knew his eifer would not hold. Rzhev fed his every drop of blood and divine energy into his rapier and drove onward. His fire assailed the colonel’s guard, crawling over the steel blades which glowed from the heat. Florian felt the blood in his fingers begin to boil and despite his ability to wield an eifer, it was nowhere near as potent as the general’s. The pain that seeped into his bones was intolerable yet he had to tolerate it for the sake of victory. His grip began to loosen but with one last push with his weight and will, Florian yelled and turned his body away from the center, and with it, the tip of the rapier. The light of the Rus’s eifer was shattered and a gust of wind blast outward from their blades’ point of contact. The colonel stumbled left, both their defenses nulled, the general lost his balance too. Rzhev’s guard was open and he sought to regain his control. But unlike himself, his adversary have always had a sword in reserve.
A bolt of lightning sailed into reach and a blade came on his neck. In horror, he leaned away but his head was already cold. Shuddering, his eyes blanked as blood poured out of his throat, bathing the lancer who dealt the fatal blow from beneath him. Unmoving, the last colors the general saw were those of his own life, spraying onto his face, and the skies above the smog of battle. Rzhev fell backward, with his rapier fixed in his hand, onto the earth, stiff and dead.
ns 15.158.61.12da2
