Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 107: Throwing a egg to a rock

Edmund watched the enemy cavalry intently, his heart still pounding in his chest, but this time, a smile began to creep onto his face. It was a small, tight smile—the kind worn by those who have stared into the abyss, accepted their fate, and now find every moment after to be a curious gift.

At first, just one rider moved, breaking from the ranks as if drawn by some irresistible force. Edmund couldn't tell if it was a proud nobleman looking for glory, or perhaps a mercenary hungry for loot, already eager to claim his share.

Does it matter? Edmund thought, his smile widening slightly. One fool is all it takes.

The knight galloped ahead, armor flashing in the sunlight as his horse kicked up dust. For a moment, he seemed like a lone predator, eager to snatch an early prize. But then, as if his impulse was contagious, another rider followed. Then another, and another, until the whole formation began to move like a rolling tide, sweeping forward to maintain their tight order.

Edmund's smile remained, though his pulse quickened. There it is, he thought. They're coming. Whether for glory or greed, they're coming.

Drawn like moths to the flame, blind to the fire that awaits.

The enemy cavalry surged forward as one. The ground trembled beneath them, and the rumble of their approach grew louder with each passing second. The horses thundered toward Edmund and his men, their polished armor and weapons glinting like fire in the midday sun.

Edmund gripped the reins tighter, feeling the weight of the moment bear down on him. This is it. The smile didn't leave his face, but his eyes betrayed the storm of emotions surging beneath it, the biggest of all fear.

He rode hard for a few seconds, feeling the wind whipping past his face, his heart hammering as the ground blurred beneath him. His riders galloped beside him, hooves pounding like a rolling drumbeat. Every instinct screamed at him to keep going, to ride straight into the enemy and meet them head-on, but his mind was clear.

"Roundabout!" he shouted, his voice barely carrying over the thunder of hooves.

Without a flicker of doubt, his men obeyed. Their horses wheeled sharply as if moving with one will, dust rising in great clouds that swirled like phantoms around them. The charge melted into a sudden turn, a retreat—but to the enemy, it would seem as if they were fleeing in desperation, unaware that the real battle had only just begun.

Behind him, the sound of steel on steel rang through the air as swords and lances were raised high, the enemy riders screaming in triumph as they gave chase. Edmund didn't have to look back to know what they were thinking: that his small, outnumbered force had panicked and fled at the sight of their superior numbers.

He could almost hear their thoughts. They're routing! They're breaking!Charge them!

Keep following us... he thought, gritting his teeth and urging his horse forward. Come on, keep thinking that. Keep chasing.

He watched as the enemy cavalry followed after them, their formation breaking apart in their eagerness to run him down. The disciplined ranks of knights and mercenaries stretched out, some of the more reckless riders charging ahead, eager to claim the glory of striking down fleeing foes.

Edmund felt the surge of tension in his chest. Come on... just a little farther...

They rode hard for several minutes, the landscape blurring around them as they cut through the tall, swaying grass. Edmund's heart raced in his chest, pounding with every beat of his horse's hooves. The sound of pursuit echoed behind him—enemy riders, their cries growing louder with each passing moment, eager to run them down.Were they close?Did they reach them? He kept thinking as he rode on, overthinking every little thing he was coming across . Maybe our horses are slowing down. Will we get caught in the middle?

And then he saw it: four wooden poles driven into the earth, barely visible above the grass but unmistakable to him. He grinned despite the tension, knowing they had reached the turning point. Edmund and his men passed the poles, riding through the invisible line that marked safety. He turned in his saddle, looking back just in time to see the enemy cavalry—still a solid wave of horsemen—charging blindly after them.They were awfully close...

Edmund wasted no time. He yanked the horn from his belt, raised it to his lips, and blew with all the air he could muster. The deep, resonant sound echoed across the battlefield, loud and sharp, cutting through the roar of hooves and shouts.

Now, he thought, his heart steadying as he watched. Now we turn the tide.

-----------

From the tall grass, they emerged like phantoms—warriors concealed until the last moment. Edmund's horn blast was their signal, and the ambush sprang to life with ruthless precision. Hundreds of men, burly and clad in chainmail, erupted from their hiding places. Their hands, calloused and strong, gripped axes and javelins, ready for the strike.

The enemy riders barely had time to react.

With a unified, guttural shout, the warriors hurled their weapons into the air, their voices blending into a singular roar of fury. The sharp whistling of javelins cut through the rhythm of pounding hooves, slicing the air with deadly precision, followed by the heavy, ominous thud of axes spinning through the sky like cruel, iron meteors.

The riders barely knew what hit them. Horses neighed in panic, their eyes wild with terror as javelins slammed into their sides, piercing flesh with a sickening crunch. The beasts reared up, throwing their riders into disarray, some tumbling helplessly to the ground. Several of the riders were knocked from their saddles as axes cleaved through armor, the metal bending and shattering under the force, cutting deep into limbs and torsos. Blood sprayed in arcs, painting the ground in crimson as men screamed, their voices swallowed by the chaos. Some fell, their last breath frozen in shock, while others simply dropped dead—lifeless, the impact of the weapons cutting their charge short in an instant.

The sudden ambush was met with chaos. The once-proud formation of cavalry crumbled as the enemy horses bucked and skidded to a halt, their riders shouting in surprise and fear. The tall men of the North—hulking figures of muscle and chainmail—let out war cries as they surged forward, throwing more axes and javelins, their eyes fierce with the thrill of the kill.

Edmund watched it all, the grin of satisfaction creeping across his face. The trap had worked to perfection.

Edmund's eyes meanwhile locked onto a figure rising above the chaos, a monstrous presence that seemed to tower over the battlefield. It was Uther, the giant, and even amidst the swirling chaos of battle, he was unmistakable. His muscles bulged from every inch of his body, veins pulsing with a raw, savage strength. A thick, wild beard framed his face, and his head was crowned with the skull of a bear—a hood that only added to the terrifying image he presented. Blood splattered across his chest and arms, staining his fur and chainmail as he waded into the fray like a beast unleashed.

In each hand, Uther wielded a massive axe, one of them gifted by the prince himself, Maesinius. And it seemed Uther was intent on reminding everyone of that fact. Every swing of his axes, every cleaving blow that hacked through men and horses alike, was followed by a thunderous bellow: "MAESINIUSSS!"

Another soldier fell beneath his ferocious onslaught, his torso split open by the brutal swing of Uther's weapon. "MAESINIUSSS!" he roared again, his voice booming across the battlefield, spit flying from his mouth as he drove forward, his eyes wild with bloodlust. His every movement was like a force of nature—irresistible, unstoppable, the twin axes cutting down everything in his path.

A horseman tried to charge him, but Uther's height , which reached the rider's belly, made him a match for even mounted foes. With one powerful strike, his axe cleaved through the rider's thigh, sending him tumbling from his saddle with a scream.He then grabbed the poor bastard from the neck and smashed him into his head, with such a powerful strike that he stopped moving , Uther hardly paused. "MAESINIUSSS!" he bellowed again, his voice thick with spit and fury, his face twisted in a savage grin as he chopped another limb , his axe cutting through bone and meat alike , of the rider.

Edmund couldn't help but be thankful that Uther was on their side. Watching the giant work was like witnessing a bear tearing through a pack of wolves—there was a primal, almost terrifying joy in his every action, a hunger for the kill that seemed to drive him forward. Every soldier that fell before him was met with that same battle cry, some may be even thinking that the giant was shouting his name.

And with every strike, with every blood-soaked step, Edmund knew that the enemy's morale was crumbling under the sheer force of this one unstoppable man.