War is hell, and the battlefield is a fragment of the inferno.
This was one truth that Olberic Eisenberg had come to be well-acquainted with over his years as a soldier and knight. Combat became easier with time, but the fact remained that there was always the threat of harm coming from some angle or another. Danger was never far from Olberic's mind, and he did what he could to fend it off.
His blade flashed as he navigated his way through the outskirts of Hornburg, the proud city that he had called his home since the day that he was born. His hair, a deep brown color, was combed close to his face to keep from getting in the way of his flashing blade. Olberic's skin, lightly tinted brown, seemed darker than usual under the influence of the cloudy skies overhead. His eyes were a dark brown color as well, and they scanned the battlefield without any hesitation. That was the least that he could do to ensure that he kept his life in the midst of combat. He wore the typical blue clothing found on knights within Hornburg. Even if it was optional among the highest-ranking soldiers such as Olberic himself, he wore the colors with pride. He wanted the world to know that he was a knight of Hornburg, and nothing was going to stop him from displaying such a fact with endless pride in his heart.
The attack had come by surprise, but Olberic was still doing his best to fight through it. He had no idea where the enemy soldiers had come from or who they were. Their armor was dark and nondescript, and Olberic didn't see much of a point to trying to pick out details from afar. Surviving had to be his first priority for the time being. He would be able to gather information after the fact, but that would be impossible if he didn't properly defend himself.
A group of roughly eight enemy soldiers had cornered Olberic before he registered what was happening, and they all watched him with the same gaze that a hungry beast would give to its prey. He didn't care much for their expressions specifically, instead simply surging forward and slashing with as much force as he could muster. The leading soldier stumbled backwards, and the others followed him, suddenly seeming to realize that Olberic was not a man to be trifled with.
"Hells, is he man or beast?!" the leading soldier cried out to no one in particular. Another of his men surged forward to try and attack Olberic in a show of boldness, but he wasn't able to get far. With a single swing of his sword, Olberic stole life from the soldier, and the man collapsed dead onto the stony ground of the Highlands a fraction of a moment later. "He's but one yet fights like a score!"
A third soldier attempted to attack, and Olberic ended that life just as swiftly. Another member of the enemy faction stepped forward, breathing heavily from the exertion that came with combat. "Gods have mercy... That's the Unbending Blade of Hornburg! Olberic Eisenberg!" the soldier cried out, panic seeping into his voice quickly and frantically.
Olberic didn't care much for these formalities, and so, he simply leveled his sword in the direction of his enemies. "You know my name, and so, to business. Who will be the next to die?!" he cried out. He had to defend his homeland above all else, and he refused to yield in the face of those who would dare to harm the territory that he had come to treasure so dearly.
"It's you who will be dying! Look about you-we have the numbers!" the leading soldier cried out, gesturing to the five other soldiers that still remained tall and proud before Olberic. All of them steeled themselves for the coming clash at those words, understanding the command that was bound to follow.
"Enemy reinforcements on the left flank!" came the cry of another soldier that stepped forward from the crowd. Olberic didn't dare to look over his shoulder, but he could tell by the telltale echoes of footfall that reached his ears that his foe was correct. He would recognize the sound of his allies arriving at his side anywhere.
"To Sir Olberic's side, men! The blackguards have had their way long enough!" came the cry of another commander from Hornburg. Olberic had met the man a few times due to his position within the army, but names mattered little to him on the battlefield. Thinking for too long about his relation to another man could have easily landed him in an early grave, and Olberic refused to die just yet. There was still much that he had left to do, and Hornburg had to be defended from those who would dare to threaten it before he could even consider surrendering his life to the gods above.
The soldiers behind Olberic were preparing to charge, and he could see as much by the look on the enemy commander's face. The soldier's eyes flickered with distress, anger, and panic before he shook his head. "Bah! It matters not! We're done here! Sound the retreat! Withdraw to the rallying point!" he proclaimed to the soldiers behind him that had managed to survive their confrontation with the Unbending Blade. The enemies were gone in the blink of an eye, retreating without any care for those that they had left behind. The flames of the battlefield began to ease, even if it was only slightly.
Olberic and the knight leading the charge of reinforcements began to move closer to the camp that they were calling their origin point in this battle. "Sir Olberic, I feared we would be too late," the knight confessed. The distant clashing of blades drew to a close as a horn resounded in the distance to mark the all too sudden retreat of the mysterious foes that had appeared specifically for this peculiarly climactic day.
"Nothing I couldn't handle," Olberic assured the knight. He stopped where he was and looked at the nearby area. He had an awful feeling about this for some reason that he couldn't describe. "Can you hold this position?"
"You make for His Majesty's camp, sir?" the knight questioned, his eyes going wide with what appeared to be shock. Regardless, he didn't protest, instead gesturing for his soldiers to set up a defensive perimeter in the immediate vicinity.
"Just so. Our foe attacked from both flanks, but we have no orders from the crown. This... Concerns me," Olberic said, finally allowing himself to give voice to his anxieties. To show weakness on the battlefield was to invite death, so he had refused to acknowledge such a thought process until he knew that it was safe to do so.
The knight didn't seem to understand Olberic's concern though, and he looked to his superior quizzically. "His Majesty is well-guarded, sir..." the knight said. His confidence was wavering at the sight of Olberic's open concern, but he still seemed hesitant to display such a fact openly.
"Sir Erhardt is with him. I know this," Olberic told the man, though this did little to stop his concern. It felt wrong of Olberic to use such a title on his closest companion, but he dared not to betray such a fact to the rest of the world. This was battle, after all, and Olberic knew that he had a certain image to maintain for the time being.
"There is no stronger knight in the realm. Other than yourself, of course, m'lord," the knight told him, covering for his fumble haphazardly at the last moment. Olberic didn't notice, not taking insult to it in the slightest. "With Sir Erhardt at his side, surely His Majesty is in no danger..."
"Perhaps not," Olberic murmured. "But we must be certain. I would know how the battle unfolds. Besides, word from the king always lifts the men's spirits." He turned in the direction of the camp once again, ready to set off at a moment's notice.
"As you wish, sir. We will hold this ground," the knight assured him with a concise and firm nod.
"Be safe, and may the gods guide your blade," Olberic said.
The knight responded with one final nod. "And yours, Sir Olberic."
Olberic pivoted on his heel before leaving the area behind. The journey to the camp was arduous, much more so than he expected. There were corpses strewn in every direction, and while Olberic had long since moved past his open hatred for the sight of blood, something about this situation felt eerie.
The closer that Olberic got, the more that he came to understand that his instincts had been correct. "Heavens have mercy..." he whispered. He recognized the men that were dead in this area, and he was suddenly incredibly aware of how loud his heartbeat sounded in his own ears. "His Majesty's own guard... Slain, to the very last man. Who could have done such a thing?"
However, there was one soldier that Olberic did not see among the fallen. Olberic would have normally been part of this particular group of fighters alongside his closest companion on the battlefield, and yet, his counterpart of combat was nowhere to be found. "Erhardt... Where is Erhardt?!" Olberic cried out. He threw himself back to his feet, immediately abandoning his investigation into the bodies, and began to run closer to the camp where the king was staying.
When Olberic arrived, he was met with the sight of Hornburg's purple banners torn practically to shreds, leaving little left aside from scraps of fabric that barely clung to their posts. The stench of blood remained strong and revolting on the wind. The bright, royal colors of the king's tent could be seen in the distance, and one figure stood tall and proud before it, blade poised in preparation for a key strike.
On the ground before the tent, King Alfred of Hornburg could be seen sprawled out among the grass. His hands were grasping futilely at what few blades of greenery had survived the battle, and he looked up at his assailant with betrayal, anguish, and grief in his gaze. "So... It was you..." Alfred murmured.
The man in question had lengthy blonde hair that fell around his upper body in gentle curls that lacked any sense of rhyme or reason. His eyes were brown and as dark as the night itself, not in color but in intentions. He wore red and brown clothing that he had personally selected as a variation of the Hornburg uniform utilized by the knights, and a simple sword hung from one hand, on the verge of lashing out at the weakened man before him.
Olberic's sprinting came to a halt roughly two yards away from the scene, and his jaw dropped at the sight of Alfred cornered by none other than Erhardt. Olberic could see the way that Erhardt's blade dripped with blood onto the grass below, and he let out a strangled gasp. "My liege!" he cried out. Erhardt turned to face Olberic, his gaze detached and passive, as the newcomer continued to shout. "Erhardt! What is the meaning of this?!"
Erhardt was silent in response, and when he turned to face the king, all it took was a single slash to end it all. Alfred didn't even have time to cry out in pain before he slumped against the ground, blood already seeping out of his mortal wound. Erhardt's expression lacked remorse, and there was a detached sense of bloodlust in the eyes that Olberic had once found so familiar and comforting against the chaos of the battlefield.
Olberic could feel the way that his world slowed down in those moments. Every detail was both in perfect clarity and distant, as if he was viewing it through a window that was simultaneously perfectly clear and made of stained glass. "What... What have you done?!" Olberic shouted, unaware that he had spoken until after the words reached his ears. All that he could latch onto was the brightness of Erhardt's hair, the darkness of his eyes, and the boldness of crimson against a silvery blade.
Erhardt took advantage of the moment of Olberic's surprise, and he rushed forward with his sword outstretched. Olberic barely managed to parry the hit to keep from being struck in the chest the same way that Alfred had been. Erhardt glared at him, his sword still glittering in the ominously minimal lighting. "Have you not eyes? The king is dead by my hand," Erhardt replied. He took a few steps towards the body once again, seeming to understand that Olberic would do little to follow him.
Sure enough, Olberic was glued to the spot. "What madness... What treachery is this?!" Olberic roared. He should have rushed forward to defeat Erhardt in the name of justice and retribution for his king, but all Olberic could do was stand and stare.
"No madness here, but call it treachery, if you will," Erhardt told Olberic. He glanced down at the body, his gaze passive and lacking in any sense of care towards the one that he had slain mere moments prior.
"I thought you a friend... A brother!" Olberic screamed. He was rushing forward with his blade outstretched a moment later, but all it took was one blow from Erhardt for Olberic to be forced to his knees, using his sword as a way of keeping Erhardt from delivering a killing strike.
"Brothers indeed. How many times did we cross swords like this in the practice yards?" Erhardt questioned, clearly not seeking an answer. "And how many times have I told you? I see your every move, your every strike before it falls."
"As I see yours," Olberic told Erhardt, practically seething with rage. His mind was intent on only repeating one thought again and again in a dizzying, tempestuous rotation. Betrayal, treachery, king is dead, Erhardt stabbed me in the back, how could he-
"Ah, but you've not seen everything. I saved one trick for the day I knew would come," Erhardt interrupted, glancing down to the king's body. He offered the corpse of the ruler one final sneer, not seeming to care about the blatant falsity to the action.
Olberic didn't give him the chance to finish such an action. He ran forward with his sword prepared for combat, and Erhardt did much the same. The rest of reality seemed to fall away, little more than a distant memory in comparison to the clashing of steel. The battlefield was silent, and those who had fought so valiantly in the defense of Hornburg's king had all fallen defending what they believed to be righteousness. Erhardt and Olberic were the last, traitorous scoundrel and loyal knight respectively. Even after all images disappeared, vanishing into the void of memory, the sounds remained, though they were merely an echo of the agony that was brought down upon countless hearts that fateful day in Hornburg...
Reality presented itself in a much different manner when Olberic arose from slumber. He was met with the familiar four walls of his small home, and the hearth sat empty near his bed. The space was plain, lacking any of the passion and vitality that Olberic had come to know within himself when he was a soldier. "Always the same dream..." Olberic whispered to himself.
Eight long years had passed since the fall of Hornburg. They had been eight years of bitter pain and agony for Olberic, and he was haunted by the failures of that day even ages after the fact. He had long since put away his blue clothing that he had worn that day when Hornburg fell. After his final confrontation with Erhardt ended in a draw, they had gone their separate ways. Hornburg was no more, and few had spoken the name of the once-powerful city-state in the past eight years. The death of the king had prompted a spiral that allowed for that strange group of soldiers bearing the dark armor from that day to storm through Hornburg. Everything was lost in those few quick weeks. The survivors of Hornburg's fall were few and far between since those soldiers had massacred the occupants of the city-state and put any traces of the settlement to the torch. Olberic was the only one who he knew of that had managed to come out the other side, and it had only been thanks to luck that he survived. His comrades and family had not been so lucky, and he was the only shell of a memory that seemed to remain of Hornburg's former proud existence.
Going through the daily motions had long since become a mindless task for Olberic, and he barely gave his actions any thought as he prepared for what was to come. He had settled down in a Highlands village known as Cobbleston since the fall of Hornburg. It had been his unofficial home, though it did little to compare to his memories of Hornburg. His title of knight had been set aside, and he claimed a new name as a way of hiding himself from those who could seek to defeat the survivors of Hornburg's fall. Olberic Eisenberg had been shortened to simply 'Berg', and the alias had defended him from the hardships of potential combat up to that point. It was hardly fitting of Olberic's past, but it kept him alive, and that was all that he could ask for.
Olberic had slipped into his brown clothing, a hollow replica of the uniform that he had once worn with such pride, when he heard a knock at the door. He reached for his blade and attached it to his belt as he looked up to the entrance of the house. He already knew who it was that was seeking his attention. There was only one person who would come to visit Olberic so early in the morning, and the knock was just as Olberic had come to recognize as familiar over the course of the past eight years.
"Ah, Philip. What is it?" Olberic questioned, speaking loudly enough to ensure that Philip would be able to hear him on the other side of the door.
"Crivens! How did you know it was me, sir?" came the soft voice of Philip from outside the building. The inflection and tone were just as Olberic had expected. Life in Cobbleston was routine and predictable, and Philip's visit was nothing out of the ordinary for him. Well, it was nothing new to Berg, but for Olberic, life had once told a very different story.
Philip entered soon afterwards, and Olberic offered his response as he took in the appearance of the brown-haired boy with eyes as bright as the most precious of deep topaz. "One must always be on his guard, even when he rests," he explained, and part of him wondered if perhaps that alertness was the reason that he was still plagued by nightmares that acted as fragments of a shattered past. "Yes, a knight-"
Olberic stopped. He shook his head. "No. I am no knight. Just a man with a sword and nothing more..." he said simply. He had lost the title of knight the day that Hornburg fell. He was now simply a blade, lacking in purpose to wake up each morning. Everything had been taken from him when Hornburg collapsed, and when Erhardt's blade came down upon Alfred's chest, Olberic's hope and optimism towards the world had disappeared from his grasp as well.
"If you say so, sir," Philip told him, seemingly uncaring as to Olberic's brief slip of the tongue. Philip's innocence and kindness were refreshing when compared to the demons that Olberic was used to battling in the night, and he was glad to have been given the chance to see such a kind face upon awakening from his terrors. "But there's lots of men that carry swords that can't do half of what you do!" Philip was so wrapped up in his words that he almost allowed his purpose to slip his mind. "Oh, I almost forgot, sir! The headman's lookin' for ya. Says he wants a word. He didn't say about what."
"Tell him I'm on my way," Olberic said. Philip nodded and gave a salute to Olberic, his eyes gleaming with a brightness that could only be found in childhood. He turned on his heel and dashed out of the room a moment later, leaving only Olberic in the room.
As soon as Philip vanished, Olberic's shoulders sagged, and he let out a sigh. It was incredible how the world behind his closed eyes could present such a different picture than the life that he had come to know in present times. In Olberic's dreams, he was a knight, a proud defender of the weak who stood by his liege armed only with his sense of justice and a wish to look after those around him. In reality, he was little more than a mercenary who had taken to teaching youths of Cobbleston how to utilize a blade. He defended the village from the occasional attack by bandits or monsters, but that was all there was to his existence. Life was far from being as glamorous or romantic as it once had been, but what did he have to complain about? He had a roof over his head, food on his plate, and his life at his fingertips. Not all others were quite so lucky, and he was fully aware of such thanks to his history as a soldier.
Not a day went by when Olberic didn't think about how life would be if the events at Hornburg had turned out differently. If he had been just a little bit faster, he could have saved Alfred from the fall of Erhardt's sword. If he had seen what was going on behind those deep, dark eyes of Erhardt's, the battle could have been prevented. If he had noticed the shadows that seemed to slink around the eyes of others, no people would have had to die. However, he knew the reality and the gravity of the situation, and no amount of dreaming or praying would change that. He had failed, and life would never be the same again. History had been written, and it was impossible for him to reverse the hands of time and make a new path for himself.
Life was a mystery to him in a way that he struggled to describe. Olberic did not know what his purpose was meant to be, and he had not understood such a concept for many years, not since Olberic was still standing. What was he meant to do when there was nothing left of the home that he had given so much to defend? The person that he had done so much for no longer drew breath, so what was he meant to do?
"One thing I do know is that I owe this village a debt, a debt I intend to repay," Olberic said to himself as he looked down at his sword once again. It was the same time-weathered blade that he had been using since he had been a knight of Hornburg, and having it at his side was a comfort to him even in his most tempestuous of times. "But that's enough brooding for one morning. The headman's waiting."
Olberic left his house soon afterwards, and he was met with the typical muted color scheme of Cobbleston. In a way, it was all too fitting that Cobbleston seemed so dreary in palette. The houses were all muted in their shades, and the ground was a deep gray that seemed symbolic of the color of Olberic's very soul. He didn't know if it was because of his lack of passion that the town appeared so dark or if that was simply how Cobbleston always had been. He doubted that he would ever find an answer.
"Berg, sir!"
Olberic perked up at the sound of his falsified name, and he could see a pair of youths walking towards him. They were young men in their late teens, and Olberic had been teaching them among a handful of others how to handle a sword. After all, they had to be able to defend themselves in the case of a nasty scenario presenting itself.
"Dawn patrol, sir! Nothing to report!" said the second of the two youths, the one who hadn't spoken before. Both he and his companion came to stand in front of Olberic's house, offering him some space but still remaining close enough to seem personable.
"Good to hear it," Olberic told them, though the words came out of his lips primarily by habit rather than true care. Olberic noticed that there were two of them a moment later, and a frown appeared on his lips. "Two of you today? Usually only one man does the morning rounds."
"Aye, sir. Headman thought it best. There's brigands in the hills of late," the first young man explained. He tilted his head backwards in the direction that he and his companion had come from. Olberic recognized it as the hills leading to a set of caves near town, though none of the people of Cobbleston ever traveled that way without purpose. The path to the caves were known for being a home of monsters such as ratkin, and while Olberic was used to fighting them after years of experience, that didn't mean that he liked them, and he was the most qualified out of the people in the town.
"Poor merchant gutted for his coin purse just yesterday. Was a grisly sight, sir," the second one said, wincing as he spoke the words. The other young man present nodded his agreement, concern overcoming his expression.
"These are dangerous times. One can never be too careful," Olberic agreed. He gave the concept a moment of thought before speaking once again. "I hear the headman is looking for me."
The second youth nodded. "Ah, he mentioned that, sir. He should still be over in the square," he explained. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the street that would lead them deeper into town.
"Now, if you'll excuse us, sir... Morning patrol, resume rounds!" the first young man declared. His friend nodded, and the two went off into the heart of Cobbleston, leaving Olberic alone outside his home on the outskirts of town. There was some deep part of him that felt as if seeing two young men, close companions in combat and other matters of life, still broke his heart in half. Olberic did his best to silence the thought and his lingering memories of Erhardt before walking towards the square of the town.
When Olberic arrived, he could clearly see the headman speaking with another occupant of the town, a young mother that Olberic had spoken to on many different occasions. He didn't catch any of their conversation though, as when he strayed too close, the headman perked up and turned to face him with a kind smile on his face. "Ah, Berg. There you are," the headman remarked kindly.
Upon closer examination, Olberic realized that the young woman that the headman had been speaking with was none other than Philip's mother. "Good morning to you, sir," she told him with a gentle smile.
"Morning to you both," Olberic said with a cordial nod. "Philip said you wanted to speak to me."
"Yes, yes. I'll get straight to the point. We've had reports of bandits in the hills," the headman explained, his gaze drifting to the path leading up to Olberic's home and the outskirts of the town.
"I see you've doubled the patrols," Olberic commented, his mind going back to the young men that had approached him outside of his house that morning.
"Yes... I was also hoping to ask for your aid," the headman went on. "With bandits lurking, the villagers daren't venture into the hills. We cannot check the traps nor collect firewood... It's quite the predicament, to say the least."
Olberic nodded. "Leave it to me. Where can I find these thieves?" His hand was on his blade by pure instinct, and he knew that he had to be ready in case anything went south during the encounter.
"As for the precise location of their den, I fear I cannot say. I sent some o the men out searching, but..." The headman's voice trailed off before he cleared his throat and continued. "In the meantime, could you put the militia through their drills? Our men are keen, but they don't know a pommel from a pike, if you get my meaning."
"Consider it done," Olberic replied. He turned to leave the area, but he was ultimately interrupted from doing so.
Philip's mother's voice reached his ears. "Ah, sir? If it would not be a burden, might my Philip join in the training?" she questioned.
Olberic chuckled to himself. "If he is willing, so am I."
"Oh, he's more than willing, sir, I assure you. Been pesterin' me for weeks to ask you!" Philip's mother exclaimed with a laugh. Her expression was tired, something that had come to be traditional behavior for her over the years.
"That's a brave lad!" the headman proclaimed, and Philip's mother nodded along with pride and agreement. "The boy has pluck and ambition. He could find a worse man to look up to than Berg here."
The woman's shoulders sagged. "Ever since my husband died... In the war of Hornburg, you know... It's just... The boy's getting to that age when he needs a father..." When she noticed Olberic's shocked expression, she corrected herself. "Oh, no! I did not mean to say-"
"Your boy is already a credit to the village," Olberic cut in. "It would be my honor to train him."
"You are too kind, sir," Philip's mother said, a gentle yet weary smile appearing on her face. She appeared to be on the verge of tears thanks to his kindness, not that she would ever confess such a fact openly.
"It's settled then. Train the lad well, and see that he does his mother proud," the headman declared. Olberic simply nodded, a firm promise of his intentions, before walking away.
That was perhaps the reason that Olberic had found himself in Cobbleston of all places. Philip's mother had been grieving by the time that Olberic arrived, and he heard through the grapevine that her husband had been a knight of Hornburg who fell in combat. She and Philip lived in Cobbleston since the city life was overwhelming for a new mother, and that had spared their lives. Philip had been much younger when Olberic first appeared to Cobbleston, and in a way, it felt like fate that he had stumbled upon those connected to Hornburg by pure chance. It was a reason for him to stay, and he appreciated it more than he could ever say, not that he would ever be able to confess it. After all, he was simply Berg, and the world would never hear the truth otherwise.
He shook the thoughts free of his mind as the young men of Cobbleston's militia approached. He had a job to do, and he couldn't neglect it after making a promise to the headman. Thoughts of Hornburg would have to wait, and part of Olberic thought that perhaps that was for the best. Any moment that he was distracted was a good moment as far as he was concerned.
Oh, boy. Late night updates really are just this story's thing, huh?
In all honesty, I wasn't even planning on updating this story until tomorrow, but then special circumstances presented themselves. In other words, I'm going to be receiving the coronavirus vaccine tomorrow, and I'm probably going to be too tired to type, and I don't want to push myself. That's why we're here a bit earlier than expected. Oops. On an unrelated note, this story is over 210 pages now. Double oops.
I want to say that this chapter is one of my favorites so far. Something about its melancholy and dulled atmosphere really does get to me, and in a way, it sort of reminds me of the Digimon Frontier rewrite's more emotionally-driven chapters, which just so happen to be some of my favorite parts of any long-term story. In short, this chapter was lots of fun to write, and I'm looking forward to the rest of Olberic's first chapter.
With all of that said, I'm going to get some sleep. I have to wake up early to go and get vaccinated like all the good little kids, so it's time for me to crash. Thank you for reading as always! Next week, we'll get deeper into Olberic's story. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I appreciate feedback as always. Have a nice day, everyone!
-Digital