In the Presence of Mine Enemies (Part 2)
"Stretcher-bearers to 3rd Battalion!"
"What should we do, Professor?" Dimitri asked me.
It took me a moment to reorient myself from the time shift, then I yelled, "Get back!"
"What?" Dimitri asked, slightly dumbfounded at this point.
"All of you stay here!"
The cadets all looked at me in confusion as I sprinted to the priest in the white magic section that was directing the stretcher-bearers.
"Hey! What are you doing? They need stretcher-bearers!" he yelled at me.
"We're about to get hit!"
"We can see that! Now get to 3rd Battalion!"
"No, you don't understand; 3rd Battalion needs as much Nullify coverage as possible right now!"
"The hell are you talking about?!"
I growled in frustration, not knowing exactly what to tell the priest. I knew he wasn't being needlessly obtuse either; the faster a mage section burned through their mana, the longer it would take them to re-generate. Mana depletion could take up to an hour or more to restore, and every hour was precious in the game of war magic. However, that didn't change that Gamma Company, 3rd Battalion, was still in imminent danger.
"Professor, what are you doing?!" Dimitri incredulously shouted as he ran up to me.
"Your Highness, keep everyone back from 3rd Battalion!"
A loud boom punctuated my words, then I saw a plume of violet haze burst up over the ranks of Gamma Company, 3rd Battalion, shrouding them like a mist, and the company was simply destroyed. The company's standard fell to the sound of blood-curdling screams. Their formation completely dissolved as men came stumbling to the rear, pushing past their comrades. They all bawled in agony as their outer skin peeled off in red flakes, and their eyes burned, spewing mucus and blood uncontrollably.
"Oh, Goddess!"Annette shrieked, dropping her staff.
The rest of the cadets were milling too close to 3rd Battalion's line, frozen in place at the macabre sight unfolding in front of them.
"Stay the fuck away from the miasma!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
Fortunately, the priest in charge of the mage section immediately reacted behind us, and the white magic section re-generated a resonant Nullify field just as the cadets rallied back on me.
"Saints above, those men. . . " said a mortified Ingrid.
The dying men of Gamma Company dropped like flies. Their grotesque wounds gave them the appearance of ghouls; their moans of agony were akin to the cries of damned souls. I saw one soldier desperately crawling towards the mages, weeping blood from eye sockets that only had red splotches inside them. He howled like a wounded animal.
Annette picked up her staff and hurried to the group for safety, clutching her staff close to her body like a shield.
"Oh, Saints in Eden, no-no-no-no-no. . . "
"Get ahold of yourself, Dominic!" I snapped.
Mercedes quickly weaved a Restore glyph and placed her hand on Annette's shoulder, and the sudden mana infusion jolted her back to her senses.
"Animals. . . " said Felix. "Warlock fucking animals."
"Why, Lonato?" Ashe mumbled; he seemed unable to comprehend the horror that his people had just unleashed.
Only a few fortunate souls narrowly escaped death by toxic gas and were thrown into a state of disorder and confusion.
"Please tell me that's not what I think it is," said Sylvain.
As he spoke, several more explosions rocked 3rd Battalion's line, hitting the remaining companies. The white mage sections quickly threw up as many Nullify fields as possible, halting the miasma plumes from spreading. The blue flashes of light indicated the nullification heavily resisted the dark mana. More screams came from the front ranks, already cloaked with the miasma, and the whole line buckled and shifted.
"P-professor, what is happening?!" Petra asked me; the normally bold princess was visibly struck with fear.
"Miasma Delta," I said. "Breath it in and you're dea-augh!"
I suddenly felt a stabbing pain in my forehead. I dropped my spear as I instinctively clutched the front of my helmet. I saw my own death in the miasma flash before my eyes. The apparition of me collapsed, vomiting out parts of 'my' lungs, and saw Cyril, Petra, and Ashe horribly dying in front of me.
"Professor, what's wrong?!" said Dimitri.
Hearing his voice caused the vision to disappear like vapor, though my forehead still ached. I then grabbed Dimitri's shoulder and pulled him close to me so he could look me in the eye through my 't'-shaped visor slit.
"Listen closely, Your Highness," I said, cringing from the pain in my forehead. "Keep everyone together and follow my direction. Everyone's survivability depends on it, do you understand?"
He nodded. I picked my spear back up and spat in disgust.
"We hold here in the rear line!" I shouted to the cadets. "Bring back the wounded as needed but stay together with the rest of our element, no heroics!"
I knew my instructions contradicted what I had said before Sothis turned back time, but I now had the luxury of knowing the enemy's dark magic capabilities and I knew I absolutely had to be able to keep accountability of my cadets at all times. I couldn't take any chances. The duty of acting as reserves now fell to the soldiers of the security element who had come to the front. Horns blasted all across the infantry brigade signaling all soldiers to steady the formations and prepare for hard contact. The entire brigade line began to shift as 3rd Battalion filed down to fill the gap of a now nonexistent company. The horns blasted signals for all companies to rotate their platoons to replenish the front, wherein those soldiers afflicted by the miasma were pulled back to the rear, where those of us acting as stretcher-bearers came to retrieve them.
"Mama! Mama!" A young soldier wailed in agony while simultaneously struggling to breathe.
Ingrid and I rolled him onto a stretcher, and he hacked up small scraps of lung tissue. Ingrid had brothers, and the sight of a young man our same age suffering so horribly visibly disturbed her. A nun cast a Heal spell over him as soon as we carried him to a white mage section, but it seemed to serve only to reduce his pain as he died. Clerics desperately tried to save the lives of men who would only writhe in such agony as their skin and eyes burned while they coughed up brews of blood, mucus, and pieces of their own innards. Little time passed, however, before the horns began blasting across the line to brace for an oncoming attack, and the security soldiers suddenly had to rally at the rear of the brigade line.
After hanging in the air for some time, the miasma dissipated and settled into the ground, as the gaseous mix was heavier than air. The blanket of mist that had covered the battlespace was finally clearing away, and the treelines straddling the road were gradually becoming visible. Then the Teutanics brazenly attacked en masse. We heard the levies before we saw them. They led out war cries of murderous intent as they came swarming out of the trees in droves, some flying the standard of House Gaspard. Their charge was disjointed and unorganized, but they seemed to converge on 3rd Battalion, right where their warlocks had unleashed the miasma.
"What the hell are they doing?!" said Sylvain. "That's suicide!"
"They're trying to exploit the miasma attack!" I said.
That was the most tactical reason to charge; the miasma spells were clearly meant to weaken the infantry line. Mages referred to such attacks as 'shaping spells.' Though I suspected lack of discipline and overreliance on dark magic were also major factors, and it cost them dearly. The horns blared a rapid pattern, and the mage sections laid down a screen of fire in front of 3rd Battalion, attriting the enemy's wild, disjointed charge as many stumbled through the flames and danced as they were severely burned. But the wet grass curtailed the flames, and they quickly dissipated. The Battalion's remaining archers quickly loosed their arrows from the line's rear, killing yet more of the Teutanics rushing past the dying flames.
Fierce roars then rang from the sky as the Legion's wyvern riders dived upon the Teutanics like vultures, and we could hear their screams as the wyverns ravaged them. They swooped back into the air as swiftly as they dived, and a few dropped screaming men from their jaws. Then the cavalry signalmen blasted their own patterns and we heard the thundering hooves of their horses galloping forward. Swallow-tailed standards of the Seiros Knights rippled in the wind as they carved through the disorganized Teutanics, breaking lances against their bones and then cutting others down with blades, in that order. These sudden counter-attacks aimed not to completely destroy the Teutanic charge but to throw it into disarray.
Then the sky seemed to rift apart. Fingers of burning-white lightning flashed through the air towards the brigade line in the blink of an eye, followed by multiple deafening thunderclaps; I winced from the sensory assault. It took me a moment to realize the enemy warlocks had cast the attack. The after-flashes of the lightning left jagged patterns across the Nullify fields. Our mages re-harnessed the mana and retaliated, lighting up the misty air with electricity at the sound of their horns. I could already see a few wounded men being dragged behind the line, and for a brief moment, I wondered how the great amount of hostile lightning didn't produce more casualties. Then it struck me that the battle line wasn't the target; the enemy had cast lightning directly into the mass of our cavalry and their own men. In an instant, I knew the Gaspard army was already desperate, whether or not the count had actually ordered it himself.
The infantry signalmen blasted another pattern that ordered the skirmishers to attack, and the sudden assault of missileers and crossbowmen seemed to throw the Teutanics back from our limited perspective. The lightning attacks intensified, some launched fireballs evaporated too easily in the moisture-heavy air, the Teutanics still tried to press their assault, the Legion cavalry continued their hit-and-run charges, the skirmishers rushed in and out of the lines, and some mobs of Teutanics directly hit our battalion lines. The Lions and I stood amid chaos. I'll never know how long it went on, but all the cadets and I could do for some time was wait in reserve and help evacuate wounded when needed. A surprising number of wounded Teutanics were dragged behind our lines, far more than our Church soldiers.
I had never seen a battle of this scale with thousands of men locked in the dance of death. I was acutely aware how the mortality of my cadets was far riskier in a pitched battle like this, one where command and control were nearly nonexistent, any factor could turn the tide, and it was only possible to stay together in unbroken formations. I remembered Zanado and how Sylvain had said that anyone could boast about storming the gates of hell until the moment of truth came.
Our moment of truth came in the form of another Miasma Delta attack. I cursed loudly as an explosion rocked the already decimated battalion in front of us, penetrating the Nullify field, and that horrible pulsing mist blanketed the men; what remained of the battalion line nearly collapsed entirely. The sight of the mist was enough to send many men running back in panic, but most were stumbling back in stupor, dropping their weapons and struggling to breathe through the hellish miasma that burned their airways.
'Shit, shit. Shit!'
The Teutanic warlocks had nearly punched a hole in the brigade line of the 3rd Battalion, and I could only see the standard of Alpha Company rallying what remained of its sister companies. The miasma spells had struck the Battalion's left-wing, which was now in danger of collapse as Delta and Gamma Companies effectively ceased to exist as standing units, and Beta was decimated. The few standing men who weren't already dying on their feet were forced to fold into Alpha's ranks that were now extending as far left as they could practically reach without wading into the lingering miasma could itself, but that danger didn't matter anymore as even with the added numbers, the now composite Alpha Company stretched itself to where it was now only about two ranks deep. Whoever the acting company commander was would have been insane to stretch his line any further. With the ravaged battalion's dire situation, their remaining signalman blasted a pattern that urgently called for any available reinforcements. In the raucous din of nonstop battle noise, his lone horn rang out like a voice crying for help. The security elements in the rear knew what was happening and began running to reinforce 3rd Battalion.
"Lions! To Alpha!" I shouted to the cadets; I was already running myself.
Mercedes and Annette stayed with the white magic section as I had ordered, but everyone else followed and folded into the far-left wing of Alpha's rear rank near the boulder on the left side of the road. Dimitri anchored himself on the rear rank's left end, practically touching the massive boulder. Dedue aligned abreast to the prince, followed by me, Sylvain, and Ingrid, who connected our small group to the rest of the rank. Together we formed a second shield wall behind the first rank. Carrying no shields, Felix, Ashe, Petra, and Cyril fell in close behind us to kill anyone who slipped through. I couldn't see the whole company, but I wagered the security elements had formed at least a full third rank with extra reinforcements. We didn't have to wait long for a fight as a reformed mob of Gaspards saw the precarious state of our composite company.
They ran pell-mell and disorderly through charging knights and flying arrows, screaming bloody murder and furious challenges, then slammed into the first rank. I felt the line buckle, I pressed my shield into the back of the man in front of me to stabilize him, but the weakened line held, and the Church soldiers did what they were trained to do, kill. The Teutanics howled like mad, trying to penetrate the line; some ferociously hacked their way through, but we cut them all down the same. A large Teutanic with a short spear broke through two ranks and attacked Sylvain and Ingrid, deflecting Sylvain's spear, but Ingrid blocked a blow meant to kill him. The Teutanic still pushed them both back through sheer mass, but Cyril split his forehead open with his axe; the Teutanic moaned as his head sank into the blade, then Cyril ripped it out and blood poured from the man's split skull as Sylvain and Ingrid allow him to fall dead between them. Ingrid then pushed her way to the front rank to replace the dead man, and Sylvain went right behind her, raising his shield above her helmet.
I have no idea how long we fought in that makeshift battle line. Small mobs of Teutanics slammed into us, tried to breach, then retreated, and this cycle repeated over and over again. The bulk of the Gaspard militia appeared to be in the field now, gaggled and unorganized and constantly thrown into disarray by the cavalry brigade, the spells from the mage sections, and arrow barrages from our archers. But they were still relentless, and those gaggled in front of what was left of 3rd Battalion kept trying to break us. I wasn't sure if any of our commanders realized how dire our situation was. Our signalmen kept calling for reinforcements, but I couldn't see if any other units were responding.
A larger Teutanic group slammed us more ferociously than the last few; soldiers died in the first two ranks and Dedue and I filed into the front. I killed one man with my spear and blocked a strike at Dedue, who axed his attacker. A Teutanic lunged in and speared the first-rank soldier on the right flank, then drew an arming-sword and stabbed the second-rank soldier through the face. Dimitri then forced his way to the front rank and impaled the Teutanic on his spear, his enemy gasped his last breath, and Dimitri released the spear to let him fall. Another Teutanic lunged at Dimitri, but the prince slammed him head-first against the boulder, and his helmetless skull shattered like an eggshell, splattering bloody pulp on the boulder like a red paint splash. Dimitri then drew his arming-sword and stabbed the twitching, mangled Teutanic to ensure he would no longer move. Sylvain and Ingrid fought as a team, killing another Teutanic with a double spear strike. Felix stood braced behind Sylvain, half-swording his estoc, and thrust the blade into a Teutanic like an improvised spear. Petra stood directly behind me with her hand bracing my shield arm, shouting challenges to the Teutanics in her own language. I couldn't tell whether or not our rear ranks had been reinforced.
The Teutanic group found their nerves again when an older man in a tattered gambeson raised his lumber axe to the sky and yelled, "Lord Lonato!" His comrades around him raised his war cry.
"Lord Lonato!"
I then heard Ashe behind me, speaking to himself in Teutanic, saying something like, "Why, Lonato? Why are you dragging everyone into this?!"
Something ignited in me upon hearing that. The world around me seemed to slow, the din became a dull roar, a fire rose up in my bones, and I knew my crest was activated. I yelled, "Saint Cichol!"
Soldiers around me resounded the war cry, and within moments the entire line raised the I Legion's war cry like roaring lions.
"Saint Cichol!"
"Saint Cichol!"
"Saint Cichol!"
The Teutanics were visibly enraged by our war cry and charged. They hit us all across our line, but we fought as if Cichol himself stood with us. A unit of trained fighters would have likely penetrated our line, but the Teutanic levies were untrained and didn't fight as a unit. They had no order to their attacks; they haphazardly rushed the line, tried to cut through with brute force, withdrew, then struck again. As one, they were just a mob, but individually they were dangerous. I couldn't tell if my perception of time was slower or if I was simply moving faster but it became obvious to me just how untrained these levies were. The lumber axeman swung at me, but I twisted away and deflected the axe, then shield-bashed him and stabbed my spearhead through his old gambeson. He clutched his abdomen with one hand as a red stain spread over his gambeson. He locked eyes with me briefly, but his face betrayed no pain, only rage, and I killed him with a second thrust.
"Papa!" I heard a voice yell and was surprised to see a young woman holding a spear.
She screamed at me in Teutanic, her face contorted with fury and sorrow upon seeing her father fall, then she charged. I stepped out from the front rank and speared her chest, I felt the impact on her ribcage and heard bones breaking, she collapsed like a burlap sack and let out a distorted cry through punctured lungs.
"Papa! Papa!" She wailed as blood frothed in her mouth.
I put the poor girl out of her misery, but another screaming Teutanic wildly struck my helmet with a warhammer, and the blow rang in my ears like a bell as I stumbled backward, suddenly disoriented. My enemy swung again, but Dimitri instantly came to my side and gored the Teutanic like an animal. He then covered me with his shield arm, pulling me back into the rank. Yet even as I was pulled back into the safety of the line, Dimitri lingered his shield arm over me for a moment.
'If you want to keep us alive, you really should stop exposing yourself like that,' Sothis flatly admonished, but I ignored her.
"I'm starting to wonder if you have a death wish, Professor!" said Dimitri.
'See? Even your handsome prince sees your recklessness.'
'Shut the hell up!' I mentally yelled at her.
Just then, I heard a horn blast a cavalry pattern, followed by thundering hooves. I poked my head above Dimitri's shield to see a Seiros Knight squadron charging at full gallop in wedge formation, Sir Matthias's standard at the apex. Their signalman blasted again, and the front rank snapped their lances down, and the Teutanics stood no chance. The knights carved through the mob's disorganized left flank as a sailboat cuts through waves, and Teutanics died to the sound of lances breaking bones and blades cleaving flesh. The troop's front ranks scattered the mob with their lances, and the rear ranks continued the killing with their halberds, poleaxes, and warhammers. Every knight who broke their lances with a killing strike immediately drew their longswords and slashed, sliced, and scored. The Seiros Knights were so drilled in mounted combat they only had to guide their galloping mares with their knees as they killed the enemy with their two-handed weapons. Teutanics fell and screamed as their bones were smashed, their muscles were severed, their blood splattered everywhere, and their mob dissolved as they ran for dear life. This was chivalry in its most basic and vicious form, the art of mounted combat. But then Gaspard's warlocks did the unthinkable.
A violet aura pulsed above the knights and Teutanics, then the aura morphed into the image of a full moon, and the ground beneath the large crowd burst upward into the air as if the pseudo-moon were uprooting the earth itself. Men and mares were pulled into the air, and many imploded into gory mangles as if crushed by invisible hands. The moon's illusion suddenly disappeared, and everything enraptured by its pull fell in heaps of flesh and earth.
Combat momentarily ceased. Many of the knights and Teutanics in front of our line were still alive, either wounded or not enraptured by the devastating spell. Most knights were now forcibly dismounted. Riderless mares bawled from the pain of broken limbs. It seemed everyone needed a moment to comprehend what had just happened, but I already knew it had been a Luna Lambda spell.
"What the hell. . . " I heard Felix mutter.
The stillness was abruptly broken when the remaining Teutanics recovered from the shock and rose up war cries.
"Gaspard!"
"Lord Lonato!"
"Saint Cichol!"
"Saint Cethleann!"
They made no effort to charge. They had reverted to the posturing stage of battle where one side tries to strike fear other side. Ashe yelled something back in Teutanic. I couldn't understand it, but the anguish in his voice was clear. His was a lone voice of dissent, a cry for peace amid his bloodthirsty kinsmen. But instead, the killing resumed.
"Dea lo Vult!" Dimitri yelled.
"Dea lo Vult!" The soldiers roared.
The company surged forward, breaking formation, and came to the aid of our knight brothers. Our sudden, unordered attack shocked the equally disorganized Teutanics, and it was pandemonium. There are times when soldier discipline is broken not by fear but by sheer, uncontrollable rage, and these surviving men of 3rd Battalion were burning with it. After seeing their brothers die so horribly from dark magic, they wanted nothing more than to slaughter the enemy, and with the battle line gone, there was nothing else to do but kill, kill, kill.
Dimitri sliced a Teutanic's face open and immediately gored the man beside him. I blocked a high bill strike and stabbed my attacker through the abdomen. Dedue shield-bashed a man to the ground and chopped his body with a cleaving axe. Felix wielded his estoc at half-sword, deflecting a spear strike and skewering the blade into his enemy's chest in one fluid motion. Petra dashed forward, screaming a Brigidine challenge, dodged a Teutanic's bill swing, stabbed her dagger into his mandible, and quickly stepped back as he grabbed his throat and choked on his blood. Another Teutanic tackled Petra to the ground and raised a seax to kill her, but Ashe threw his hatchet right into his forehead, the Teutanic's body spasmed in shock, and Ashe knocked him off Petra with a spear thrust. He then quickly helped the Brigidine Princess to her feet, who was clutching her previously injured arm.
Within moments, many of the Teutanics fled in panic, throwing away their weapons as they ran. But many others made a determined last stand as we pushed back against them, and the mass of combatants morphed into two interlocked battle groups desperately struggling for dominance, and over the din of death, I heard the unmistakable voice of Sir Matthias that yelled, "Kill these assholes!"
His voice roared even under his visor. Then I saw Matthias, easily identifiable in his black-and-white cloak stained with dirt and blood and an old great helm crested with blood-red wings. He had obviously been forcibly unhorsed, yet he did not fear being targeted while on foot and indeed fought like a mad dog with his two-handed falchion, a gore-stained sword that was more like a meat cleaver.
Matthias half-sworded his falchion to block an axe strike, pommel-jabbed the attacker to knock him back, and cleaved his chest open. I pushed my way to the front rank just as two more Teutanics attacked him in a pincer move. Matthias simultaneously parried their spears and slashed one across the face. In a flash, I slipped out of the front rank and stabbed the other Teutanic in the abdomen, bringing him to his knees; then Matthias split his skull open with a vicious hack. I then quickly slipped back into the jumbled ranks.
"Shields to the front!" Matthias yelled. "Form shield wall!"
We scrambled to follow Matthias's direction in the chaos of our brawl. Matthias and many of the dismounted knights carried no shields, and mine was damaged from combat, but those soldiers who did interlock at the front rank as the Teutanic mob disengaged to regroup. That was a wrong move for the Teutanics because as soon as they disentangled from us, our horse and wyvern knights, who were lurking around our brawl, finally struck. First, the horse knights strafed them, herding the crowd by cutting down the fringes, then wyvern knights fell upon them from the air, and the screams of the Teutanics were genuinely bone-chilling.
The wyvern knights bludgeoned the Teutanics with axes and warhammers or let their dragons shred flesh in their teeth. A large Teutanic screamed with pain and horror as a wyvern yanked him around in its jaws like a chew toy before its knight pulled the reigns and made it spit the mangled man out. The horribly mutilated Teutanic was missing an arm and most of his shoulder and could only writhe on the ground, howling in agony as he bled out from the large teeth wounds in his torso. The wyvern knights pulled back into the air as quickly as they had swooped down and joined the buzzard's circle overhead. By now, I could hear the blaring horns of the other battalions advancing into the chokepoint. This composite battalion of ours also began to steadily advance under the direction of our signalmen and Matthias's booming voice.
"Shields together! Push forward!"
As the formation advanced, I scanned my immediate vicinity to ensure the Lions were still near me. I could only make out the tall, imposing forms of Dimitri and Dedue. I could only trust the rest of my cadets were still nearby as we marched into the scene of death that was the chokepoint. The Teutanics attempted to make a last stand on the narrow road between the patches of woods, but they could barely form ranks, and too few had the shields to form a shield wall.
Sir Matthias must have noticed the enemy's precarious position as our signalmen began blasting the horn pattern to form wedge. The advance momentarily slowed as the troops of mixed units were temporarily confused about forming a wedge in our haphazard state. Still, the marching knights took control of the situation, and our advance resurged. Archers and crossbowmen ran ahead, forming lines suppressing the enemy with missiles to cover our advance. I couldn't see if the other battalions had joined the advance. Still, I could hear their horns blaring the 'arrow advance' pattern, meaning that every infantry battalion still combat effective was also to form wedges and advance at the wings to form a pyramid of wedge formations, like a bundle of arrows. It was by no means an excellent attack, particularly in our hastily-formed vanguard that Sir Matthias was directly leading. But the ill-disciplined levies of Gaspard County couldn't stop us.
Moments before we collided, I heard thunderclaps echo from above and saw the lightning strike the chokepoint. Then the wyverns roared, fell upon the Teutanics, and killed as many unfortunate levies as possible before the Church infantry slammed into them. The small road between the thick woods became a crowded, cramped congestion of men shoving and hacking. The crushing momentum of our battalion wedge broke whatever haphazard formation the Teutanics tried to form. The battalion advance suddenly bucked as we impacted the Teutanic gaggle, and they broke.
I couldn't see exactly what was happening as the sea of humanity carried me forward, but I could hear the Teutanics crumbling. Their screams filled the air, a mix of panic and death. Contrary to popular belief, armies rarely route in most pitched battles, but the Teutanics levies weren't a professional army. The shock of the Cichol Legion's lightning barrage and sudden infantry attack finally shattered their will to fight any longer. The few who stood their ground in the chokepoint only died bravely to the sound of our army's war cries.
"Saint Cichol!"
"Dea lo Vult!"
Scattered fighting continued in the vicinity of the chokepoint until sunset, but Gaspard didn't appear to make any serious effort to retake it from us. The Legion's 1st Infantry Battalion established battle lines by company in the chokepoint, while the reconnaissance squadrons established picket lines in the woods on either side of the road. Most of our remaining troops conducted post-battle recovery and reconsolidation. We separated our dead from the enemy dead, digging hasty graves for our own dead while stacking the enemy bodies in piles to be burned or buried in landfills. Clergy and Holy Knights recovered as many wounded men as possible, giving our own men preference over the enemy. However, most of the wounded died wherever they lay, their moans and cries echoing across the battlefield. Soldiers and squires hoarded as many discarded weapons that could still be used.
The most unenviable task, however, fell to the Holy Cleansers, special-qualified clergy trained to cleanse the battlefield of any trace of the toxic substances left behind by dark magic. They were unnerving to look at in the protective uniforms that made them look like walking crows. They covered their faces with spectacled leather masks with beak-shaped mouthpieces that filtered toxic gas. They also protected their whole bodies with hooded, dark-colored, ankle-length gambesons internally lined with charcoal to absorb toxins. The Holy Cleansers normally served the same functions as any clergy, often assigned to orderly tasks no one wanted. They only performed their specially-trained role when dark magic was involved, as it was now. They hence cordoned off the areas where the Miasma Delta had settled into the ground with rope fences, then began cleansing the ground with vats of chemicals I didn't even know the names of.
I saw Sir Matthias walking with no horse, returning to the legion command post. He seemed to have completed a command inspection of the units and had gathered all the battalion and squadron commanders. They also walked on the ground with him, seemingly as a sign of respect, leaving their squires to guide their horses back by the reigns. I knew Matthias would conduct an after-action review with the subordinate commanders at the command post. Part of me wanted to take the Blue Lions as well, but one look at the group told me it was best to just return to the Field Hospital after surviving the battle and helping recover bodies for hours.
"Everyone up?" I asked, almost as a formality; no one was wounded, but everyone lingered in various states of shock, save for Dimitri and Dedue. "Let's head back to the Field Hospital, the Golden Deer will probably need our help."
"We're all accounted for, Professor," Dimitri replied.
It had taken Dimitri and I some time to re-consolidate the group after the Legion seized the chokepoint. The ordeal visibly took a toll on all my cadets, both physically and mentally. Ashe seemed the most affected; he had just been forced to fight his own people, and there was no hint of his usually sanguine demeanor. Even Mercedes and Annette appeared exerted from magic use. Mercedes, in particular, looked like she was struggling not to faint and used her staff as a walking stick. Still, we made our way back to the Field Hospital with other soldiers of the security element, passing by the Legion command post. Suddenly, we heard raucous shouting from the edge of the infantry camp, and a mob quickly began to congregate under the light of torches.
"The hell's going on?" said Sylvain.
"We've got the warlocks!" a soldier shouted the answer as he ran around gathering more people. "We've captured the warlocks!"
"War. . . locks?" said a confused Petra. "What is the meaning?"
"Holy crap," I said to myself, then I answered Petra in Adrestian. "They've captured the magicians who were casting the dark magic."
"Dark magic. . . you mean those horrible curses that killed so many men?"
"Exactly."
"Oh. . . Goddess have mercy," said Annette.
"Those animals won't be alive for much longer," Felix deadpanned.
We all knew he was right. There is no combatant on the battlefield more despised than a dark mage. Few dark mages were ever involved in combat in the years leading up to the great war and for good reason. If a warlock who practiced dark magic was captured alive, the only thing guaranteed to him was an agonizing death. Since dark magic was the only form of magic explicitly condemned by the Church of Seiros, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and the Leicester Alliance, authorities ignored what would otherwise be considered excessively cruel executions.
The Blue Lions had heard of these executions, but they would later tell me none had ever seen one before that night. I had only seen two executions of dark mages before, and thus I knew it was better to keep walking back to the Field Hosptial. However, the quickly growing mob was gathered on the path back to the Field Hospital, so there was no real point in trying to avoid them altogether.
"Keep moving," I said to the cadets as we approached the mob.
"Um. . . are those. . . the crosses?" said Ingrid apprehensively.
Sure enough, the mob carried the same crosses the Legion found when we arrived at Magdred Way. The bodies of the Central Church clerics who had been crucified were gone, and the torture devices they had died on were now brought for the captured warlocks to die on. The mob became rowdier as we tried to pass through, but they nonetheless formed a wide circle around the crosses for all to see. In preparation, the soldiers carrying them laid them down in front of foot holes. Then another group of soldiers stepped into the circle, escorting two prisoners bound by the hands, and the mob began to cry for their blood.
"Warlocks!"
"Criminals!"
"Die like the dogs you are!"
"Burn in hell!"
"A-are they going to crucify them, Professor?!" said a horrified Annette.
"Keep moving," I said.
But the crowd was becoming too unruly to move through without being separated, and I knew we were about to be treated to a macabre sight. There were three crosses for three captured warlocks, but we later learned one of the warlocks was beaten to death by furious soldiers before he could be brought to his cross, which was a far more merciful fate. The two remaining warlocks had clearly been beaten as well. They were both bruised and wore dark robes that had been tattered and torn. I couldn't help but pause to look at them and notice something strange straightaway. Even in the orange torchlight glow, I could see that their skin seemed unnaturally pale, as if they had never been exposed to the sun, and though I didn't have a close view, even their hair was albino-white.
"What the hell?" I muttered to myself.
"Professor, do you see those men?" said Dimitri. "They don't look. . . natural."
I said nothing, not knowing what I could even say. Their appearance was indeed somewhat unnatural, but the mob didn't seem to care. Then I heard one of them yelling over the roar of the crowd.
"You filthy humans!" the warlock yelled in strangely-accented Faerghian. "You filthy humans! You will all die! You are all lower than pigs!"
He spat more curses at the crowd, but one of the soldiers punched him in the jaw to shut him up.
'Filthy humans?' I thought to myself in confusion.
I stopped trying to move through the bloodthirsty crowd at this point, transfixed at the scene before me. The cadets and I watched as the two warlocks were practically dragged to the crosses and forced to lie down on the beams. They spewed curses at the crowd in Faerghian, Adrestian, and Leicesterish, though their strange accents made it difficult to understand them. Their curses turned to screams as the soldiers hammered large nails through their forearms and feet. The mob cheered at their cries. A cleric walked into the circle and stood before the warlocks as they writhed in pain on the crosses. I couldn't tell if he was a monk or a priest, as he wore plain robes with his cowl pulled up to conceal his head. He raised both hands, and the crowd's anger turned to a dull roar.
"Warlocks," the cleric loudly spoke in Faerghian. "You have committed a heinous crime this day through the dark magic you unleashed. What you have done is irreparably vile, and for that justice must be done."
"Hang them!" a soldier yelled from the mob, and others cheered in response.
"May the Goddess have mercy on your souls," said the cleric.
"Curse your Goddess!" one of the warlocks retorted, eliciting a round of jeers.
The cleric nodded to the soldiers, and they lifted the crosses and planted them into the holes. The warlocks began moaning in agony as their torsos stretched on the crosses. The mob roared with glee.
"Die!"
"Justice!"
"You deserve this!"
"Suffer like our brothers!"
"Damn you to hell!"
I looked to see the cadets staring at the crucified warlocks. Mercedes, Annette, Ashe, and Petra were visibly horrified. Ingrid stared in shock,
Just then, through his pain, one of the warlocks looked down at the cleric and yelled something in an alien language.
"Glory to Agartha! Death to the false prophet!"
I froze. Not because I understood the significance of his words but because the language he spoke was nearly intelligible to the Holy Language. The syntax was very different, but the words were so similar they made sense to me. The only word I didn't know was 'Agartha.'
But I had no time to deeply contemplate what I had just heard as the cloaked cleric quickly cast a fireball, and the warlock's cross burst into flame. His moans rose to a shrill scream. The mob cheered as he thrashed on the burning cross, the flames consuming his flesh and creating a putrid odor. The cleric just stood watching the warlock die in agony until he stopped screaming. The mysterious cleric then turned and walked away. He just happened to pass me as he disappeared into the crowd. I caught a glimpse of his face and could've sworn I saw locks of emerald hair under his cowl.
I looked back at the other warlock who still hung alive on his cross. He was sobbing after seeing his companion burned alive, but it only further enraged the mob, who wanted only vengeance for their brothers in arms. Someone hurled a spear at the warlock, which rebounded off his torso, and the mob suddenly began pelting the crucified man with hard objects. He didn't live for much longer. At that moment, officers from the command post forced their way into the crowd, trying to restore order.
"Professor?" Dimitri grabbed my shoulder, a concerned look in his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"N-nothing," I shook my head. "I just got distracted. We don't need to see this; let's all get the hell out of here!"
The cadets also clearly decided they had seen enough, so we made a small formation and pushed our way through the mob to get back to the Field Hospital.
'Sothis. . . you heard that too, right?' I asked her.
'. . . yes.'
'The language he spoke. . . '
'Was nearly identical to the Holy Language, yes.'
'What on earth is 'Agartha?''
'I wish I knew.'
I didn't say anything else to her. It had already been a terrible day. But I had no way of knowing we were walking from one fight to another.