Chapter 246

Gustav found it very hard to believe the message that he received days before, indeed it seemed almost impossible, but then the more he thought about it… 'The more that seems like something Astraka would have done, hell it's almost the same thing as he's already done once before…'

So he launched a tentative general assault on multiple positions, and found soldiers made of straw and only a handful of real soldiers, a mere fragment of the whole army. 'They could have held out for weeks, maybe months with what they had on hand.' Gustav thought and cursed himself, his soldiers thought him a military genius who had won three battles in a row, they felt invincible.

But after days on the march since then, 'I only feel like a fool chasing a ghost, every time I think I'm going to win, he's tricked me. He has fewer quality soldiers, almost no paladins, just militia and household soldiers, but so far he's taken Prart, delayed me by I don't even know how long, killed almost all my scouts… I look like I'm winning, but feel like I'm losing, and I'm chasing this bastard all the way to Hoburns…' Gustav's self recrimination never stopped.

But it was hard not to admire his enemy as well.

'At least he has to take the roundabout ways, I can cut him off, there's no way he's expecting that I'll have caught on to him this soon…' That much, Gustav could satisfy himself with.

Forced marches over the main highways would give him a massive advantage, letting him cover twice the distance, and for good measure, 'Buying up wagons and horses to race our soldiers ahead didn't hurt either…' It made his forces more mobile than ever, and it was this choice that, on his sixth day, brought him his greatest surprise.

A messenger.

"A missive from the Holy Queen." The young boy with the short hair said and rendered a quick salute. He wore the light metal studded leather armor of a messenger in wartime, his cheeks were flushed, but as he'd ridden in one of the carts, it wasn't from exhaustion.

'Very young, still nervous.' Gustav accepted the message without comment and opened it immediately.

'On the road to Hoburns… blah blah blah… things I already… oh…' Gustav read it and skimmed the familiar material before seeing the last. 'The Holy Queen… and the Allfather are going to intercept him… they want to keep him back from the city…?!'

It was brave.

It was foolish.

It was…

'Just like the Calca I remember…' His eyes misted over briefly, her devotion to her subjects, 'It's not gone… buried under anger, bitterness, and unfortunate pragmatism… but not gone… she wants to keep them safe.' The seal was genuine, that much was for sure, and given the last message he received revealed Astraka's deception, he couldn't bring himself to doubt it now.

The army marched as hard and fast as they could to catch up to the only place that Astraka could likely be intercepted. A crossroads between multiple locations, it had a few towns, ample supplies, and more importantly, an old road little used anymore that an army could easily use to take itself straight to the main road and then up to the very gates of the capital.

'Now if only we make it in time…' He prayed to the gods, and watched as another wagon raced away with another load of foot soldiers to join the Queen.

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The Roble Holy Kingdom's mightiest military arm was not easily broken, not even by the defeat and possible death of Remedios. Unsurprisingly, it did hesitate. Neia could not hear the sound of mass surrenders or weapons falling from fingers that lost their nerve. She heard only her own voice hissing in pain as the healer held his hand to Neia's chest and the dim blue light began to work as the [Cure Wounds] spell took away her pain and restored her flesh to itself inside and out.

When that was over, she went to the window, ignoring Remedios for the moment and allowing her subordinates to guard and bind her as they saw fit.

From that window she could see out over most of the city, and beyond the wall to where the Holy Kingdom Army dithered.

They were wavering… unclear… uncertain… 'Go on… give it up…' Neia cursed them, begged them with prayers to gods she no longer believed in. She held her hands tightly behind her back and glanced over her shoulder, "Halisha, you lead them."

"My Queen." The stone spitter said and left her presence.

'They're not going to give in.' Neia knew it probably before the paladins did, 'And there is no way they'd just let us leave, not with Remedios… they have to be broken.' She wiped a tear of anger from her eye, her wings trembled at her back, she reached down and scratched an itch on her lower back, near her tailbone.

'Damn it.' She hissed, a short while later, the gates were opening, and her army was marching out.

The human army arrayed against the city shouted their answer as one, "If you want us as prisoners, come and take us!"

Neia went to the table and snatched up the horn which sat on the desk, and took flight out of the 'improvised' door she'd made in a fit of temper.

Her wings beat at the air and carried her aloft, the little curved horn came up to her lips, and hovering above the city, both armies, and the world itself, she pressed her lips to it and blew. The hidden soldiers were deep in the wood, they would take time to respond, 'But that's fine. Just fine, it's better if the battle is already joined.'

The humans hesitated, but it seemed that whoever was in charge decided that it was related only to the army in front of them.

The stone spitters began their part first, and human archers did their best to match. The lack of shields was a weakness for the demi-humans, one Neia privately resolved to correct, but they compensated by having those with the thickest hides and largest bodies up front, ogres could easily handle arrows at that range.

Most would barely feel it, here and there an orc, or a zern, or a blader, or a stonespitter fell.

But the cost was light, and the humans had numbers on their side.

Watching from where Neia was, she could feel the flow of battle like it was the flowing of her own blood, the beating of her own heart, the breathing of her own lungs… it was part of her. The commander after Remedios might have had a bold spirit, but arrayed against tens of thousands of demihumans, his spirit was flagging.

The occasional screams came up from both sides, and Neia's beating wings kept her aloft, out of reach, and watching. 'My bow… I wish I'd thought to bring it…' She mentally cursed Remedios again while she waited for one side to break.

The drums of the human army went up first, and the pikes snapped down in perfect unison, a wall of steel points. In spite of herself, pride swelled Neia's heart for her former people, her anger, her hatred, her resentment, it melted away under what in that moment was a shining beacon of human potential. The humans began their advance, stepping forward as a unit to use their discipline as they always had, against demihuman indiscipline.

Only to receive the shock of their lives after the second drum of the human army, when atop the wall, Neia's own drums beat.

Orcs and bladers formed up in tight ranks, long spears of their own ready to use, the various races of her army, moved as units, squads, companies, platoons, from above, it was like watching squares shift.

Her sense of pride shifted as the two sides began to draw closer, the mounted humans began to charge towards Neia's bafolk and other great running races, the charge was, for the first time in memory, being met by an orthodox countercharge.

The clash sent screams of all races upward toward the sky in unison, blood and bone trampled underfoot, horses falling with dying whinnies, and paladins whose training was worth years of investment, died before shedding even a drop of blood. Every man or bafolk who believed themselves to be the main character in some grand epic, died in an instant of shock or confusion if they were lucky. Or feel screaming, bleeding out and wailing, clutching at severed or shattered limbs.

On the fringe of the forests, Neia saw motion begin, the elves that had come over to her, along with some small contingents of the army she split up in her distraction… 'And now they're right behind the humans, the whole right wing…'

The elves initiated the ambush with arrows, while the rest of her people began their long, loping runs.

The arrows fell like a rain of steel into the midst of the far right, paladins and squires fell, shock etched on their faces as they collapsed into the churned up ruined earth and tried to see what had bitten them from behind.

Wails of shock went up all along the right flank as the steel rain went on and on until the soldiers on foot crashed into the backs of those who could not fight both sides at once. Blader champions severed entire bodies apart at the waist, while ogres began to smash those who had become entangled with their own people and could neither advance nor retreat.

'Now… it's over.' Neia nodded and closed her eyes. "Press on, Demalbion! Press on, left and center, for the right has victory!"

Heartened by the cry, or horrified by it, the spirit of the humans began to break up…

With nothing else to do, the Demalbion Queen dove toward the fighting of the left flank, barrelling into a paladin and tearing out his throat, sending him gurgling and spasming on the ground.

The fight was short and quick after that, the humans began to fragment, the right wing was demolished, and from there the whole line was rolled up as the victorious Demalbion demi-humans began to mass over the rear of the rest of the long line.

And the trickle of a rout became a flood.

Neia paid little mind to that, whatever Halisha chose to do in pursuit of the finishing blow was an object lesson that in Neia's mind, 'They very much deserve everything they fucking get!' The burned husks of the spriggans turned into firewood remained foremost in her mind, and she let her demi-humans drive off the rest.

Queen Calca sat on horseback beside Ainz and watched Astraka form up, "We're badly outnumbered, is this really going to be easy?" She asked, and Ainz nodded along.

"You liked my little surprise with Gustav, didn't you, Calca?" He asked rhetorically, and she gave a rapid, enthusiastic nod.

"Magic like that, nobody could ever get the drop on us again, it was amazing!" She said with a rapid bobbing of her head, out in the field, some of her regal demeanor seemed to have relaxed, she rode closer to him, and as the battle loomed when Astraka's army was spotted, she remained even closer. She seemed only to be truly at ease when they were alone in the tent, her body would relax, and she would lie on their field bed with him, holding her body against him as if in search of warmth, even if they were not mating, though why she was so ardent, she hadn't said, nor did he ask.

The drums and fifes of the Southern Holy Kingdom's nobles, marked time for the opposing army as they lined up for the fight, "They won't resist long, I promise you." He said to her, and Calca tried to force a smile.

"I'm no coward, I won't run… but if I'm never in this position again for the rest of my life, I won't shed any tears over the bards not singing of my battlefield valor." She let out a little nervous laughter through trembling lips, but Ainz only winked at her.

"This won't be a battle. Or not much of one." He said, "Go on, sound the advance and wait here, I will follow the bulk of the army, do my part, and let Gustav do the rest afterward."

"Gustav?" She asked, and again he only winked at her.

She sighed and turned to face the drummer, "Go on." She commanded.

The drums went up, their thunder from the ground outdoing any thunder to come from the sky, and the soldiers of the Kingdom of Nazarick, by all appearances ordinary humans, formed up in a single 'V' formation with one champion at the front, a mere hundred men, began to march.

At their right and left flanks were two long lines of two hundred and fifty men each, all wearing runecraft™ armor and bearing runecraft weapons.

Beyond them were squares of hundreds, a mix of paladins and squires bearing the common equipment of their station.

Ainz waited, and began to follow behind the army, aligning himself with the 'V' whose point was toward the Southern Holy Kingdom's center. He cantered his horse forward and cast his first spell. [Greater protection from arrows].

This was a gamble, but from his recollections of Punitto Moe he guessed that the archers would target his center with the curious looking soldiers and thin lines to create a breach.

The steel rain came down from Duke Astraka's host… and hit the dome that was centered around Ainz, then bounced away, falling uselessly to the ground.

Another flight, and another, and another, more feathers were in the air than in a flock of birds, and yet the falling rain of steel continued to be repelled.

On the far wings, the cavalries began to charge, but his infantry and those of the Holy Queen ignored it and went forward, the horsemen would taunt one another for a time before engaging…

Then the champion hit, clad in Yggdrasil gear, bearing a long bardiche, it was really just 'trash equipment', but the bright purple and red hues of his soldiers, whose looks suggested that they were merely for ceremony, quickly became a source of horror. This 'trash gear' drops from the days when the guild was made of level sixty members, might as well have been gifts of the gods.

They began to rip through the center, sending bodies flying away with mass enhanced strength, batting horses end over end as if they were merely kicking babies out of the way. The runecraft lines were the next to meet their marks, and though they didn't do the same… each man was worth five or ten by comparison.

'What the hell is happening?!' Astraka cried in alarm as he watched a soldier sail overhead as if he'd been thrown by a giant.

"I don't know!" One of his aids shouted with a cry of dismay.

Another man went screaming overhead to land end over end, rolling like a stone until he stopped both moving and screaming after tumbling another thirty feet.

"What the hell is this?!" Astraka moaned, he saw the writing on the wall, somehow. 'They brought something we never dreamed of to the fight… all the planning in the world, I could never win against this, not in a thousand years!' He yowled like a wounded cat in his mind as his soldiers' cries of pain were compounded more and more.

"It might be that mage! They have a caster in the back…. If we target him, my Lord…!" The aide cried out, his face drawn and eyes wild, his hand shaking as he pointed toward the robed mage on horseback.

"Fine! Signal the cavalry! Get them to target that man! It's the only chance!" Astraka steeled his heart and put on his helmet, he grabbed his horse and mounted up, "Have them follow me, if I fail, perhaps they'll succeed!"

He didn't wait for the aid to answer his orders, nor did he look back to see the flags waving and giving the signal to the cavalry to cease their skirmishing, nor did he stop to see that those were obeyed either.

Astraka held out his lance and charged ahead, the thin lines of the soldiers in strange equipment had one weakness, and that was that they were thin, and thin lines naturally spread out as people found foes to fight, they separated, split.

"Damn him…" Astraka cursed, he guessed that mage was the reason the arrows weren't working either, 'Can I get through with a horse?' He wondered, but believed so as the infantry ahead of the mage seemed to be able to be engaged… if not killed.

The thunder of the horses hooves were heavy on the ground, a rolling thunder given by the earth under its hooves to warn anything in front of it to get out of the way.

Even full grown ogres could fall to the charge of an armored warhorse, Astraka narrowed his focus, he charged between the ranks of men on foot, avoiding coming within striking distance of their strangely effective weapons. A lifetime of training went into this… and he did his best.

They raced past his vision as he went between them, going around the V took a little longer, but after a brief and perfect loop, he was facing his enemy. Strangely, despite being mounted, the caster in the white robes did not run away.

Instead, he dismounted from his horse. 'Is he going to cast a spell… no, it's fine, don't think about it!' Astraka told himself and spurred his horse forward, 'Just get close enough to stab them and that's the end of any caster!' He told himself, but the caster didn't seem inclined to run.

Astraka gritted his teeth, the caster was truly massive, nigh seven feet tall, and even more broad than he looked, 'Should have been a warrior.' The passing thought came to mind, his lance lowered, aimed at the heart of the heart of his troubles… he shouted out a battlecry, "For the Holy Kingdom!"

He sucked on his teeth, bracing himself for the impact.

But there was none, faster than his eye could truly see, his lance was batted aside as if it were nothing, and the hand of the caster came up…

He had only a moment to realize what happened, as he tumbled forward, he saw that the caster had grabbed and held the throat of his horse. Not even one inch of ground was lost to the warhorse. 'No… it's not possible…' Astraka's conscious mind told him as he sailed, flailing his limbs about end over end until he hit the ground and rolled into the grass of the battlefield a dozen feet from the caster who became the bane of his existence.

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Ainz squeezed the throat of the warhorse, it tried to whinny, and couldn't. It tried to kick, but it couldn't rear up. His hands held it with ease. He squeezed, and held, and squeezed… until the animal fell with a thump at his feet. He turned around, walking toward the fallen man in the exquisite armor, shockingly enough, the man was alive. The warrior, 'No, he must be a noble, the commander.' Ainz realized. The commander was scrambling to his feet, reaching for his sword, breathing hard, Ainz raised his hand and leveled one finger toward the sword wielder.

[Mass Effect], [Aura of Despair Level One]. He released the skill, and the aura began to emanate over the battlefield, dark smoke rolled outward from his body like a plague, sweeping over man and beast, cavalry that had been charging at him, froze, fell, and trembled with terror beyond all reason.

"Do you surrender?" Ainz asked of the man in front of him.

The sword fell from nerveless fingers, the body of the man who could only have been Duke Astraka, shook like he was a child, afraid of the dark all over again, and he fell to his knees.

The aura spread from person to person like an infection. Some few had courage enough to run for their lives… but most only froze and fell to their knees.

"I surrender." Duke Astraka said in a childish whimper.

His was the most dignified of the lost, across the field, others cast themselves in obeiscant positions, faces down into blood slickened mud and begging for their lives.

Far, far out of reach, more drums could be heard, 'And that, unless I miss my guess, would be Gustav.' Ainz thought and breathed a sigh of relief that his prediction had been correct.

"Secure the prisoners, treat the wounded, and prepare to go home!" Ainz shouted to the army of the Queen, and the cheers went up from one end of the field to the other.