Coward Hubert

The outpost was burning.

The wind of war had come, carried by the northern wind.

The barbarians flooded in, hope was naught, all struggle resulted in death.

Hubert didn't know back then that he was amongst one of those still alive. Yet, the barbarian blocked him from his only hope of escape, a hope of a horse in the burning stable. Any that came was slaughtered.

His chance was diminishing.

He left his honor, his bravery back at the center of the outpost. Was it the lack of luck or the abundance of misery that was in him, one thing for sure, his life was hanging by a thread.

A thread that was reinforced by a small casing of web.

"Ignem arcesso!" that web came in the form of a magician. The one and only noble in the whole outpost.

Whoosh!

A fireball sped through the air, almost like a blur, with a size that was humongous for a spell that caliber, like a round shield of the barbarians.

Boom!

And it exploded on impact with the barbarian's back. Tongues of fire and distorting of air spread, the wind was thrown forward as so was the barbarian thrown toward the ground.

Thud

His fall was like a rock hitting another.

"Si-sir Gregorius!" Hubert called, his desperation evident, his plight was heeded.

The mage nodded, adjusting his round glasses that showcased his blue eyes well. A squad of watchmen that accompanied the mage came forward, two with longswords in their hand, three with spears in their grip.

"Warm…" the barbarian muttered as he stood up. His muscular back, pumped hugely barely scratched by the fireball.

Turning around, he greeted his enemy with a fearsome grin from ear to ear and steam pumped from his every exhale he took.

"Knights! Defensive formation!" Gregorius's command roared.

7 steps was all it needed for the squad to duke in the field of battle. But even the young squad was undeterred by such a terrifying sight of horror in front of them.

They, the squad of Gregorius wasn't like Hubert.

For most, the occupation of a watchman was a risky field of money. An occupation consisting of mostly farmers, stableboys, beggars, and young adventurers. Placed on the border with meager provisions, little experience and worn out armor and boots.

But for some, it was a field of experience. Noblemen and knights in trainee applied, for honor and fame, for reputation and experience. 

Right, as Gregorius called, they were a group of them. 

Knights.

Honor and bravery they upheld, tradition instilled and death was nothing in their eyes.

That was the meaning of knights.

Their grips over their master smithed weapons strengthened. Their leather armor glinted off the scenery of fire, polished by the best of oil. Their boots were cleaned thoroughly so that one could see one's face on it.

And they stepped forward. Gregorius commanded.

"Fun… fun… FUN!" the barbarian muttered in Creopian tongue. His legs like that of a frog that jumped forward, axe overhead.

Swish!

The spearmen dodged, one to the left, one to the right, one leapt back. The axe found itself embedded on the ground.

An opportunity, the spearmen surrounded the barbarian, the point of their spears, sharpened, aimed at him, one at the liver, the other at the heart and the other at the head.

"Ha…" the barbarian inhaled.

His arms bulged, his biceps the size of a ball as he pulled his axe from the hard and half frozen ground. 

Swoosh!

He swung again, this time, the spearmen had little luck in dodging. So they, together, blocked and encased placed their weight against the wide head of the axe.

"Ugh…!"

"Swordsmen, advance!"

The swordsmen lunged, swords by their side, the two in coordination, launched with the meaning to kill. Stuck in a power struggle, the barbarian was like a sitting duck in their eyes, ready to be slaughtered.

Or not.

The barbarian dropped his axe, freeing his hand.

"Weak…lings," he stuttered.

Sweep.

His actions were quick, his movement concise and powerful. His hand half the size of the spearmen' body, with it, he slapped with the strength of a bull's charge.

Boom!

Was the sound of his slap.

Concussions, much worse, the spearmen were thrown to one place, the stable that was surrounded and ravaged by the raging flame.

Their cries were blood curling and bone chilling, a cry of helplessness as their bodies were consumed too by the flame. Though soon, their voices were drowned by the flickerings of fire, or maybe they had stopped breathing.

No one knew.

"Wh-what?" the swordsmen spooked and looked at each other, doubt was etched clearly in their eyes.

"Co…me!" the barbarian roared.

The swordsmen nodded at each other and continued on their attack, it was clear, win or lose, live or die.

The barbarian grabbed his axe from the ground and slashed toward the incoming swordsmen.

"Ha! Barbarian! You underestimated us!" the swordsmen placed their swords in front of them, intending on blocking the attack.

Slash!

Clank

"U-uh…"

Their swords divided in half, as their eyes saw the light of the night's moon, beautiful and cold. The moon greeted in the embracement of death.

Their necks tumbling downward.

Now, only one was left from the entire squad.

"Ba-barbarian! You dare attack this kingdom, even after the agreement you signed with us?" Gregories hands shook, his finger pointing at the barbarian.

Another of his hands was occupied with a book of spells.

"Southerners… you were the one that commanded," the barbarian responded.

"What?" Gregories asked, eyes widening.

Betrayal?

"No, that can't be, you insolent being, I will punish you in the name of the protector of the north, the noble house of Trilly!"

The barbarian grinned and stepped forward.

"Ignem arcesso!" Gregorius chanted again. Another fireball came, this time, much weaker than before, the size of a buckler.

"Cold," the barbarian moved his palm, slapping the fireball away without much care.

Now, he stood in front of Gregorius, his axe looming over the upcoming mage's head.

"Hu-hubert… Inform my unc-" 

Slash

Thud

His head rolled on the ground. 

Gregorius Trilly was dead.

It all happened too fast.

"Ar-aren't you… a noble?" Hubert questioned, the battle was barely fought.

Hiik! 

A horse neighed as it escaped from the stable.

"Hu…bert? Good… name," the barbarian said, brandishing his axe, the axe that was bathed in blood and death.

"..." he clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. Their sacrifices were meaningful, that much, Hubert knew, their heroism knew no end and their bravery lasted until their death.

He knew of his cowardice and of his fear, one he couldn't and never controlled before. A thought came, sacrificing himself wasn't that bad. But it was never really a choice in the end.

Each step the barbarian took was like a step of an elephant and each breath the barbarian exhaled was like a boiler of water. He was powerless and weak.

If he was all that, then it wouldn't hurt adding one more trait. 

Cowardice.

Hubert grabbed the reins of the brown horse and jumped on top of it.

"No, you don't," the barbarian said, lunging forward, his axe readied.

"Ha!" Hubert spurred the horse forward and it began trotting then it galloped.

"Hu…bert!" the barbarian roared, his voice filling the night air. The ravens flew away from the place upon hearing.

Slash!

He slashed his axe.

Sheesh.

A few strands of the horse's hair were cut.

"..." Hubert rode forward.

"Hargh…. Argh… HUARGHH!!!" the last prey of his, Hubert, escaped.

The outpost was ravaged.

Its walls crumbled, its cabin torn and its inhabitants slaughtered at every corner.

Smoke rose, joining the dark cloud of night and the sound that was heard was like thunder every once in a while.

Hubert heard, he heard from afar, escaping. The only one alive.

Shame? He had none. Cowardice was his specialty. Bravery and honor he killed by his own hands in that place.

The wind of the far north had come to the northern lands of Creopia.

Soon, his horse carried him far enough. The stream of water from the Lunaris river was seen, signaling the end of journey after hours of riding. The horse neighed in exhaustion and gasped.

Hubert too was tired. His grip grew weaker and loosened over the spear, of which he dropped.

"..." his eyes was blank as he stared, the events had been mentally draining.

He dropped down from the horse and bent forward to his spear.

Neigh!

The horse sped away, leaving him in the middle of the countryside, alone.

He looked at the horse, watching as it fled with his mouth agape. But his mind was blank.

Then he looked to the side of the road, one that was covered and hidden by bushes.

"Sleep…" was all that was in his mind, he dragged himself there and dropped down, closing his eyes.

Unpeaceful was his rest, while his fellow watchmen were slaughtered and killed.

"Hubert," they called from the darkness of his sleep.

"Why did you leave us?"

"Take your spear,"

"Coward," a childhood friend said, surrounding him against the tree in his village.

"Coward," a watchman called, a fellow he shared a room and meal with.

"Coward," the barbarian glanced, his bloodlust replaced by disgust.