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The rain continued to fall, soaking the heavy armor and seeping through the gaps in the chainmail. Although this was supposed to be the season of gentle spring showers, he shivered with cold as though frigid meltwater were pouring directly into his armor.
The colder his body grew, the hotter his heart burned. A searing rage threatened to boil his blood dry. He appeared without warning or explanation, led a group of men to fight and die without explanation, and was now betrayed and abandoned to a certain death without explanation. All of this had unfolded within a mere two hours, leaving him little time to think it through.
Now, they had reached a genuine life-or-death crossroads. He felt like a block of burning ice his blood surging hot, yet his heart remained frozen cold. He knew he had to do something or he would die there that day.
The cavalrymen had begun to grow restless. Though their faces were hidden by heavy chainmail visors, he could sense the fear and panic churning within them. No one could remain calm after being abandoned on the battlefield like this not even these cataphracts, who were trained from childhood and hardened by countless battles. Fear would make their lances hesitate. Panic would dull the edge of their swords and prevent them from bringing their chain maces and flanged rods down on the enemy with full force.
They maintained their formation but had begun whispering among themselves. They exchanged what they had just witnessed and tried to confirm with their comrades whether it had truly happened or if they had been deceived by their own eyes. As this information spread through the ranks, the riders inevitably began to waver. Several of them kept glancing toward their commander, hoping he would step forward and make the final decision for them.
Now, that decision fell to him.
His chainmail gloves were ice-cold and soaked through from the rain, and even the lance in his hand felt heavy. He took ragged, labored breaths. After a full hour of continuous combat, his stamina was pushed to its limits. Though his excellent physical conditioning, built from years of training, allowed him to hold out far longer than most, it wasn't exhaustion that threw him into a panic now. It was the vast army that had simply vanished from the plain before them.
"Marcus, have my eyes gone blind? Why isn't our army anywhere on the plain?!"
The cavalryman to his left suddenly reached out with his chainmail-gloved hand and gripped his left arm tightly. Though he couldn't see the man's face beneath the visor, he immediately recognized his close friend Publius. They were from the same town, had endured the same training and battles, and had entrusted their lives to each other long ago.
"I don't know, Publius. I truly don't know. Perhaps we—"
"Maybe we've been abandoned! That accursed Arius! I'll tear his tongue out with my own hands!"
His friend cut him off immediately, having evidently already formed his own suspicions and needing only confirmation his own hesitant reaction was proof enough.
They had been abandoned and left stranded in enemy territory. There was nothing more crushing or soul-deadening than that. Marcus felt hardly any anger, only deep, quiet grief for his fate. Perhaps his destiny was to die here at the hands of the Hols.
A wave of grumbling and furious curses rippled outward from the other nearby units as well. Everyone felt the same crushing despair and fury. If that consul had appeared before them at that moment, every man would have driven his horse forward without hesitation to trample him into a bloody pulp vengeance for the humiliation and betrayal they had all suffered.
The ranks began to stir with growing unease. Their horses, sensing their riders' turmoil, began to stamp their hooves restlessly on the ground.
Suddenly, a rhythmic sound reached his ears, the steady trot of a warhorse, its hooves gently pressing into the wet grass. Marcus's eyes widened in surprise. He immediately looked ahead. Without an order from their general, no one dared to act on their own initiative, so the only explanation was that someone had broken ranks and fled.
Then, he saw their commander, Tesolus, riding steadily from left to right along the entire line, raising his banner high. As he passed, his gaze swept calmly and composedly across every face. Despite the chaos around him, his grip on the reins never wavered his eyes, sharp as blades, moved steadily across each man's face, watching every movement.
In an astonishingly short span of time, everyone froze in place. The wavering stopped. No one let their horse disrupt the formation any longer. Those who had been panicking fell silent. Those consumed by fear and despair set their doubts aside. Even the most hot-tempered among them grew quiet and still. After all, they were seasoned, elite soldiers, hardened by years of rigorous training not a mob of farmers who had merely picked up pitchforks and marched off to war.
"My cavalrymen! I know what's on your minds, and I have the answer. Yes, what you feared has come to pass. We have been abandoned here by that shameless traitor. What a vile, dishonorable act to abandon their own comrades and hand our lives over to the enemy without hesitation."
Marcus gripped his lance tighter, uncertain why his heart felt so utterly crushed. Perhaps some faint sliver of hope had remained within him until their commander confirmed it, shattering the last thread of illusion and forcing him to understand their desperate situation.
"We now stand at the very edge of the abyss. This is an undeniable truth, but… Cavalrymen, I ask you this: Even faced with such a dire fate, are you willing to wait here for death to claim you? Are you willing to sit idly by while those Hols soldiers run you through with their spears?!
“If any of you truly harbor such thoughts, let me tell you this: once you die here, the enemy who condemned us will clap his hands in delight. He will remain seated high above us all, still the exalted consul, while we become nothing more than rotting corpses decaying on this battlefield! I refuse to accept such a fate. I refuse to die and then, even in death, watch my enemy continue to bask in glory and prosperity. If I must die, I'll die standing before that bastard's face. I will bite off his fingers! I will tear his eyes from their sockets!"
Marcus's breathing became heavy and labored. Bloodshot veins began to creep across his eyes and his face flushed deep red. Hot, searing breaths echoed within his helmet as if he had just downed a full bowl of hard liquor. The same heavy breathing rose within every helmet along the line whether born of fury or hope, every cavalryman gripped his weapon tightly in response.
"Take up your lances! Rein in your horses! We are launching one final charge! If you still call me commander, soldiers, heed my command. Let us charge out together this time, not for glory, but for our survival, for our right to hold onto, for our sacred vengeance, and for our families waiting for us back home! Summon your courage now. I will ride at the very front. If I fall in battle, do not stop your horses for me. Even in death, we will die charging forward! Nothing shall stand in our way!"
Tesolus's eyes burned with fury, as if they were about to split apart. He turned and gently guided his horse's head around to position himself at the front of the wedge formation. As he reached back, several lances were passed toward him, but he took only the one farthest from his grip. He hung his mace at his waist and pointed the finely forged spearhead of his lance directly at the enemy formation across the field.
The rasp of iron armor rubbing together echoed once more, just as it had during countless previous drills and battles. The cataphracts fell into formation. Their armor was washed to a blinding shine by the rain, and the brass fittings glinted like gold. Their sharp lances rose, row upon row, like bamboo shoots sprouting after spring rain. There was no trace of hesitation or doubt among them. They would charge once more, driving straight through the heart of the enemy's line with unstoppable force.
Upon this hillside, already piled high with the dead, a forest of steel had taken shape.
"Cavalry! CHARGE!"
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