I slashed with my staff, cutting another infantryman in half as my horse reared.

  Things weren’t going according to plan. Despite the rapidly approaching serpent, the enemy infantry refused to break. As most of my spells were dedicated solely to keeping myself and my knights alive while the enemy sorcerer tried to fry us in our armour, I could not punch a hole through with magic either. The offensive repertoire of the enemy mage seemed rather limited, but that made him no less of a threat.

  I deflected another heat ray, frying one of the unlucky schmucks in front of me while thinking rapidly.

  My enhanced reflexes allowed me to take in the situation clinically. If we did not break through, we would be sandwiched between the pissed off serpent and the infantry. The enemy cavalry, two hundred or so riders in mostly lighter armour, was fast approaching as well.

  If we disengaged, the serpent might follow. We needed to get it into the enemy’s midst, but the grim-faced infantry blocking our way was not cooperating.

  It took me but a moment to formulate a plan. The next time the sorcerer targeted the serpent, I would let him do so unopposed. The creature could likely survive a few more hits. I would use the opportunity to open a hole through the enemy formation.

  However, before I could execute my plan, my own men threw a wrench into it.

  A hole in the wagon fort was opened, and the enemy, busy fighting my troop of eleven and pissing their pants because of the approaching serpent, did not manage to react in time as heavy cavalry poured forth, screaming deafening war cries.

  The enemy infantry, too disoriented from our pincer attack, could not stop the charge. A few in the front ranks managed to brace their spears with shaking hands, but their efforts were not enough. The knights swept through, streaming around me and my ten bodyguards, crushing the outer ranks of the enemy, those who were facing the serpent.

  Instead of stopping or circling back, they continued their sprint, charging straight into the approaching enemy riders with deafening cries.

  “CINTRA!” “CALANTHé!” “DEGURECHAFF!” The knights shouted a variety of war cries as they passed. My officers acting on their own initiative was fortunate. I would have to reward whoever ordered the charge, though my mind was already on our next course of action.

  Seizing upon the disarray in the enemy in front of me, I spurred my horse, charging straight into the disintegrating enemy formation, the royal guards, those still alive at least, following after me.

  The panicking soldiers offered only middling resistance, and soon we were through. Instead of charging into the enemy centre, I skirted around the formation, chopping off limbs or heads of the unwary, but I dared not slow down.

  Though the chaos of battle reigned and screams resounded everywhere, I was now right in between enemy formations. To my left, towards our camp, lay the enemy centre, while the right was filled with bristling spears of heavy infantry.

  A rather unenviable position. Fortunately, the solution was hot on my heels.

  The mutant serpent ignored the clashing cavalry completely, its hateful gaze still fixated on me. It barrelled into the enemy’s flank, disintegrating what little order the Nazairi officers had managed to restore. By then, its presence became obvious to the men fighting in the centre as well.

  Their reaction was even better than expected. Seeing the decimation of their comrades and the approaching beast, they broke near instantly, rushing away from the wagon fort, straight into the heavy infantry to my right.

  Unfortunately, their trajectory took them straight through my group. Luckily, none were keen to jump under my horse’s hooves. We weaved through the fleeing mob, coming out on the other side of the battlefield.

  With some room to breathe, I examined the battlefield once more.

  What I saw made me blink. The heavy infantry, which I had taken for a reserve force, was fighting their fleeing men. Not that they offered much resistance, but the utter waste of the action still took me aback. It was at this point that I realised that no offensive spells had been slung my way for suspiciously long.

  I glanced towards the last position of the mage, expecting another attack, but only saw the sorcerer staring at the melee, before an enemy soldier obstructed my view. By the time I could see again, the sorcerer was gone.

  I cast a defensive spell immediately, but no attack came. My eyes roved over the battlefield, searching for the mage.

  A few hundred archers stood behind the melee, most firing upon the serpent, unable to stop it from feasting upon their comrades. Arrows were either deflected by the creature’s scales or hit the tumours and other growths sprouting from its body. These wounds bled, but it would be a while yet before the beast succumbed to them.

  The right flank was actively wavering, the soldiers hesitant to attack the wagon fort with the serpent so near, however I still could not see the sorcerer anywhere. Wary of a trap, I refrained from turning my offensive spells against the enemy, lest I be caught with my pants down. I'd better not tire myself out too much either.

  There was not much need in any case, for we were winning. Yet if I were to be incapacitated, the enemy sorcerer could still turn the battle around. While he was not the most adept at fighting me, not that I had much room to talk as I had had barely the time to counterattack, he had more than proven to be a powerhouse in our first clash.

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  The mutated snake was soon done with the remnants of the enemy’s left flank and fleeing centre, crashing into the ranks of the heavy infantry, likely set on getting to the archers who were still shooting at it.

  It was already accumulating wounds. I doubted the serpent would survive that particular engagement, which suited me just fine.

  “Aespar dhu gynvael,” I whispered. A shard of ice covered in darkness shot towards the sky, black mist trailing after it.

  The reaction of my men was immediate. Soldiers rushed over the wagon fort, charging straight into the wavering right flank.

  With a giant monster to the left, bloodthirsty Cintrans to the front and their wizard gone, the enemy soldiers were very quickly routed.

  The remaining royal guards and I repositioned to better view the battle, though I was obviously not going to rush into the fray, not when the battle was nearly won.

  The Nazairi heavy infantry kept their discipline, their spears and pikes making their entire formation look like an angry porcupine. The serpent kept striking forth, accepting deep wounds in its rage, snatching away the Nazairis in ones and twos as they tried to back away.

  Meanwhile, my own cavalry finished chewing through the enemy’s riders. Hungry for more, they crashed into the archers, trampling them under their hooves.

  I watched, alert for any tricks from the enemy sorcerer, as the serpent slowly succumbed to the onslaught. Men screamed as it attacked again and again, crushing heavily armoured men like tin cans between its jaws, even as it impaled itself on the braced spears of their comrades. Its tail lashed out, trying to bat away the bristling spear wall, but succeeding only partially. There were too many men, and those who had remained had grown used to the serpent's half-crazed attacks.

  As the battle went on, the serpent began slowing. Copious amounts of blood flowed freely from its body, painting the grass around it red.

  Then, without any fanfare, it fell over.

  Unfortunately for the enemy, they would not have time to celebrate.

  When the serpent died, my soldiers were already ready, surrounding the enemy remnant. My infantry charged forth, while the cavalry hit their rear.

  Despite their arms and training, the last holdout of the enemy army on the battlefield did not survive long.

  And so the first battle of Erlenwald came to an end.

  “We've found him,” a young black haired man with more chitin on his body than proper armour reported.

  I snapped my gaze towards the scout. I was still on my horse, overseeing the post-battle efforts, lending my magic here and there for wound healing. While I could not do much, my spells were still miles above the mundane methods available.

  “Report,” I barked, already turning my horse.

  “He's dead,” the scout blurted.

  I frowned, but calmed down.

  “Take me there.”

  The ride did not take long, as the sorcerer had not made it far. Just a few hundred meters away from the battle and into the forest.

  I examined the scene, my eyebrows rising higher.

  The old man lay on the ground, his star-speckled robe wrinkling. One foot was stuck under a root, while his head rested none too gently on a rock.

  “We think he tripped,” the scout explained the obvious.

  I stared for a bit before dismounting. An anticlimactic end to what had been a worthy foe, but I was not going to complain about that.

  I circled around the corpse, ‘Grealghane is a crude spell,’ I mused. I doubted that the old man knew anything relevant that our captives didn’t. No, anything I could get out of him with Grealghane would not be worth the price of being seen absconding with the corpse. Not now, when there were likely quite a few parties who’d like to see me investigated by the Brotherhood. The spell was perfectly legal, of course, being classified as divination, but an investigation would be a black mark on my record regardless.

  However, there were quite a few fancy rings on the body. I doubted many would be a good fit for my magic, but he had enough that there were bound to be some.

  After I thoroughly looted the dead sorcerer, I returned to camp, his soon-to-be rotting carcass quickly forgotten.

  Not that it was really usable as a camp now, considering how littered it was with holes. My men had hidden inside those, camouflaging the top, to give the camp the appearance of being nearly empty. Now, they served as conveniently pre-made graves.

  In the end, the usability did not matter. We would move out soon. Marnadal was still a ways away.

  There was still some business I had to take care of, though.

  Entering a tent guarded by two of my knights, I gazed at the man inside. He looked to be in his late thirties, had short brown hair and tired-looking blue eyes. He was in his underclothes, much of his chest bandaged.

  “My men saw you giving out commands, and the mercenaries we captured were quick to confirm your position,” I began, probing his mind. To my chagrin, this man had enough discipline that I gleaned little. He felt weary, but I could gather that with a glance.

  He did not respond.

  I took a piece of parchment that had been left nearby, reading.

  “Garrik Belhade, a noble from Nazair, I would assume,” I continued, reading the tiny bit of information my men had gathered from the captured troops. Unfortunately, there was nothing useful except his name, as there had not been any time to conduct proper interrogations yet.

  I hummed. Though it was said that torture was an ineffective tool, this was only partially true, and there were no laws prohibiting its use here. It was expected that nobility would be ransomed and treated well, but since the man refused to identify himself while he and his men lacked any sort of heraldry, no one could blame me for treating him a bit roughly.

  The question remained whether it was worth the effort. In the end, torture, like any tool, was not fit for every situation. It was best for information you could immediately verify or information you were certain your subject possessed, preferably both. Conversely, if you could not verify what your subject told you or were unsure they even knew, torture was largely counterproductive, as the interrogatee could just lie, whether to mislead you or to make the pain stop.

  However, in this world, there was a third use. I doubted the man could keep up his mental discipline after a few hours of gruelling pain.

  I hummed, circling around the bound man. It was not something explicitly taught in Aretuza, but I could read between the lines. Still, there was no reason to lower myself to the barbaric methods of this land.

  Perhaps it was time to introduce this world to waterboarding?