Rain blinded the battlefield.
Mud swallowed the dead.
Thunder drowned out screams.
And beneath the black storm sky—
Kaelan Var's army began to collapse.
"FALL BACK!"
Dren's voice roared through the chaos as another wave of black banner infantry slammed into the ridge.
The remaining imperial soldiers struggled to hold formation. Shields slipped in the mud. Spears shattered under pressure.
Every step backward cost lives.
Kaelan forced himself to his feet, pain burning through his shoulder.
Blood mixed with rain across his armor.
Around him—
The battle was turning into slaughter.
The hidden cavalry continued tearing through the western flank while Corven's main force climbed relentlessly from below.
Two thousand soldiers pressing upward.
Disciplined.
Cold.
Endless.
Kaelan blocked another strike and countered instantly, driving his blade into a spearman's throat.
But another enemy replaced him immediately.
Then another.
And another.
Too many.
A nearby imperial soldier screamed as cavalry smashed through the line beside him.
The formation bent violently.
Then partially broke.
"Commander!" one officer shouted desperately.
"We can't hold this ridge!"
Kaelan knew.
He had known the moment the cavalry appeared.
This battlefield had been lost before the fighting even began.
Because Corven had prepared it first.
A brutal realization.
Dren fought his way through the chaos toward him, covered in blood and mud.
"Eastern ridge is still open!"
"For how long?"
Dren looked back once.
"…Not long."
Another horn echoed across the storm.
Different this time.
Sharper.
Kaelan's eyes narrowed immediately.
Enemy reserves.
Corven was committing even more troops.
Not cautiously.
Not slowly.
To end this now.
Kaelan looked across the battlefield again.
The broken line.
The terrified younger soldiers.
The wounded being trampled in the mud.
If they stayed—
Everyone would die here.
"Retreat," Kaelan ordered quietly.
Dren froze.
"…What?"
Kaelan turned toward him fully.
"Full retreat."
The words hit harder than thunder.
Several nearby soldiers stared in disbelief.
One officer spoke immediately.
"But commander, if we retreat now—"
"We survive."
Silence.
Heavy silence.
Kaelan's jaw tightened slightly.
"This battle is over."
For the first time since the frontier—
He said it aloud.
Defeat.
Dren studied him carefully.
Then slowly nodded.
"…Alright."
He raised his sword instantly.
"RETREAT!"
The order spread across the ridge.
Painfully.
Reluctantly.
Imperial soldiers began pulling back through the storm in scattered formations.
Some disciplined.
Some panicked.
Some too wounded to move at all.
And immediately—
The black banner army advanced faster.
Corven saw the retreat.
Saw the collapse.
And pressed harder.
Arrows darkened the sky.
Cavalry cut through fleeing soldiers.
The battlefield became pure survival.
Kaelan remained near the rear line, cutting down enemies closing too quickly.
Not because it would change the battle.
But because someone had to buy time.
A young soldier stumbled nearby, slipping in the mud as enemy infantry closed behind him.
Fear froze him completely.
Kaelan moved instantly.
His sword flashed once.
Then again.
Two enemy soldiers fell before reaching the boy.
"Move!" Kaelan shouted.
The soldier stared at him in shock.
Then ran.
Dren appeared beside Kaelan moments later.
"We're losing too many!"
Kaelan looked toward the eastern forest.
Still open.
Barely.
Then he saw it.
Black banners moving through the trees ahead.
Corven had predicted the retreat path too.
For one dangerous moment—
Kaelan truly understood the gap between them.
Not strength.
Not numbers.
Control.
Corven controlled the flow of battle itself.
Thunder cracked violently overhead.
Through sheets of rain—
Kaelan saw the enemy commander once more far below the ridge.
Still mounted.
Still calm.
Watching the retreat like a man observing pieces moving across a board.
Kaelan hated him instantly for that calmness.
"Commander!"
Another scout rushed toward him breathlessly.
"The eastern path is closing!"
Dren cursed loudly.
"We're trapped."
No.
Kaelan forced himself to think.
Not emotionally.
Not desperately.
Think.
Rain.
Mud.
Steep terrain.
Forest density.
Enemy cavalry movement.
Then—
He saw it.
The northern cliff path.
Narrow.
Dangerous.
Barely large enough for single-file movement.
Not usable for an army.
Which meant—
Corven likely ignored it.
Kaelan turned immediately.
"Signal all remaining forces north!"
Dren blinked.
"That cliff path?"
"Yes."
"We'll lose supplies."
"We already lost the battle."
No argument after that.
The surviving imperial soldiers began shifting northward through the storm while enemy forces continued crashing into the abandoned ridge positions.
Men slipped from the cliffs.
Others collapsed from wounds before reaching the path.
Several had to be dragged upward through mud and rock.
It was no longer an army retreating.
It was survivors escaping annihilation.
Kaelan remained near the rear again.
Holding the path long enough for others to climb.
Sword heavy.
Breathing ragged.
Shoulder burning.
An enemy captain charged him through the rain with two spearmen beside him.
Kaelan blocked the first strike—
Turned—
Killed the second—
Then barely avoided the captain's blade slicing past his neck.
Too slow.
Fatigue was finally catching him.
The captain attacked again.
Aggressive.
Confident.
Then an arrow struck the captain's eye.
The man collapsed instantly into the mud.
Kaelan looked back.
The same young soldier from earlier lowered his bow again with trembling hands.
Terrified.
Exhausted.
Still fighting.
For a brief moment—
Kaelan saw himself years ago.
A frightened soldier trying not to die.
"Go!" the young soldier shouted desperately.
"We'll hold here!"
Kaelan stared at him for one second too long.
Then finally—
He stepped backward toward the cliff path.
The surviving soldiers retreated into the mountains one by one as the storm swallowed the battlefield behind them.
Hours later—
Night fell.
The rain finally weakened.
The remnants of Kaelan's force gathered inside a narrow mountain cave far north of Velmora.
No fires.
No strength left for conversation.
Only silence.
The count came slowly.
Painfully.
One hundred and twelve soldiers had entered the battle.
Fifty-three remained.
Nearly half gone.
Dren sat against the cave wall breathing heavily.
"…That was bad."
No one laughed.
Kaelan stood near the entrance staring into the darkness outside.
Rainwater dripped steadily from his armor.
Blood still stained his hands.
Behind him—
Men mourned quietly.
Some cried silently for lost friends.
Others simply stared at nothing.
Too exhausted even for grief.
The young soldier who had saved Kaelan approached carefully.
"…Commander?"
Kaelan turned slightly.
The boy looked terrified just speaking to him.
"We made it out," the soldier said weakly.
Kaelan looked at the survivors scattered across the cave.
Broken.
Wounded.
Shattered.
Then back toward the distant direction of Velmora.
"No," he said quietly.
"We survived."
And for the first time since this war began—
The difference between those two things felt enormous.
Far away beneath the black banners—
Corven stood alone overlooking the abandoned battlefield.
Bodies covered the ridges beneath the storm.
One officer approached him carefully.
"The enemy escaped into the northern cliffs."
Corven remained silent.
"We can pursue them by morning."
Still silence.
Then Corven finally spoke.
"No."
The officer frowned slightly.
"…Sir?"
Corven looked toward the dark mountains in the distance.
"He needed this defeat."
Thunder rolled one final time across the valley.
"And now," Corven murmured quietly,
"we'll see what kind of commander survives it."
…
Some battles create legends.Others break the men trying to become them. ⚔️