Chapter 94: Friends Never Left

Even though Miraze had been driven to lose his reason by Fred’s harsh words, that did not change the fact that he was a talented military commander. His ambition and madness fueled his boldness in commanding troops, allowing him to ignore the bloody casualties of three thousand Heavy Cavalry and unhesitatingly commit large numbers of infantry, hoping to crush us completely with a numerical advantage we could not match.

Miraze sent up two fully-staffed infantry legions, each nearly equal in number to all the forces we possessed. Our enemies flanked us from both the left and right sides, like two pouring torrents, trying to break through our formation like fragile dams.

Fred formed the entire army into a circular formation. At the outermost ring, a layer of shield-bearers knelt on one knee, raising tall tower shields before them, forming a stern metal wall. These heavy shields were covered with scars left by all kinds of light and heavy weapon s, and the blood of many men had been splashed upon them, rusting the once-shining metal surfaces. They were not beautiful; adjectives like “bright” or “glorious” had little to do with these heavy weapons of war. But those loyal and brave warriors trusted them more than they trusted their own hands. Before this rust-stained metal wall, the beautiful, delicate lightweight shields held by noble Knights, decorated with artistic patterns, looked like children’s toys. They stood with a warrior’s pride on this battlefield reeking of slaughter, coldly watching one life after another fall futilely before them. Here, they were both the city that guarded the living and the tombstone that commemorated the dead.

Two rows of spears extended from behind the shield-bearers, layering through the wall of solid shields like venomous snakes baring sharp fangs at the enemy, ready to deliver death at any moment. The soldiers’ hands gripping the spears were firm and powerful, as if they were clutching the only support of their lives. Although the weather was already very cold, many experienced veterans did not wear the cotton gloves issued to soldiers, but instead wrapped their palms in strips of long cloth, letting their fingers touch the spear shaft as much as possible. The exposed skin on their hands was rough and chapped, calluses covering the edges of their palms, thick and strong. When such a pair of hands was placed before you, you would immediately know – these were the hands of a Pikeman. There could be no mistake. For these people struggling at the edge of the battlefield, people who might die at any moment, the spear was their only weapon. Being able to touch their weapon more, to sense more keenly the sharp feedback transmitted from the spear tip, was more important than anything else.

In this sense, what they gripped tightly was indeed the only support of their lives.

Inside the circular formation, the archers and cavalry took out their bows and crossbows. In a melee, their killing area was far larger than that of the Spearmen at the front. Light and Heavy Infantry holding various short weapons stood around them, seemingly unrelated to the battle. But if you really thought that, you would be making a grave mistake. They were ready at any moment to use their light shields to block arrows shot at the archers beside them, and when the battle reached its most intense state, they were the ones we could rely on for the final counterattack.

With a single command, we exchanged the first volley of arrows with the enemy. This method of ranged attack was not very advantageous for the enemy troops charging toward us, because we could stand here, take aim, and calmly choose our targets. Their casualties were far greater than ours, but this small advantage could not be clearly demonstrated against such a huge difference in numbers.

An arrow whizzed past my ear with a sharp whistle, causing my ears to ring, then lodged in a soldier’s thigh. Until the poor fellow let out a cry of pain, the feathers on the arrow’s tail were still quivering. When he could no longer lift his shield due to the pain, another arrow struck sideways into his ribs.

His cry stopped abruptly, and a layer of grayish-white gradually filled his eyes. He tried to straighten his back, but his muscles only twitched slightly. Then he coughed softly, and with that fatal cough, blood flowed from his mouth and nose, more and more, unable to stop.

He fell. A nearby soldier quickly stepped forward to fill the gap he had left. Perhaps because the place where he fell was somewhat in the way, the soldier who came later kicked hard at his arm to make a better position for himself. Judging from the formation, they should have been comrades in the same squad, companions who ate, slept, and talked about women together in peacetime. But at this moment, no one cared about any of that. The living had to treat the dead’s body with rough methods, or else they might become the second corpse.

This was the battlefield, the place that most stripped away humanity. But in contrast, the noblest spirits were also often born here.

As the sound of metal clashing came from the outer perimeter of the circular formation, the two sides made their second direct contact. The enemy’s ranks slammed heavily into the heavy shields at the front, like water crashing against rocks in the middle of a river – shattering into powder and mist in failure again and again, yet never ceasing. The Pikemen held their positions, their spears thrusting and retracting again and again amid the officers’ shouts. Each thrust meant more lives lost, and each retraction brought an even thicker scent of blood.

The originally snow-bright spears had now become crimson-tipped blades, and countless warriors had fallen before them. These specially made instruments of death could penetrate dense armor scales, viciously stabbing through the gaps between overlapping metal plates, greedily drinking blood. Nevertheless, if it relied only on the sharpness of the weapons, this line of spear positions would soon collapse. What truly kept our formation standing firm before the surging enemy was not the sharp spears in the soldiers’ hands, but the discipline that had been forged through repeated training and combat, deeply engraved into their bones, muscles, and blood.

The spear was a weapon that could only attack at range. Within five to seven paces, no weapon could match its killing power. But once the enemy broke through the spear’s minimum attack distance and pressed close to the Spearman’s side, they had no ability to resist. At that moment, they could only trust their brothers beside them, trust that their swords and shields would protect them when needed most. All they could do was thrust mechanically and mercilessly, killing the enemies they could hold back before them.

Without an iron-hard will and discipline that surpassed the instinct of fear, an unbreakable spear formation was nothing but a joke.

Just as the battle was at a stalemate, Miraze seized the favorable moment and dispatched another infantry legion into the fray.

Even the bravest and most tenacious soldiers of steel could not remain steady in the face of such a frenzied attack from three times their number. As the fighting continued to escalate, finally, the soldiers on the outer perimeter saw the limits of their defense.

They began to retreat.

The retreat began first on the southern side.

Perhaps one shield-bearer could no longer withstand such tremendous impact, or perhaps one Spearman fell forever under the enemy’s desperate assault. In any case, a gap appeared at the edge of the formation. Under the enemy’s relentless attacks and pressure, the gap grew larger and larger. When it became large enough, a rout was inevitable.

We should not blame our soldiers. They had done better than we expected. They had bought us a long time to prepare, holding back enemies several times our number outside our position for so long despite such a vast difference in strength.

But it was not enough.

Everyone knew that once this gap opened, it would eventually become an incurable wound, and our position would become a house with its doors wide open, letting our enemies ride freely through it. Once this gap opened, tens of thousands of enemy troops would surge in like giant waves, drowning us in a red tide of death. Once this gap opened, all our beautiful aspirations and pure wishes would turn to nothing on this filthy, noisy battlefield, leaving only endless regret and rage to be passed down in this world alongside the conspirators’ ugly faces.

This gap needed someone to fill it. This line of defense was calling for its master. This formation was collapsing. Only one person – only him – could save us at this moment.

“Riley, seal the gap! Adjust the formation! Reorganize the defense!” In his urgency, Fred habitually issued this command.

Yes, only Riley – the friend who protected our lives, the holder of the strongest defense, the irreplaceable commander. Whenever we faced a powerful enemy, it was always he who threw himself forward without regard for his own safety, using his wisdom and courage to hold back the enemy’s fierce assault, winning us more time to rest and reorganize, letting us turn defeat into victory again and again – wasn’t it?

“Riley, hurry, quickly…” Suddenly, Fred froze, stopping his shout, as if struck by lightning, robbing him of all reaction. His eyes seemed to lose their focus, hollow and sorrowful, as if silently weeping.

He remembered.

That person was already gone. Not at our side. Not on this battlefield. And he would never again appear where we needed him most, using his shield to protect our lives.

We had come here for him, to fight the enemies before us. But we had not yet grown used to his departure, had we?

How could we get used to it? How could we get used to that cheerful, resilient person disappearing forever from before us?

Impossible…

The cold wind blew across my face, the cool sensation stinging my nose, making me unable to stop tears streaming down my face.

Forget it. No need to find excuses for my tears. They were tears of grief for the friend who had left forever. They were not a mark of weakness, but a memorial of pride.

In a daze, I heard my own voice echoing in my ears: “Riley, as ordered! Immediate reinforcement!”

I led my squad charging toward that wavering line of defense, standing at the very front of the formation, facing this dangerous gap. I arrived just in time – the gap had already widened enough for five or six people to squeeze in side by side. Dozens of enemies had already fought their way into our formation in the chaos. Only the soldiers’ unimaginable tenacity and luck we were fortunate to have kept this line from collapsing completely. Even so, it had reached the critical point of collapse, like a slanted earthen wall that would collapse entirely with just one gentle push.

A flash of blade light appeared before me, then dimmed. My sword was stained with fresh blood.

“Hold your positions!” I shouted, standing there, facing the weapons coming at me from all sides, not retreating a single step. I felt as if I had become a mountain that had suddenly descended, blocking the surging flood before me. Before this torrent of steel, the very earth seemed to tremble, yet I stood unmoving. At that moment, a strange feeling rose in my heart, as if the one standing at this post was not me, but someone far greater and stronger than me.

The soldiers behind me surged forward, gradually pushing the enemies who had broken into the formation back out of the line. But I knew very well that our arrival had only temporarily closed this dangerous gap. Having come close to defeat, the soldiers’ fighting will was no longer so strong. If there was nothing that could rekindle their fighting spirit, this line of defense would completely collapse in a very short time.

The situation was still critical!

Suddenly, without any warning, my heart surged with emotion. I brandished my longsword, stood at the front of the formation, and shouted loudly: “Leave the enemy’s corpses behind! Only the dead may pass!”

This was originally Riley’s most inspiring battle cry in combat. I did not know what force drove me to shout it so passionately. These words achieved the effect I had hoped for – no, I should say, even better than I had hoped. For the soldiers and officers who had once fought by Riley’s side, these words stood for an unbreakable line of defense and an indestructible warrior. Even the new recruits who had never seen Riley were infected by this cry, becoming calm and brave. Before these words, no enemy could be described as “powerful,” and no attack could be described as “fierce.” Countless brave warriors had lost their lives before these words, bearing witness to the honor of a true warrior with their own deaths.

Another wave of enemies charged forward. They had already seen the hope of victory. This line of defense was on the edge of collapse, and those soldiers were already exhausted from the relentless, overwhelming battles.

They did not know that what they were about to face was no longer our line of defense – not the line of defense of Jeffritz Gid, not the line of defense of Fred Guderian. This line of defense belonged to a soldier named Riley – a warrior they could never defeat.

In the air, my trembling voice echoed without end, carrying my deep longing.

“Leave the enemy’s corpses!”

Trampling the withered grass, our enemies were drawing near step by step.

“Only the dead… may pass!”

They were still advancing – not toward victory, but toward death. These words seemed to carry a magic that touched the soul, making people steadfast, making people strong.

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Riley’s line of defense!”

Riley – to unrelated people, this name meant nothing. But here, at this moment, this name meant so much.

“He is always with us!”

The killing cries rose, and I seemed to see Riley’s confident, proud smile.

Do you see it? My friend, do you see it? This is your line of defense. This is your glory. Please forgive my incompetence, for I can only honor you in this way. This is the only thing I, this humble and insignificant soldier, can do: to inscribe a far-from-glorious victory upon your name, adding a trace of negligible brilliance to your already brilliant name.

Perhaps you are already sneering at my clumsiness. If you were here, you would certainly arrange the defensive formation flawlessly. No matter what enemy you faced, your defense was always so outstanding that no one needed to worry. And now, I still have to rely on your strength to build this crude and ugly line of defense before me.

If I could choose, I would rather the one standing here commanding this battle were you. I would rather you sneer at me, mock me, expose my stupidity with your sharp gaze and precise judgment. I don’t care – truly, I don’t. I only wish that after the battle ended, I could hold your shoulders tightly with my own hands, expressing my admiration and blessing for you with a warm embrace and a cup of foamy ale.

I would trade anything for such a chance – to grasp your hand, to make you stay.

But none of this could be done. I could only do my best to fill the void you left on the battlefield, and also fill the void you left in my heart – imitating you, following you, pretending you had never left.

…

Unsurprisingly, the enemy collapsed before us once again. They had inflicted heavy losses on us, but this line of defense still stood unmoved, as if it could stand this way forever. All of this, because of one name.

“Riley, the southwest line of defense is in danger!” Fred commanded. He no longer felt startled by the familiar name that slipped from his mouth. It was just that every time he called out this name, thick mist seemed to drift through his eyes.

“Riley, as ordered! Immediate support!” Roll answered loudly. Moments later, the same cry rose from the southwest line of defense. I saw Roll’s fighting – it was no longer the way he had fought just before. At this moment, he fought like a true warrior – not seeking bloodshed, not seeking terror, simply fighting. The shadow of brutality and hatred had faded from his face, and a relaxed smile faintly lingered, as if in such fighting, he could feel the presence of his friend.

“Riley, strengthen the northern line!”

“Riley, as ordered!” This time it was Dakla. A unit of Heavy Infantry joined the northern line under his command, gradually reversing the unstable situation. This closest and most intimate friend of Riley originally only enjoyed bold and heroic combat and was not skilled at defense. But now he was doing very well. After driving out the enemies who had pressed in, he immediately set about adjusting the formation and maintaining the combat order of the line…

One by one, the commands addressed to Riley issued from Fred’s mouth, and all of them were well executed under Riley’s name. From all directions of our position came shouts like “Riley, as ordered” and “Riley is here.” This ordinary name seemed to carry incredible power at this moment, becoming a spell that made the enemies before us retreat time and again.

“No one can cross my line of defense.” He often said this to us, and that was exactly what he did. Even up to the last moment before his death, he was still fighting without retreating a single step, guarding the final line of defense of our lives.

Now, it was our turn to guard him.

Although we could no longer protect his life, we could still defend his honor – in his way, in his name!

This was a battle that belonged to Riley, even though we could no longer see him.

In this battle, he stood by our side the whole time, never leaving for a single moment…