Tiberius had Vito, Demetrius, Lysapo, and Habro round up every man still able to hold a blade.
He was going to give them a speech.
These soldiers already knew the plan: false surrender, then the breakout. They knew they were about to charge out and fight for their lives. Tiberius looked at the sea of uneasy, even frightened faces below him and felt a twist in his gut. But he didn't chew them out for it.
After the slaughter at Swordbreak Fort, days of running, and now being trapped in this miserable little town, expecting sky-high morale would have been insane.
"Listen up…" Tiberius began. Then the words stuck in his throat.
Up until now he'd only been responsible for the Lightning Company and putting up with Lysandro's spoiled-rich-kid attitude. Training troops, recruiting, the blood combat… sure, it looked dangerous, but deep down Tiberius always knew Jules, Vito, and old man Lysandro had his back. Worst case, he'd just look like an idiot.
But now the men below were staring at him like he was their savior—even though that savior was only twelve years old.
And standing right there in the front row were Lysandro, Vito, Demetrius, and Habro, all watching him with the same desperate hope.
Somehow, without noticing, Tiberius had become their leader. These men trusted him with their lives.
Talking about nation, city-state, or honor right now would be pointless. The only thing that could weld this broken army into one sharp blade was the single burning desire every man carried in his chest.
"You all know what's waiting outside," Tiberius said, pointing beyond the walls. "The Volantenes have us surrounded. We're out of everything—food, weapons, medicine… and they plan to make us slaves. They'll ship us to their mines, their plantations, their salt fields to work until we drop dead!"
"I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. When I went out to fake the surrender, I saw it with my own eyes: prisoners locked in wooden yokes and iron chains, crammed into mud pits like the lowest animals!"
"If any of you would rather live like that, go ahead and walk out right now. But the rest of us—we're going to smash through these Volantene bastards… and then…"
"Go home! I'm taking every single one of you home!"
"Home!"
The word ripped out of hundreds of raw throats at once.
"Home! Home!"
Then Tiberius did something even bolder.
"Vito! Lysapo!"
"Here!" The two men pushed through the crowd, eyes blazing as they looked at the boy in front of them.
"How much food and wine do we have left?"
"Enough for three days."
"Perfect!" Tiberius clapped his hands and laughed. "Issue every last scrap! Let every man eat and drink until his belly's ready to burst! Burn the rest! If we die today, we die full!"
"Men, keep it quiet for now—hold that fire in your guts!" Tiberius looked at the soldiers cracking their knuckles, itching to charge. "But when the war drums start and we storm their lines to carve our way home… scream as loud as you fucking want!"
---
"My lord, the Lyseni are throwing their armor and weapons off the walls," a servant rushed into the tent to report to Mohahta.
"Excellent!" Mohahta strode out just in time to see figures moving along Stone Crow Town's walls, tossing armor and weapons down. The main gate was slowly creaking open.
"I don't know about you," Mohahta said, thumbs hooked in his belt, thoroughly enjoying the moment, "but I love watching the enemy throw away their gear. Especially when these bastards are about to spend the rest of their lives working in my mines and fields!"
When he heard the shouting from inside the town—"We've been abandoned!" "No food or weapons left!" "You cowards who surrendered!"—he was even more pleased.
"Oh? And internal fighting too?" he chuckled.
Mohahta's force was really just his family's private army. Decent gear, but nowhere near the disciplined Tiger Cloaks. Seeing their lord so smug, the men didn't stay sharp. Instead they started whispering about what gold, silver, jewels, and wine might still be left inside the town.
So when "Lord Mario Ferrero" appeared leading eighty "broken" men out of the gate—heads down, armor discarded, looking utterly defeated—most of the Volantenes relaxed completely. Some even laughed and pointed, already figuring out how much loot they'd get.
But the veteran soldiers and noble officers standing near Mohahta slowly began to frown. Something was wrong.
Those eighty men looked miserable, but their formation… was too tight. They weren't shuffling in disorder—they were moving in a dense arrowhead. Their steps weren't dragging; they were marching to a steady, accelerating rhythm, kicking up dust in perfect unison. This didn't look like defeated men surrendering. This looked like…
The prelude to a charge!
Mohahta's pupils shrank. Ice shot up his spine. "No! They—"
At that exact instant—
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM—!
On the low town wall, Vito's arms flew as he hammered the war drum they'd prepared. The beat wasn't the usual heavy war rhythm—it was sharp, frantic, like the hiss of a striking viper, instantly shattering the false calm.
Below the walls, the eighty "broken men" reacted instantly. Like killing machines switched on, they went from walking to sprinting. Heads snapped up, eyes burning with murder. Short swords, cleavers, and hand axes flashed out, glinting coldly in the dim sunlight!
They were no longer lambs to the slaughter. They were rabid dogs unleashed, hurling themselves straight at the Volantene vanguard that still hadn't fully reacted.
What truly broke the Volantenes' nerve was what they saw next: as the eighty charged down the short slope, the view behind the gate opened up completely. A black tide of men poured out like a bursting dam—nearly five hundred strong! They wore whatever mismatched armor they could scrounge, spears bristling like a forest, blades flashing like snow. Officers roared orders as the formation tightened on the move. From a distance it looked like a deadly iron forest swaying in the wind of death.
They hadn't thrown away all their armor! They had never intended to surrender!
They were going home!
"We've been tricked!!" Mohahta's face turned deathly white as he screamed, "Sound the drums! Form ranks! Form ranks—NOW!!"
If even the commander was panicking this badly, the common soldiers were completely caught off guard. Men who had been lounging on the ground chatting jumped up like headless flies, fumbling with helmets, armor, weapons, with no idea what was happening or where to go.
One second they were accepting a surrender. The next it was a fight to the death.
"KILL—!!!"
Tiberius and Lysandro roared together, leading from the front like two arrows slamming into the chaotic enemy lines! The men behind them fought like enraged beasts.
Tiberius had made the horrific fate of surrender crystal clear. Every man understood: retreat meant the abyss. Only forward offered a chance.
Since they were probably going to die anyway, they might as well take as many bastards with them as possible!
This desperate, do-or-die fury temporarily pushed back the numerically superior enemy.
Even so, they gradually began to tire. After all, they had almost no armor and only eighty men at the tip of the spear against nearly fifteen hundred.
But their goal—creating chaos—had been achieved!
In the middle of the slaughter, Tiberius glanced behind him.
It was Demetrius and his Myr troops!
"Raise spears!" Demetrius bellowed, leveling his own weapon and urging his men forward.
The Myr had long enjoyed the protection of their hills and calm bays. But that didn't make them cowards. On the contrary, the spearmen and triple-shot crossbowmen from the Myr Hills had fought the Tyroshi and Lyseni for years and seized the largest share of colonies in the Disputed Lands.
Front ranks in the thickest armor, ten abreast and thirty deep. Razor spear tips thrust through shield gaps, skewering one unlucky Volantene straight through the guts. The bloody point burst out his back and drove into the next man's chest.
In tight formation every man was locked with those beside and behind him, turning scattered individuals into a single terrifying weapon. The constant pressure from the rear turned the entire spear wall into a massive hammer smashing into the enemy.
Right behind them came the Lightning Company, also charging with spears. Under Vito's command the crossbowmen and spearmen worked in perfect sync. Every volley of bolts swept across the Volantenes like a scythe through grass.
Just as the Volantene front line was being pushed back and their formation began to crumble under the sudden suicidal assault—
On the distant horizon a massive dust cloud rose. The thunder of hooves rolled closer and closer. A white banner with a vertical gray stripe snapped fiercely in the wind!
Jules Mord rode at the very front. When he saw the chaotic battle outside Stone Crow Town, his hard face first showed visible relief: "Looks like I didn't arrive too late…" But the next second, when he took in the actual situation, even he froze.
"…Wait, what the hell?!"
He had expected to find the defenders barely holding on, on the verge of collapse.
Instead he saw roughly five hundred defenders—mostly Habro and Demetrius's men—chasing and hammering more than a thousand Volantenes! The Volantene formation was already shattered, their morale on the brink of total collapse!
The moment was perfect.
Jules's eyes flashed with killing intent. Without hesitation, his roar shook the battlefield:
"Cavalry—charge! Target the enemy's exposed flank—smash straight through them!"
"Light cavalry! Swing around their infantry from the side and cut their lines to pieces!"