9 - Duel of the White-haired

A centralised hierarchical system had always been the most efficient way to organise a large group of people. From governments, to guilds, to companies, to militaries, they were all centralised to a degree. An individual or a small clique formed its head, and the rest its body. It allowed for massive structures of organisation, but if the head was cut off from the body, the body would immediately fall apart.

The large Trelvenese strike force was now without a head.

The soldiers, despite completely surrounding Elethien, were in sheer panic. Magic never struck as much fear as it did at this moment as they witnessed their general fall before them, their enemy unharmed and unfazed. They still held the local Foresters hostage, but none brought their blades down on the Foresters’ necks. Rather, none dared to.

Amovishel looked on in bewilderment from horseback. Even if they were grabbed from the reserves, they were soldiers. This fear was irrational. In no world could an army of several hundred, including an elite team of cavalry, panic and attempt to flee in the face of one individual. Even if that individual proclaimed herself to be a god.

He rushed here on the grounds of diplomacy. He had assumed it was a large-scale rebellion from Arael’s letter, but instead, they were only fighting a seemingly minor revolt. They didn’t even need that many soldiers outside Maerila, or so he thought. Every single move Arael had made so far was questionable for him. It felt overkill. There was no need to waste so many resources on crushing a tiny rebellion. The wealthy city was being sucked dry. If their enemy were only made up of disgruntled peasants, a quick feast of bread would’ve easily ended things. Just because it was a Forester rebellion doesn’t mean it should warrant such a response.

Amovishel had believed all of these things, and perhaps even Arael himself felt there were too many troops for this campaign… at least until he witnessed this display of sheer overwhelming power.

Elethien’s wings had encircled most of them in a barrier. A few were probably outside the encirclement, but the rest of them could not break out. Being situated close to the barrier, Amovishel lightly scratched the edges with his spear. It felt soft, just like the feathers of a real bird, but there was a certain strength that repelled the contact, pushing the metal tip back before he could go in any further. The wings stretched to the heights of the trees, blocking them from any hope of calling for assistance.

Simply put, escape would be impossible.

‘Regroup! Regroup!’ Amovishel shouted, but no one heard him save for the closest dozen by his side. The commotion was just too much. He had no command flag with him, nor was there some kind of drum to maintain order. Arael had led all of them without the usual structure. The general was the only source of command and order.

Even still, the soldiers’ semi-professionalism should’ve allowed them to at least maintain their rank, something Amovishel was taught in the palace. He had never seen a Trelvenese general fall in battle without any substitutes to maintain order.

He thought the soldiers were wolves. But they were only sheep, panicking as soon as the shepherd was gone.

With the wings still active, Elethien had begun running after each soldier like a crazed predator. Where her sword slashed a body would fall, splitting them like vegetables on a chopping block. Some turned around to fight, only to be quickly cut down before they could even thrust their spears forward.

Not even a disorganised mob could crumble as fast as this.

The soldiers trampled over each other as they fled. The Forester hostages ran towards Elethien, but a few were absorbed into the stampede. Amovishel heard the stamping of boots, the shoving of bodies, the cracking of bones. There was practically no will to fight. He himself was shaken by the panic. His arms were trembling, his legs felt weak with fear.

But there was nowhere to run. As the Crown Prince, he was not allowed to run. Even when he was overwhelmed with the air of irrational fear, there must still be a trace of sanity.

He gritted his teeth, and with a tug of the reins, dashed towards the centre of the clearing.

---

Who knew a massacre could be this satisfying?

Elethien had probably never seen any of these soldiers before. They just happened to don the helmets of Trelven and fought for Trelven. They were led to capture an entire Forester settlement in an effort to crush her rebellion. They were pawns just like her.

But they were Trelvenese.

The Trelvenese were the ones that led her and the others to the battlefield time after time without a hint of preservation. They were the ones that kept her barely alive yet required her to perform miracles at the expense of her life. They had done all of this without any remorse, from the common foot soldier to the general. Trelven was not the only kingdom to do so, but that didn’t matter.

It warranted death.

Her eye burned as she swung her sword, the red tattoo branching out on her face. Her wings felt heavier by the moment even as her body was filled with strength, the energy coursing through her veins as she effortlessly sliced each of her prey in half. Each time she felt her sword about to dull, it purged the blood and flesh and polished itself new, once again becoming fresh for use.

It was how she knew Fate was by her side.

She strangely enjoyed this feeling. It wasn’t necessarily revenge, but she felt a sense of elation every time she struck someone down. It no longer felt like a necessity to keep her alive, but something more… interesting. It didn’t matter that there were probably hundreds of soldiers. They all fled like a herd of animals, unable to even properly fight back.

Weak.

She wondered why no one else had rebelled if the enemy was that easy to defeat.

The air changed slightly behind her. The sound of hooves cutted through the crowd of boots. Elethien swirled around, bringing her blade up just as the metal tip of a spear appeared before her face.

Clang! Elethien was knocked back from the force of impact. She rolled and staggered for a bit before she regained her footing, staring at the man who attacked her.

Unlike the soldiers who were at least partially armoured, the man had only a cloak and thick tunic to protect him. Despite all the dust and dirt on his clothing, it couldn’t hide the elaborate patterns etched in the fabric. A sword hung on his belt, the hilt decorated with jewels. The spear, meanwhile, was standard-issue, but he had managed to prevent it from chipping upon contact. He had a lean frame but appeared well-fed. His eyes were a rich blue, indicating his strong Trelvenese heritage.

But that wasn’t the focus.

The man had white hair. For all the signs of him being some sort of wealthy noble, he was a mixed-blood Forester.

The same as her.

‘What—’ She stood stunned, pausing her rampage to process the improbable sight before her.

Mixed-bloods were extremely rare. She had never seen another mixed-blood after her sisters died. Almost no Trelvenese would intermingle with a Forester, let alone having a child together. From the man’s appearance, he was a noble, a rich man at the very least.

It didn’t make sense.

The soldiers had stopped fleeing, now all looking at the scene before them. What panic earlier had mostly subsided. In a single encounter, the man had attracted all attention onto him, directing the focus to him as the head.

The man wheeled around, raising his spear towards the sky to attract attention. ‘Everyone! Why are you afraid of one Forester?’

He charged once more, pointing the spear directly at her. She brought her sword up for a parry, just like the first time…

And she was blown back, crashing onto the soft ground with a thud. The spear snapped, the small splinters stabbing her skin. Unable to maintain her concentration, the wings faded away.

Wheeling around again, the man took out his sword, the fine-crafted blade available for all to see. ‘The enemy has fallen!’

There was a loud roar. The soldiers were charging towards her. The fear they felt earlier had completely disappeared. The courage that was missing earlier had returned.

Still dizzy from her fall, Elethien rose and swung wildly with her sword, parrying a multitude of spears aiming for her body. Another slash cut off the spearheads, leaving the soldiers weaponless.

Those opportunistic cowards had no right to take her life.

Her wings sprouted again, shielding her from further attacks as it wrapped around her body. Her right eye was drowning in blood. The tattoo had stopped branching out, but a black, void-like surface crept up from it, covering parts of her face. Her entire head was hurting, but that didn’t matter.

Fate was still on her side.

She struck her sword against the nearest soldier, cleaving his head open. Another stab pierced through a second soldier’s chest. She threw the corpse against a few people, carving out a small opening for her to break through.

Her objective: the man with white hair.

Noticing her advance, the man rode forward, his sword stretched forward towards her. Elethien spread her wings, pushing the soldiers away as she ran towards the man. This time, the same charge would not work.

As the man thrust his sword at her, she ducked, aiming her sword at the horse’s stomach… Only for him to jump off and grab her by the neck, his sword merely a diversion to distract her.

In any hand-to-hand combat situation, one that had the weight, height and strength would usually have the upper hand. The man was certainly well-built, and as he tackled her, she felt the air knocked out of her lungs, the sword flying out of her hand, landing on the ground near her.

But as a Forester, Elethien was naturally far taller than the man.

Before the man could pin her down, she kicked him away and grabbed her sword. As she brought the blade down, the man swiftly parried, the impact kicking up dirt and dust. He tried to push closer, but she simply jumped away, maintaining her distance while striking him with her sword. Still, the man was extremely nimble and agile. He danced around her blade, darting around before he suddenly lunged at her throat. Reflexively, Elethien side stepped, maintaining distance for another split second before their blades clashed again.

The man was clearly very well-trained. His movements were elegant yet intense, not letting her stand still for even one moment. When she brought down her sword for heavy slashes, he lightly dodged them. When she went for a stab, he parried. His defence was absolute, Elethien unable to touch him with her blade. Even when Elethien feigned an opening, he didn’t commit, maintaining his conservative defensive stance. All the while, the soldiers attacked her from all sides, forcing her to repeatedly push them away with her wings.

He was trying to tire her out.

Frustrated, Elethien expanded her wings into a dome, forcing away every soldier out until it was just her and the man enveloped inside. There was no way to break out unless Elethien was killed.

Inside, this would be their arena. Outside, weapons struck against the wings to no avail. Shouts could be heard, though Elethien couldn’t really make out the words.

Gradually, the wings shrunk, forcing the space between them to become closer. There was now not enough space for the man to form an effective defence.

Elethien lunged at him. He dodged but crashed into the barrier, stunning him for a split second and dropping his sword. Seeing the opening, she reached forward and grabbed him, holding his neck against her blade.

She had captured him.

Finally, the wings faded away, the soldiers in shock at the sight before them. All the violent screams ceased as they looked in silence, unable to process the scene before them.

‘Leave!’ Elethien shouted.

A soldier cautiously marched forward. She pressed the blade closer. The soldier quickly shrunk back.

The man must be someone important. For some reason, she couldn’t kill the man. There were simply too many questions she wanted to ask.

‘Your—’ a soldier tried to speak.

‘Silence,’ the man commanded. ‘I’ll talk to her. Just retreat.’

The soldiers couldn’t move.

‘Retreat!’ the man repeated sternly. ‘There’s nothing we can do. It’s over.’

‘But—’

‘Retreat,’ Elethien warned, her blade already drawing a trail of blood from the man’s neck. As much as she wanted to kill all of them, it had become apparent that it was simply unfeasible.

To her disappointment, she just wasn’t a true king yet.

Reluctantly, the soldiers left. What seemed to be at least a hundred of them slowly walked away, some still on their horses. They could’ve easily all attacked her at once. After all, they were no longer in panic. All it would cost would be the white-haired man’s life. But they didn’t. They fell back, leaving dozens of their comrades’ corpses behind.

This was extremely strange.

As the soldiers finally left the settlement, the Foresters also began to reappear before her. They were ragged, some of them injured during the chaos before, but they all looked at Elethien with awe. A single individual had just forced a few hundred Trelvenese soldiers to retreat.

It was a miracle.

A man stepped forth. Without any words, he knelt and prostrated on the ground. The others followed, and Elethien could even hear some sniffles and sobs in the small crowd.

At this moment, she was their saviour, the one who had rescued them all.

‘Now,’ Elethien said as she stared at her captive, her blade still held close to his neck. ‘Who are you?’