A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 826: The Masked General’s Response - Part 6

"Cormrant," Oliver shouted over, ignoring the looks of the horrified Skullic soldiers. "Get those men ready."

The Vice-Commadner could only obey, though his distaste was clear on his face. The Serving Class men were abed with the nobility. They dealt in that same world of careful etiquette. To show such barbarity and straightforwardness as the slaves were was no doubt repulsive to them. They looked on, with the eyes of men looking at their lessers, but fifty men were formed up nevertheless.

The spears were locked, in the same battle positions as they'd taken up dozens and dozens of times by now. They were ready.

"Firyr, Judas, they're all yours," Oliver said. "Bring me victory."

"Firyr," Judas said.

"I know," Firyr replied. "I'll take the left, you take the right. We'll smash this bastard to pieces."

Oliver had appointed Judas as the leader of their brigade, and Firyr as Sergeant, but in the days that he'd left them to their own devices, the two seemed to have decided that they were equals. If not friends, they at least seemed to have a begrudging respect for each other.

Yol and Sebastian took to Firyr's side as Sergeants, directing the rampaging stream of twenty-five men, whilst Zarm and Illy went under Judas. Oliver noted with interest that there seemed to be almost a connection between those Sergeants, and the leaders that they'd chosen. It was not a fact that he had considered before, but he saw it now.

Judas and Firyr didn't waste time on pleasantries. They didn't even bother forming up proper ranks. The slaves weren't in the line by line, as they had been setting up before. As Oliver had said, they weren't soldiers. They weren't even equipped with the weapons to function as soldiers. They were disorganized and untrained, but they had sharp edges that they could use all the same.

Both of them charged at the same time. Their men streamed off after them. Cormrant pulled a clear frown. Up until that point, there had been a greeting, and an official start. He didn't like the fact that they'd proceeded without it. Nonetheless, he gave the orders.

"A two-pronged attack," Cormrant muttered. "Fortify the left and the right flanks! Allow the centre to soften!"

He raised his voice, but the orders were delivered calmly enough. He'd been dealing with these same men for days now, after all – not that they were ever an issue before he'd established that familiarity with them.

They'd already tried that tactic once before. More than once, at this rate. The soldiers were familiar enough with it. They bolstered the left and right flanks, and packed together more tightly to give their spears a stronger base of support. This time looked to be the same as all other times.

Firyr collided at the same time as Judas. Both their weapons were padded, but you would never have thought this was practice combat with the passionate looks on their faces.

The Stormfront long spears kept them at a range. The soldiers had adapted to the lack of a point, and they'd learned to make use of the weapon's length even without the ability to deliver a fatal blow. The spears came together as Judas and Firyr neared them, aiming to deal with the momentum of the front runner first, thus collapsing the charge from there.

They'd done it several times by now – they too had learned much from their repetitive battling with the barbaric foe.

The two men hit, and more than five points into the chest was the reward for each of them. At the speed they were running at, it was enough to break ribs. At the very least, it would leave a man winded, as it had left them winded several times before. The Skullic men prepared to step forward, to make the most of their momentum reversal.

But this time, Firyr and Judas didn't pause. Even with so many points rammed into their chests, they gave no ground and no quarter. For this time, there was unity. They took the strike not as two separate men, but as twenty-five. They were shoulder to shoulder with the men behind them, a whole mass of them together, united in their purpose.

Judas looked up from the spears in his chest, realizing he felt no pain. His eyes contained his fury, and he locked them onto a single man in front of him.

"Shit…" The soldier said quietly.

With a massive sweep of Judas' padded sword, he cast six men aside. Their structural soundness gave way to weakness. With how tightly packed they were, Judas' strength was able to affect more men at once. It was a weakness of the formation, for true, but not one a single man could ever hope to exploit.

Not even Judas, as large as he was, had shown any hint that he could overwhelm more than three men before this. Now six men were flying, and he was sweeping in after them, twenty-five men at his back.

They hit with all the force of a tidal wave. The reinforced flank crumpled all at once, rupturing from the inside. The same scene that Judas had created was echoed by his men – with each swing those burly followers made, they didn't just affect one man, but several, tossing two or three men into the air with every attack.

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It was immediately clear that the left flank was broken. The soldiers had been thoroughly trampled. They lay gasping on the floor, the victims of men that seemed half-demon in their enthusiasm, snorting like bulls, unwilling to slow for a second.

Firyr didn't let the rank flank fall behind. He had not Judas' strength, but his skill with the spear was far superior. From the way he fought, you could tell he was accustomed to fighting with a shield in one hand, and the spear in the other, as was the Syndran way. Even lacking the shield, though, his talent was evident. Everything flowed as smoothly as a stream in spring.

When the points had slowed him, he'd guided them all off to the side, shifting his weight suddenly enough that he was able to affect as many men as Judas had.