The Debt Of Fate
Chapter 144: Battle

Chapter 144: Battle

Ernest frowned as he looked at the captains in the room, all waiting for him to make arrangements for the battle that was inevitable by the following day. The last battle had been fierce they had lost many soldiers, and even the crown prince had been injured.

However, that wasn’t what made him frown. The crown prince was present in the meeting room despite his injuries, and Ernest secretly blamed him for the defeat they had suffered. Now, they were forced to retreat back to the city. Battle plans had been made for the last engagement, but no one had expected Prince Edward to act on his own and nearly fall into the trap set by the people of Gube.

His single decision made outside the planned strategy had thrown their entire formation into chaos. No matter what, as the crown prince, he could not fall into enemy hands. So, in order to save him, the formation was broken, giving the Gube soldiers an opportunity to assault them. Although they managed to rescue the crown prince, and he sustained only minor injuries, it did not change the losses they had suffered.

Fortunately, Gube also suffered losses during the Scuffle, so both sides were forced to retreat. A day had passed since then, but the Gube soldiers would certainly regroup and attack the following morning; they could not afford to let the enemy recover.

"Our walls still stand tall. No matter what plans they have for tomorrow, it would be better to defend. Have the archers ready their bows," Ernest said after some thought.

They discussed formations and assigned positions for each unit.

"We’ve already lost too many men. Those who are injured are in no condition to fight. Everyone must hold their position. Do not change formation or make decisions without receiving the proper commands," Ernest said, concluding the meeting.

The men needed rest in order to fight the next day. Preparations also had to be completed and double-checked.

Everyone agreed that Ernest’s arrangements were sound. Only Prince Edward was upset. He felt that Ernest’s final remarks were aimed at blaming him for the situation.

Though he had acted outside the plan during the last battle, he had only done so because he thought he saw an opening. He hadn’t expected it to be a trap.

It had been the work of Gube’s feared strategist.

According to the intelligence reports, the strategist had a sharp mind; capable of analyzing any battle and crafting a countermeasure. Although he was brilliant at understanding enemy formations through observation, he wasn’t particularly skilled in actual combat.

During the battle, Edward had noticed that the strategist wasn’t well protected. In a split second, he formed a plan. He believed that they hadn’t gained any advantage thus far precisely because this man was analyzing their moves and aiding Gube. Killing such a person would surely deal a blow to Gube’s morale. If that happened, they might win not just the battle but possibly the war.

How could he have known the strategist would use himself as bait?

As soon as Edward made his move, he was trapped. That was when he realized that the strategist wasn’t just skilled in analyzing battles but also people.

He had failed to injure the strategist and ended up wounded himself.

"How is this my fault?" he thought bitterly.

Yet, thinking back to the events of the previous day only strengthened his resolve. He became even more determined to kill the strategist.

Although he harbored such thoughts, Edward was not foolish he knew better than to make another careless move.

....

At dawn the next day, the city walls were lined with archers, and soldiers were positioned at every post as instructed. Ernest stood by the eastern wall, where the terrain was most vulnerable. His armor was dusty, his expression grim. He had not slept the entire night. This battle would determine whether the city would stand or fall.

Not long after the sun rose, the Gube soldiers appeared like a tide, darkening the horizon. Their numbers were many, and they marched with a cold precision. This time, they brought siege ladders and battering rams. The attack would be brutal.

As soon as the enemies came within range, Ernest raised his hand.

"Fire!"

The archers released their arrows, blackening the sky. Screams echoed as men fell, but the Gube soldiers did not stop.

"Shield," someone shouted from Gube side and the men raised theirs shield to protect them from the arrows as they continued to march forward, the sound of their war drums shaking the hearts of some younger soldiers.

Soon, the enemy was at the walls. Ladders slammed against the stone, and the first wave began to climb.

"Spearmen, to the front!" Ernest roared. His voice cut through the chaos.

He did not remain idle. As the enemy began to scale the walls, Ernest drew his sword and engaged. A Gube soldier climbed over the ledge just a few paces away. Ernest turned swiftly and slashed his sword across the man’s chest, kicking his body off the wall. Another followed, this one younger and quicker. Ernest blocked the first strike, parried the second, and stabbed the man straight through the stomach.

"Push the ladders down!" he ordered as he fought, sweat mixing with the blood on his brow.

An explosion was heard near the gate , Gube had brought fire oil. The front gate had begun to smoke, though it held firm.

"They’re aiming for the inner gate!" one of the captains shouted.

"We hold them here!" Ernest growled.

An axe came down toward him from his left. Ernest turned just in time, blocking with the flat of his blade, the force making his arm ache. He retaliated with a low sweep of his leg, sending the attacker to the ground, then finished him off with a swift stab.

Around him, soldiers were shouting, clashing, bleeding. The air was thick with smoke and ash. He moved like a shadow through the chaos, striking when necessary, guiding soldiers back into formation. A moment of distraction could cost them everything.

Prince Edward arrived from the rear with a group of fresh guards, despite the injury still bandaged at his side. He took charge of the inner corridor, leading a defense team to protect the inner gate. Although Ernest disapproved of him joining the front again, there was no time to argue, moreover, his arrival this time was useful.

After several hours, the enemy’s assault began to weaken. They had suffered too many losses. Their ladders were broken, their rams burned, and their soldiers pushed back from the wall. The battle was not short, nor was it glorious. It was hard, dirty, and painful.

But they held the city.

When the last of the Gube forces finally retreated and the battlefield quieted, Ernest stood among the rubble, chest heaving. His sword was stained. His legs ached. His armor was cracked in places. But they had survived.

"It’s over," he announced... as if thining o something he added "for now," in a muttered, wiping blood from his brow. The soldiers around him began to cheer weakly, the sound more of relief than victory.