The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe
Chapter 92 The Battle of the Great Riverbank (Part III)

Chapter 92: Chapter 92 The Battle of the Great Riverbank (Part III)

For a fleeting moment, chaos reigned within the Lucanian camp. Grenatt and the other leaders scrambled to restore order but found themselves powerless to contain the vengeance-fueled riot led by the Viguran warriors.

"Captain, look!" A mercenary cavalryman’s voice broke through Laedus’s frustration.

Laedus turned, his weary eyes widening as he spotted the enemy camp engulfed in flames. Warriors clashed within their own ranks, their cries of anger and betrayal piercing the air.

"It’s an internal conflict! The enemy is fighting amongst themselves!" another cavalryman exclaimed, barely containing his excitement.

Suppressing his growing elation, Laedus studied the scene for a moment longer. Once certain, he barked, "Quick! Return to Leader Juleios and inform him that the enemy camp is in disarray and cannot send reinforcements!"

Unaware of the turmoil in the Lucanian camp, Juleios remained fixated on the bloody stalemate before him.

Despite their poor equipment and exhaustion, the Lucanian warriors attacked with a ferocity that defied reason. The slippery, muddy terrain of the riverbank, churned by countless feet, seemed only to fuel their determination. Their cries—half agony, half rage—spurred them onward as they hurled themselves against the Greek defensive line like relentless waves battering a weathered cliff.

Pierced by spears, they clung to the weapons even in death. When struck by round shields, they grasped desperately at the legs of the Greek soldiers before sliding down the treacherous slope.

The northern Greek defensive line teetered on the brink of collapse.

"Report! Leader Drakos has fallen!"

"What?!" Juleios’s heart sank. Positioned just behind the heavy infantry, he had already sensed the creeping unrest among the mercenaries.

"Order Archita to send 300 men to reinforce the north!" Juleios commanded urgently.

"Leader, you’ve already issued that order. The Tarantum forces are stretched thin—they’re barely holding their own!" Asistes reminded him grimly.

Juleios ran a hand across his face, the weight of command bearing down on him. For the first time in his storied military career, he found himself leading such a massive battle—one that would determine the fate of his soldiers and himself. He took a deep breath, forcing his nerves to steady.

"Send the slave contingent and the light shield-bearers into the fight!" he ordered with renewed resolve. Turning to Martius, he declared, "It’s our turn now!"

"Hah!" Martius exclaimed, striking his shield with his sword. Around him, the bodyguards roared in response, discarding their spears in favor of swords better suited for the cramped melee.

Juleios surged forward, his banner raised high behind him by Asistes. The sight of their leader charging into the fray gave the wavering mercenaries pause, their retreat faltering. At the same time, the disorganized Lucanians turned their focus toward the fluttering standard, converging on Juleios’s position with renewed fury.

The assault on the other defensive lines eased slightly, but the pressure on Juleios’s contingent intensified tenfold.

Bronze horns blared across the battlefield.

Despite their weariness, the light shield-bearers, led by Epitenes and Zipetes, charged into the fray. Their leather shields and long blades glinted as they filled the gaps in the faltering line. Behind them, the slave soldiers, who had waited for this moment with bated breath, surged forward with a thunderous cry:

"For freedom!!!"

Promised emancipation if they triumphed, the slaves fought with wild abandon, their energy and morale overwhelming. Together with the mercenaries, they pushed the Lucanians back down the slope. Even some of the Greek soldiers were shoved forward in the chaotic advance.

From the rear, Melsis’s contingent of 1,000 slaves struck like a hammer. Under the guidance of seasoned mercenaries, they bypassed the tangled front lines and drove deep into the Lucanian rear.

Akpiru and the coalition leaders, positioned at the rear, bore the brunt of this sudden assault. Their guards, no match for the ferocity of the slave contingent, fell one by one.

"Why?! Why hasn’t Cincinnatus arrived yet?!" Akpiru roared, his fury masking the growing fear in his heart.

"Chief, we must retreat! Any longer, and it will be too late!" his subordinates urged desperately.

Retreat? The thought burned like acid in Akpiru’s mind. To abandon nearly ten thousand warriors was unthinkable. He hesitated—until the cries of "Chief! Chief!" reached his ears.

Turning, he saw Chief Udler of Niutum collapse, his body riddled with spear wounds. At last, Akpiru’s resolve crumbled.

Under the frantic protection of his guards, Akpiru and Chief Tula of Laos fled westward with a few dozen men, leaving the remaining 500 warriors to their fate.

At that moment, Laedus’s cavalry returned to the battlefield. Their jubilant cries rang out: "The enemy camp is in turmoil! Reinforcements won’t arrive!"

The news spread like wildfire among the Greek ranks, igniting their spirits. The Lucanians, hearing the proclamation in Greek—a language many understood due to trade—felt despair take root. With their leaders gone, their morale shattered.

The mercenaries and slaves launched a ferocious pincer attack. Of the 500 remaining Lucanians, some were cut down where they stood, while others fled in disarray. After regrouping, Philisius led the combined forces westward, reinforcing the defensive line just in time.

On the western front, the situation was dire. Kapus, Antonios, and Alexis fought shoulder to shoulder with their men, their shields and spears holding the line by sheer force of will.

At last, Philisius’s reinforcements arrived. The infusion of nearly 2,000 fresh troops stabilized the line, halting the Lucanian advance.

For over an hour, the brutal clash continued, but the Lucanian assault began to falter.

The riverbank was a grim tableau of death, littered with the bodies of warriors felled by spear, javelin, arrow, or their comrades’ trampling feet. The air reeked of blood and despair, the moans of the dying rising like a somber dirge.

Desperate, many Lucanians turned to the Tino River, hoping to escape. Some were swept away by the swift current; others sank into the muddy marshes, their cries fading into silence.

Juleios, sensing the moment had come, raised his voice above the din. "Attack!"

The bronze horns sounded the charge. Exhausted but emboldened by the promise of victory, the Greek forces surged forward. Led by Juleios, Archita, Philisius, and others, they descended upon the enemy like lions upon prey.

The Lucanians, defenseless and demoralized, broke completely. Apart from a handful who surrendered, the rest were slaughtered or forced into the unforgiving river and marshes.

The Battle of the Great Riverbank—later immortalized as the Encirclement at the Hot Spring Marshes—concluded with a decisive Greek victory. Out of the 7,500 Greek soldiers, over 1,000 were lost, half of them slaves. Yet the Lucanians suffered catastrophic losses, their entire force annihilated, with fewer than 400 taken prisoner.

The battlefield was a harrowing sight—mountains of corpses, rivers of blood—a testament to the ferocity and sacrifice of that fateful day.

Cincinnatus, Grenatt, and the remnants of their forces fled with barely 200 survivors, watching helplessly as their camp burned to the ground. Meanwhile, Sedolum led the victorious Vigurans westward, their vengeance sated, their future uncertain.