Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 269: Night Attack(2)

Chapter 269: Night Attack(2)

"Give them no mercy!" Egil roared, his voice a booming command that fueled the frenzy of his men. He charged forward, his axe raised high, catching the desperate thrust of a spear with a deft twist of his wrist. The soldier holding it, trembling and half-naked, barely had time to react before Egil's weapon came down in a savage arc, biting deep into his shoulder. The impact severed flesh and bone, sending the man collapsing to the ground with a strangled cry, his spear clattering uselessly beside him.

Egil didn't pause, yanking his axe free with a sickening squelch as blood sprayed across his face and armor. Another soldier rushed at him, clutching at a short sword, his eyes wild with desperation. Egil spurred his horse to meet the man head-on. The blade came swinging toward him, but Egil deflecting it , avoiding the blow with the ease of a predator toying with prey. He swung his axe horizontally, its blade catching the man at the side stomach, and cleaving through his ribs and onto whatever was behind them.

Nearby, a pair of riders pursued a man who run between the burning tents. One soldier lunged with his spear, skewering the runner through the back, the tip of the weapon bursting through his chest. The soldier twisted the spear savagely before pulling it free, letting the man drop like a broken puppet. Another rider dismounted, driving his sword through the throat of a man who had been trying to crawl away, gurgling as blood pooled beneath him.

Egil wheeled his horse around, scanning the chaos. A small group of enemy soldiers had managed to gather, their weapons raised as they tried to form a shaky line of defense. Egil sneered at their pitiful display of resistance, before calling some of his men to his side.

Their horses surging forward in unison as they charged toward the trembling line of infantry attempting to form a defensive wall. The soldiers braced themselves, spears angled outward, desperately trying to maintain their formation. But if they believed they were preparing for a direct clash, they had gravely miscalculated.

As Egil's riders closed the distance, they suddenly reined in their horses, halting just outside the range of the spears. With practiced precision, the riders unslung their javelins. A chorus of sharp whistles cut through the air as the deadly projectiles hurtled toward the enemy line. The impact was devastating—men screamed as javelins pierced torsos, arms, and legs. Some crumpled to the ground, clutching at the shafts impaling their bodies, while others fell silent, lifeless before they hit the dirt.