Herald of Steel

As the Metztil joined the battle, from atop his horse, Alexander placed his gaze on the large man situated some distance away.

And the young pasha would have to admit, watching the very eye catching chief fight was a marvel to behold, and he felt great appreciation at how Metztil was able to tear through every Margraves soldier that dared to get in his way like a bear tore off meat from his prey.

The tribal chief had a very unique way of fighting.

In line with this disdain for Alexander's defensive tactics, this man at least not only talked the talk but also walked the walk.

He wielded no shield, but forego all defenses in favor of pure, raw offense in the form of a pristine giant double bladed two handed steel ax, a blade that Alexander's keen eyes noticed to have been undoubtedly made in his own workshop in Zanzan.

The high quality blade had a certain sheen to it that other steels of this time simply did not have, making Alexander guess this was likely smuggled to the Helvati leader through the black market.

But Alexander would have to concede, this blade suited Metztil like perhaps no one else- his face scarred with strips of war paint, his giant statue and his ferocious nature perfectly complementing the weapon.

Alexander thought the man fit the perfect stereotype that was conjured whenever the word 'barbarian' was uttered.

And true to that word, the valiant chief also fought like that- one feral like beast than the much more disciplined and orderly nature of the legionaries.

Wielding the frightening sword, he swung, trusted, and smashed the heavy weapon that must have weighed at least 10 to 15 pounds like it was nothing like it was an agile sword.

But anyone who laid their eyes even once upon the muscular man would never dare to underestimate the danger he and his mammoth weapon posed.

This was no mere prop.

Very much to the contrary, the 'heaviness' and the speed of ease with which Metztil moved this 'heaviness around' was enough to shockwaves deep into the hearts of every man around the vicinity.

And for those close enough to hear that whizzing noise the deadly blade made as it sliced through the air, it made all the hairs on their skin stand up with goosebumps.

And their heart nearly jumped out of their chest each time it smashed against their shields, the strike being so hard that it seemed to cause a small boom every time.

Any soldier caught off guard by Metztil's attack would have his armor, flesh and bone all at once cleaved through like butter, dying on the spot, and even those that managed to defend against the hit would not be left in a much better position.

They would find their hands going numb after only a few hits and some unlucky ones who were unable to parry the strike well enough even had their bone broken just from the sheer impact.

Metztil had even managed to tear through and destroy three shields through sheer muscle power, this trusty ax of his taking the life of the equipment and his wielder.

"Hah hah, paying 100,000 koptaks for 'Sexy whore' was worth every darn coin! I should not have killed that rat later!" The chief, overcome with battlelust, roared out such vulgarities into the wind as he tested out his new weapon, whose nickname was.. 'that'- quite imaginative you would have to agree.

And in the process, he inadvertently even revealed some hidden secret.

The requisition of the weapon was just as Alexander had suspected.

Some time ago, Alexander had sent a batch of weapons grade steel to the Margraves for a weapons order that his own capacity was having trouble filling.

This weapons grade steel was different from the typical export variety as it was refined further in the Bessemer process with additional elements rather than being only manufactured in the blast furnace.

It was during this time that one of the Margraves merchants had managed to smuggle some of it to a secret blacksmith and then have him produce this masterpiece.

It was then sold to Metztil for about 10,000 ropals, the medium of exchange being of course 'koptak'- which was a bronze based currency the Helvati used.

It was just too bad that the same merchant would only a few weeks later get caught in Metztil's witch hunt to stop outside traders and then promptly get executed to make a point.

Anyway, there was little point in crying over spilled milk now and the chief quickly forgot his regret as he brought back his focus to the current situation.

The job at hand was to cleave through the enemy and once he put in mind to it, he began to produce results that were astounding by every measurable metric, having by now already raked up as many as ten men killed.

'

While Alexander was certainly impressed by the tribal chief's prowess, at the end of the day there was only so much a single man could do.

And there was certainly no way he could turn the tides by killing and fighting with that small entourage.

Eventually, he was going to get tired, then surrounded and finally killed.

"Metztil dying might not be too bad. At least someone smarter will replace him!'

Alexander for a second could not help but feel he was okay with it.

After seeing the valiant chief's performance, he felt that it might be best for Metztil to die here, on the battlefield.

It would suit the simple, bellicose man to the tee.

It was very apparent that Alexander was more than a little peeved at the unfolding chaos occurring right in front of him, where the frontlines risked imminent total collapse,

And for this, he blamed the tribal chief in no small part- mainly for his refusal to heed the warnings.

Hence he hoped that perhaps with Metztil gone, a far more competent or at least a much more politically malleable figure would take his seat.

But of course this was just a momentary flash of thought, not something Alexander seriously ruminated.

He had no real desire to see the Helvati get into any kind of political turmoil until the deal got passed through.

Thus with a resigned sigh, he let the rather eager Remus take charge of the reinforcements and go rescue the 'drowning' men.

The addition of a thousand fresh shock cavalry quickly proved decisive as the tide rapidly tilted against Lord Bernard.

Against such an agile enemy who could dart in and out of range, throwing arrows, and javelins and launching cavalry charges from all sides, there was really no way for the much less mobile infantry formation to win.

Not to mention the rear guard was already quite scattered due to them hounding and chasing the Helvati.

Remus the daredevil was thus able to even ride in between the gaps of Lord Bernard's units and outflank them, while the lightly armored and equipped Margraves could only hunker down and get peppered with missiles from sides.

Twice, they were even smashed by a good cavalry charge, almost snapping their lines in half.

"Surrender! And you will live!"

Then, after running circles around the enemy for a while, Remus produced this ultimatum, asking the Margraves to raise their spear high up into the sky instead of pointing it horizontally should they agree.

The beaten and bruised Margraves formation, finding themselves being surrounded on all sides by the agile cavalry, also had no qualms in immediately complying, with the order coming directly from Lord Bernard himself,

"Surrender men! Surrender to Alexander! We have done our best."

Given who was making the offer, the man who had already written himself as dead desperately tried to grasp this chance.

That bright blue uniform had never been so attractive to him.

Remus and his men thus quickly got busy themselves disarming and breaking the Margraves units into smaller, much more manageable chunks of war prisoners, while the tattered remnants of the Helvati formation tried as best as they could get themselves back together.

But given the sluggish and dejected way they walked and gathered themselves, it was apparent these men had suffered a grave trauma.

And who could really blame them?

They had gone from having victory right on the tips of their finger to being nearly defeated.

Thousands of their brothers lay scattered on the ground, dead or dying, beside which many could be seen kneeling down and weeping over their loss.

And perhaps the greatest tragedy was all this could have been avoided if they had not just let their own greed consume them.

But if you thought they learned from their grave mistakes and improved themselves, well then you would be dead wrong!

If these natives were such malleable people, they would not be in the abyss they were in in the first place.

They were in reality rather intractable, and perhaps the greatest evidence of this could be seen in the following words uttered by Metztil just as he met Alexander afterward,

"Lord Alexander, why did it take so long for you to rescue us? Why did you let so many of my men die!"

There was no thank you, no remorse for his own incompetent command, and certainly no self reflection.

Only shifting the blame.

"....." Alexander had to try very hard not to blow up.

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