Capítulo 103: A One-Sided Slaughter.
"I had to find out why the Pelican Guards were present that day."
"Few others would remember them and their fighting style, but not me."
"I had seen Lucius Aurellion's army fight, and it is just as powerful as the rumours say it is."
"But I would never forget the Pelican Guard."
"The men who killed my father."
Count Nidor Parge of Brineyard, a count in the Duchy of Detarnor.
….
On the chaotic battlefield, Ralston, whose horse had long been shot dead by the bandits, ran from one cart to the next, hiding from the bloody battlefield.
Ducking a sword its sharp blade narrowly missed Ralston's head, cutting off some of his light brown hair instead while his bright green eyes reflected gruesome sights of war, spears stabbed men and horses, the blood spitting out into the air until they fell to the dirt where they life-force ebbed away from them bit by bit blood gushing out of their wounds their wriggling on the floor until they turned cold and lifeless.
The rider, a bandit clad in mail, rounded his horse's back towards the merchant since the start of the battle. This bandit, who was actually an agent of the duke, ignored the mercenary guards who harvested the lives of his brothers in arms, for he had one mission that Duke Ridorfin had given him. One mission alone.
Kill the merchant Ralston Ryemire!
It took quite a bit of time to finally locate the merchant who had lost his horse and began skulking by the carts hiding behind them while everyone else's attention was locked on the mercenary guards and the excellent combat skill they showed, seeming able to take on multiple enemies at once.
Their spears seemed to shoot out relentlessly in some kind of sync, each spear stabbing and removing an enemy from the battlefield as only the most skilled bandits or mercenaries could survive their onslaught of attacks.
As the bandit rode back, an evil smirk appeared on his face as he swung his sword down at the merchant. There was no escape this time, no space to dodge, not that the shaking merchant could do much but cower for his life, hoping to be unseen.
But just as the steel was about to slice through the merchant's body, separating it in two, a spear thundered through the air and, like a flash of lightning, hit this agent of the duke centre mass, sending him flying to the floor and spitting up blood for a few seconds before taking his last breath and dying as red blood flowed out of his body in a small stream.
Ralston looked up to see the mercenary captain Sigismond giving a relaxed salute, his hand empty of any weapon as he galivanted around the battlefield like it was his natural habitat, casually drawing out his wickedly sharp sword as if the chaos that transpired around them had nothing to do with him whatsoever.
"Thank god I stayed around, young master!"
Sigismond said to the 25-year-old merchant even though he was only around a decade older than the merchant and Ralston was already considered an experienced adult by medieval standards but compared to Sigismond, who had spent every day since he was 16 in the army or on the battlefield, this merchant was nothing more than a young pup who did not know the vastness of the world.
Ralston had acted like many others do when they first entered the unforgiving crucible of war, as Sigismond could smell the fear that emitted from his shaking body like that of a raw conscript before his first battle.
Ralston had not seen the fall of a kingdom, the pillaging, reaving, and death that followed, for this was not a world of morals and international law. Here in this world, only one thing mattered….
Power.
For all laws in the world are enforced by this.
Good and evil, new or old, all laws are enforced by power, by force, for if someone steals or murders, you do not ask the criminal whether they wish to hang or go to jail.
Justice was only useful if it could gather men willing to die for your cause; otherwise, it would be a shackle that held you back enough for the shameless to strike you down.
Because the losers of this world have no rights, no voice and can only accept others deciding their fates.
They could be enslaved, beaten, murdered, disappeared and killed because it has nothing to do with the world or affect the interests of the powerful too much anymore. The world will look on….
And watch.
They will watch as people's rights are slowly ripped away from them piece by piece, doing nothing while crying genocide or immoral conduct, but in the end, these righteous speakers and words will do nothing to stop these atrocious acts from occurring.
They will watch while people are slaughtered and their culture is burned away to ash.
Because they can do nothing.
Because of their morals and wish for peace demand it.
When someone does something outrageous, all they need is to ask one question, and all the scholars will fall silent, unwilling to go into the crucible of conflict to fight for the beliefs that they so righteously spout.
"What the fuck are you going to do about it?"
Just that question alone will silence those scholars as they are stuck in a moral dilemma.
"What the fuck are you going to do about it?"
Will those people who sit comfortably in their ivory towers come down to fight and die for others who are struggling in the mud only out of conviction for their morals or political beliefs?
Will they dare intervene and go to war against another country because of their beliefs? And force them on others who may not want them.
Or watch as human rights are abused. People suffer all because they are unwilling to take action.
What will they choose?
Imperialism and the enforcement of their moral beliefs and human rights worldwide and, in the process, the enforcing of their more tolerant culture and moral values on others who do not want them.
Or passive indignation and hypocrisy, showing that they do not care enough about the rights of others to fight and die for them and watch these immoral acts continue.
Because unless you do something about atrocities, they will not stop.
This is the unfortunate reality of the world that few people will ever talk about.
Just like how the atrocities of certain nobility lead to an uprising that eventually overthrows them, joining the names of countless other tyrants that make a long list of failed rulers killed by their own people.
Because If someone is willing to use a gun to kill all in his way with no one to stand up and stop him, then that man's word becomes law no matter what that might entail because all his opponents would be shot dead one by one until only those who obey him are left.
While the other Pelican Guards gathered together and fought as one, reaping life after life from their terrified enemies, Sigsmond focused on protecting someone essential to getting the rest of the gold they so desperately desired.
Sigismond, himself a master fighter, was not afraid as he alone could likely kill all these men here, though he would have to sweat a bit as even the most skilled fighters in the world needed to sleep and eat, and exhaustion affects just as much as everyone else and a sword will kill a grandmaster just as it does a peasant.
A mercenary, thinking that he could change the tide of battle by killing Sigismond, charged from behind only for the mercenary captain's body to shift right, dodging the man's strike as the sword in his hand bisected the brave man, his two halves falling to the ground as his eyes widened in surprise at the strike that seemed to appear out of nowhere fear etched on his face as he died.
Those who saw him would think that he was killed by a terrible monster, not a man.
Sigsmond looked around, watching as his men cleaned up The Red Blades and Duke Ridofins bandits with an apathetic expression.
As if this was normal.
As if this was expected and the only possible outcome of this battle.
As if their lives were worth less than the grass crushed beneath his horse's iron-shod hooves.
How did it become normal for 400 men to be killed by 150 men? Not to mention that Ralston recognised some of the Red Blades as veterans who had been fighting as mercenaries for years get cut down like the bandits did. As if there was no difference between them in the eyes of Sigismond and his men, and even the man himself just calmly looked at the battlefield, and his men became grim reapers, bringing death to all no matter their status or skill none could stand before them dying under their iron hooves.
'Just who the fuck are these people?'
'Was Lucius Aurellion's army so powerful?'
'How the hell did Ranier Lantier even defeat such powerful troops?'
Ralston thought as he watched the men of Sigsmond security service slaughter bandits and mercenaries. Even Lucian had worked with two other Pelican Guards to capture Captain Packard, pinning his shoulders with their spears while Lucian brought out a rope to tie him up as the other Pelican Guards protected them. The mercenaries and bandits, seeing their friends and brothers-in-arms get butchered, felt terror overcome them and began to run away, causing a rout.
Those with horses still were the only ones to get away as everyone else, even those who went straight for the plunder, ignoring the caravan guards, trying to get what little they could, were ruthlessly killed by the Pelican Guard as they tried to escape with their ill-gotten gain. While others threw down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender, this little battle finished in only 10 minutes from when the attack started until the retreat of the bandits and duke's agents began each scrambling to escape from the monsters who they had dared to provoke.
The soldiers of Sigismond Security Service let out a mighty cheer at their victory, for at the cost of only 10 men, killed mainly by the leaders of these two bands of outlaws, 350 enemies had been sent to the underworld, a testament to their great skill at battle and ability to co-operate with each other.
….
Wilson looked at the battlefield with shock in his eyes. He was a mercenary and master fighter hired by the duke to keep the Count of Brineyard in check, ensuring that he could not make a move to help out the caravan but did not expect the attack to fail so miserably watching the once feared bandits and mercenaries die like flies to this new mysterious mercenary security service. Even the veterans stood no chance against them, dying like the rest of the newer recruits under the sword of these gods of death.
'These guys are not like regular soldiers at all, as even regular soldiers would struggle to fight against such numbers of men, not to mention the 100-odd expert fighters Packard brought that seemed to be inferior to these men, making it feel like they were fighting royal guards, not mercenaries, with only a few getting killed before being cut apart by the dead men's angry comrades!'
Wilson thought to himself, feeling cold sweat appear on the back of his neck not daring to make a move as he knew the Count of Brineyard was close but, like him, decided not to intervene as facing these strong soldiers and a peak-level master was more than he could handle and definitely was not being paid enough to take down master fighter and 150 royal knight level opponents.
Even if the duke had the money, Wilson would not dare take such a contract as he did not have the skill to pull it off.
Seeing the obvious outcome of the small, short battle, he decided to slip away while he could with only one thing on his mind and disappeared into the shadowy recesses of the forest. Only a grandmaster would be able to find him, but none were around, so he retreated safely, not having drawn his two short swords once.
'Even if I didn't do my job, I should tell my employer about the strength of these people.'
The halfling thought, slipping into the darkness.
….
Also watching the fight was the Count of Brineyard, but unlike Wilson, who did not recognise the fighting style of the men, the Count's eyes turned serious as he seemed deep in thought. His eyes seemed to reflect his thoughts of that fateful night where steel clashed and men died, where the unrelenting troops of House Aurellion slaughtered all in their path.
In an instant, he was taken back eight years ago when the gold pelican banner flew proudly on the battlefield, and the Nathians struggled to hold onto their formidable fortress.
When the grandmaster strategist and great general of the empire, Railius Aurellion, was attacking Nartook fortress.
The siege lasted for well over a year, each side taking tremendous casualties as hundreds of thousands of corpses were buried beneath the dirt of the fortress, and the ancient stone walls collapsed under relentless bombardment.
The Count remembered the Pelican Guards.
Those fanatical bodyguards of the general led a slaughter wherever they went, skillfully killing all in their path. The multiethnic nobleman would never forget that demonic troop fighting style as he burned the view of his men dying, covering for his escape into his very eyes.
That was the day his father died defending Nathis's last northern fortress from the empire, fighting to his last so his son could survive.
With great bravery and strength, he stood alone, surrounded by Chavarain dead; one of his wings, half chopped off, spewed out blood like a river, his steel armour turning crimson. The double-bladed battleaxe in his arms was dripping with Chavarian blood, its blade completely covered in the red metallic-tasting liquid as he was shot and stabbed to death, and with a last mighty roar and swing, nearly took the life of Lucius Aurellion himself.
Those men, the way they wielded their spears, their formations, their demonic strength in battle, tacit cooperation and bravery.
Their unshakable moral as they fought calmly against the odds.
He had only seen it in one other place apart from here.
On that fateful battlefield eight years ago, where, despite having the advantage, the Chavarains mysteriously retreated, and they only recently learnt why.
The Chavarian's best general at the time. The successor to Drusus Dardinius, on the edge of taking Nartook Fortress and opening up the way into the heart of Nathia, was forced to retreat.
Because of corrupt and jealous Chavarian nobles who cut off his supplies.
But one thing only crossed the Count's mind.
'What are the Pelican Guards doing here!?'
For this was no bloody battle as the count had expected it to be….
But a one-sided slaughter.
Where gods of death stalked the land, killing any man they wanted.
REFLEXIONES DE LOS CREADORES 
LaziestDragon
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