Herald of Steel

Chapter 1290: Taking Captive

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.

"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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