Chapter 16: Faint from Severe Wounds

Draxel wielded his Germanic war sword atop his horse, slashing wildly in exhilarating abandon. His strokes–a sword to the left, a cut to the right–were simple and unadorned, yet they painted a ballet of battle, beautiful in its brutality.

The enemy’s blood diffused through the air, trailing crimson arcs behind the swing of his blade. At that moment, Draxel was a reaper, felling several Khergit lancers.

Screams rose and fell in the night air, making it seem as if Death himself would be working overtime tonight.

His dashing figure entranced Safiya, though the stubborn travel horse he rode did little to add to his heroic image. The poor beast, aged and weary, began to falter after a few strides, its head drooping dispiritedly.

“Brother Horse, what are you doing? This is a battlefield, you need to buck up,” Draxel pleaded.

But the travel horse was too exhausted to continue the charge. It rose on its hind legs, attempting to unseat Draxel.

[System Prompt: Your ‘Riding’ skill is at level 1. Your ability to control the horse is limited.]

As Draxel struggled with his mount, the remaining Khergit lancers found their opportunity. With lances poised, they launched a fierce assault. 

The Khergit’s rigid spears, masterfully forged by local blacksmiths, easily pierced the horse’s body, limbs, and neck. With a twist of their wrists, the organs inside the horse were brutally torn apart, causing severe bleeding.

These were fatal wounds beyond any hope of recovery. The horse soon collapsed into a pool of blood, motionless and lifeless.

[System Prompt: Lost item in the equipment slot — Stubborn Travel Horse.]

Draxel was violently thrown from the horse’s final agonized thrashing and heart-wrenching neigh. He tumbled gracelessly to the ground nearby.

“Long live Lord Noyan Tu Ltu!” cried the enemy soldiers in their excitement, inadvertently revealing their true allegiance.

As Draxel lay on the ground, momentarily unable to get up, several Khergit lancers surged forward, their spirits lifted. Shouting for their lord, they thrust their long spears mercilessly towards Draseil’s face.

‘To think that Noyan Tu Lu, known for his brutality and cold-bloodedness, commands such fiercely loyal men,’ Draxel thought, acknowledging and admiring the enemy’s unwavering obedience despite his disadvantageous position.

He rolled back quickly, pushing off the ground with his hands to spring into the air. In the blink of an eye, spears were upon him, and he couldn’t dodge them all. Several deep, gruesome gashes opened on his abdomen and legs, leaving him in a bloodied and nearly eviscerated state.

“Break the shield wall, protect Count Draxel! Hold on, Count, we’re coming for you,” shouted Owens, alarmed at the sight of his master’s grave injuries.

Leading four Swadian recruits and two Khergit tribesmen, Owens rushed to shield Draxel, forming a protective barrier in front of him.

As night began to fade, the temperature gradually rose, ushering in the warm light of dawn. This slight warmth only intensified Draxel’s discomfort. The previous cold numbed his pain, but now every wound throbbed with excruciating reality.

Collapsed on the ground, Draxel found himself unable to stand, an unfamiliar sensation of powerlessness overcoming him.

“I can’t stand up anymore, Owens, hand me the dragon egg. You must protect Safiya and the villagers at all costs. I… I…” His voice trailed off, heavy with the weight of his own helplessness.

Bleeding profusely, Draxel’s consciousness began to blur, slipping into unconsciousness. He only remembered that, in that moment, his vision slowly darkened, sounds faded from his ears. Right before he completely lost consciousness, he vaguely heard Owens crying out desperately, “Count! Count!”

Time seemed to blur. When he finally came to, a sliver of sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the rustic wooden room. Birds chirped cheerfully outside, fluttering their wings as if celebrating the arrival of the morning. Nomar Village basked in a peaceful, sunny day.

Lying there, swathed in bandages, was Draxel, with the dragon egg Lein resting safely on the pillow beside him.

“Damn it, what happened next?” he cursed, using profanity as a bizarre expression of gratitude for surviving against the odds.

At the sound of movement in the room, the keenly perceptive Safiya hurried in. 

“You’re awake! Thank goodness! Owens, Draxel is awake!”

Owens, hearing Safiya’s excited shout, also rushed to the room.

“Master, I knew you wouldn’t die. Long live Swadia, bound by our blood and our lives,” Owens exclaimed, his voice trembling with emotion.

Seeing the two about to burst into tears again, Draxel mustered what little strength he had and waved his hand. “Alright, alright, I’m not going anywhere soon. What happened after I passed out?”

Owens, composing himself, responded, “We fought fiercely, and with Safiya’s brave fighting, we managed to make three of the enemy flee.”

Draxeil smiled faintly, content and approving. “Good. Those three will carry the news to Nayan Tu Lu. Whether or not I died from my wounds, they won’t know, which works to our advantage. Owens, did we suffer any casualties?”

“Respected Count, aside from Safiya and myself, only one of the Khergit tribesmen survived,” Owens reported somberly.

The heavy loss was somewhat expected, but hearing it confirmed aloud still filled Draxeil’s heart with sorrow and reluctance. He closed his eyes, quietly asking the system for a situation update.

[After deducting recent expenses for the troop’s wages, food, and tavern consumption, you have 200 Denars remaining.]

[Last night’s battle increased your reputation by +20, bringing your current reputation to 100, with an honor value of 6.]

[You have 1 Swadian veteran soldier and 1 Khergit tribesman eligible for promotion.]

‘Promote them,’ he commanded in his mind.

[You’ve gained 1 Swadian Heavy Cavalry and 1 Khergit Horse Archer, leaving you with 50 Denars.]

Draxel was pleasantly surprised that the Khergit tribesman had advanced two ranks, providing Safiya with a companion for archery and battle. As for Owens, he too had gained a significant boost. He now had his own fine warhorse, donned in resplendent long chainmail paired with an iron flat-top cap, a genuine Swadian warrior’s sword at his waist, and a heavy knight’s lance on his back.

Owens, looking at his transformed self, was a bit dazed, not fully grasping how all these changes had come about.

“Don’t be nervous, Owens. This is my… my magic, yes, magic. Magic, you understand? That warhorse outside belongs to you too. Take good care of it, unlike me, haha.”

As Draxel recalled his late, stubborn steed, he couldn’t help but display a mix of wistfulness and irony.