The Last Aethel Winged Cavalryman

Yet what answered Leoni was the roar of steel behemoths, the trembling of the wasteland, and the flare of flame and billowing smoke bursting from cannon barrels. Boom! With a deafening crash, a direct shell struck right before Leoni and violently exploded. In an instant, blinding fire engulfed his vision. A fierce concussive blast erupted, and jagged shrapnel flew in all directions. Thanks to the magical shield automatically triggered by his armor, Leoni survived the blast, but the other winged cavalrymen were not so fortunate. Some lost limbs, others were scorched into blackened corpses, and some were even blown to pieces—yet Leoni could only watch helplessly, powerless to stop it. Leoni gripped his saber tight, a muffled growl rising from his throat. "We are Fadlanese..." In his memory, the Fadlan Empire of old had been so mighty and glorious. They had seized the lands of other races at will, hunted powerful dragons as quarry, and considered themselves natural conquerors of the world. —And the Aethel winged cavalry had been a proud part of that legacy, one of Holy Fadlan's storied legions. Yet what of now? The Sun God's radiance grew dimmer by the day, their power was slipping away, the three kingdoms were locked in endless strife, and the wretched realm from the north was even treating them as prey... Worst of all—he had nearly lost his confidence as a citizen of Fadlan, almost crushed by the sheer might of those steel beasts. To Leoni, that was an unforgivable failing! He was Fadlanese! Born of the mightiest empire across all of Feanso, a believer in the eternal sun, loyal to the great and immortal Emperor! They should never fear. They should never yield. They should forever follow the light of the sun! "Huff, huff..." Explosions thundered around his ears one after another, his memories blurring. Leoni's eyes gradually turned bloodshot, his breath ragged and rapid. He raised his saber high, veins bulging across the back of his hand. "We are noble Fadlanese! We will never bow to vile barbarians! "Aethel winged cavalry—charge with me!" At that moment, not even the roar of artillery and the howling of engines could drown out his desperate, full-throated cry. Leoni spurred his white steed forward, leaning over its neck. The broad metal wings upon his back unfurled, the wind shrieking through the slats with a piercing whine. The magical runes etched across the wings began to gleam, radiating a sun-like brilliance that lifted him off the ground. The warhorse galloped furiously, its hooves suspended several feet in the air. In that instant, Leoni charged through the air at terrifying speed like a true scion of godblood, trailing an arc of light behind him—this was what the winged cavalry was meant to be! Brandishing his saber, Leoni roared, "Holy Fadlan is immortal! Offer your hearts to Fadlan!" The hundreds of surviving cavalrymen fixed their eyes upon Leoni. Deftly evading the barrage of shells, they converged toward his side. "It's Lord Leoni!" "We are the Aethel winged cavalry!" "By Amaunator above, the Holy Fadlan Empire is eternal!" Amidst the chaos, the battle cries of the Aethel winged cavalry rose one after another, brimming with fierce fervor. Life and death no longer mattered. These zealous horsemen wanted only to launch an awe-inspiring charge just as they once had, to die on the battlefield like true warriors, offering everything to the "Fadlan" etched into their souls. "Long live Fadlan!" The winged cavalrymen formed a dense double-rank line, knee to knee. Their consummate horsemanship allowed them to gallop in tight formation, while their long lances ensured they would impale their foes before anything could touch them. The magical runes on their armor resonated with one another, their glows intertwining until a vast, thick barrier formed before the advancing line, surging forward at breakneck speed. Swish— The wings on their backs let out a piercing shriek, blasting out powerful thrusting currents that granted the winged cavalry even greater speed and power. The thudding of hooves was steady and heavy. The winged cavalry rode in grim silence; even when comrades were tossed aside by blasts, those behind immediately closed ranks to fill the gaps. Now only a hundred meters separated them from those iron monstrosities. Billowing smoke rushed against their faces, stinging their eyes. "For Holy Fadlan!" The cavalrymen summoned every ounce of courage, shouting with all their might. The wings upon their backs snapped fully open with a shuddering scream. Hooves drummed against the turf like thunderous mallets in a frantic cadence. Such immense momentum and blistering speed had always dealt devastating ruin to their enemies; neither humans, orcs, nor giants had ever been able to stand before it. It was through charges like this that the Aethel cavalry had once swept across the continent, invincible. Tragically, their foe today was made of neither flesh nor blood, but beasts of cast iron—the Empire's most advanced warmachines, the tanks. Under the roar of the iron behemoths, the whistling of artillery, and the howling of engines, every other sound was effortlessly swallowed whole. Even the earth seemed to weep. The winged cavalrymen felt deafened, a constant ringing in their ears that drowned out even the rushing wind. Leoni gripped his saber, his heart pounding violently, his breaths growing shorter and sharper. For a fleeting second, he felt as if he had been transported back to that afternoon thirty years ago. He had been young and full of vigor then, and during a charge just like this one, they had slaughtered the last orcs of Aethel like swine. Would it be the same today? We will win. We will surely win. We are... Fadlanese, Leoni repeated to himself over and over. One hundred meters. Leoni thrust his saber forward, eyes wide with fury as he unleashed a thunderous war cry. Fifty meters. Yet through the shroud of smoke, the looming, mountain-like silhouettes swelled rapidly before their eyes, finally bursting through the haze and bearing down upon them. At this moment, the Cinder Empire's armored torrent collided head-on with the once-unbeatable charge of the Aethel cavalry, like a tsunami crashing against the shore. Boom— A violent shockwave swept outward. The winged cavalrymen leveled their long lances and thrust forward with all their might, seeking to land a mortal blow upon the beasts. Yet even strikes driven by the kinetic fury of a full charge could only barely pierce the heavy armor plating, entirely unable to reach the core of the iron behemoths. Lances snapped, splinters flying everywhere. Amidst the roar of the steel beasts, horse and rider alike were dragged under the treads, crushed into bloody pulp alongside choked screams. Neither the wings at their backs, the masterwork armor encasing their bodies, nor their formidable physical might mattered in the slightest before the crushing momentum of the armored column. This once-invincible winged cavalry shattered like fragile glass dolls upon impact. "No—!" Leoni's face twisted in agony, tearing a tragic, grief-stricken roar from his throat. He watched helplessly as the winged cavalry—the vessel of all his cherished dreams of Fadlan—was crushed beneath the iron torrent. It felt as though his own heart had been run over by those treads, ground into jagged, despairing fragments. The enduring vision of the Holy City in his soul teetered, on the verge of being reduced to rubble by the dragon. Like a madman, Leoni screamed, "Fadlan will never fall—!" Shouting, like a knight charging at windmills, he poured every drop of strength into swinging his saber at the seemingly invincible iron monster before him. "Never!" Shring— A golden arc of blade light soared into the sky, violent winds sweeping across the ground as though space itself had been cleaved apart. Under this all-out strike from a Fadlanese extraordinary fighter, the tank's armor was sliced open with ease. The hull behind it was cleaved cleanly in two, ripping open a massive chasm! The cross-section was neat and impossibly smooth, exposing the dragonblood goblin driver cowering within. "Damned human!" The goblin shrieked shrilly. Curled into the corner of the cockpit, one hand clutching a handrail, he pulled a pistol with the other and fired wildly at Leoni. The instant Leoni saw the goblin, an uncontrollable fury erupted within him like a detonating volcano. A goblin! The one who had crushed his army, who had shattered his final hope, was a creature the Aethel winged cavalry had always regarded as mere vermin! This was an utter humiliation! An insult to Fadlan itself! The goblin squeezed the trigger relentlessly, still screaming, "Die, cowardly southerner! Long live His Majesty Cassius!" Yet the winged cavalryman did not fall as the goblin expected. Instead, braving the bullets, he lunged forward, swinging his saber in a frenzy to cleave the puny, arrogant goblin in two. Leoni vaulted onto the roof of the ruined tank, raising his saber high. "Warriors! These things are not invincible! They're nothing more than hollow iron shells!" Yet as he looked around, nothing remained except smoke drifting across the field, mangled corpses mingled with shards of armor and ground into paste, pools of blood everywhere, and two deep ruts carved by the treads. There was no one left to hear Leoni's call. A few winged cavalrymen had managed to slip through the gaps between the tanks, but having watched their comrades slaughtered, their faith had collapsed. Stripped of all will to fight, they fled blindly upon their mounts. Leoni cried out, "Have you forgotten our past glory? We are Fadlan's—" Boom! A massive explosion nearly blew him off his feet, blasting the wreckage of the tank into jagged pieces. Leoni looked up to see wyverns sweeping across the sky once more. Several bombs whistled downward, mopping up the remaining cavalrymen and tearing the ground into a cratered wasteland. "Come on, kill me! Decades ago, you would have broken before me!" In the distance, the steam tanks turned, advancing in a loose encirclement like a pack of vicious wolves hunting winged cavalry across the plains. A dozen steam tank barrels swiveled toward Leoni, their dark muzzles suddenly spewing tongues of flame. Boom! Boom! Boom! A dense, relentless barrage struck in succession, nearly turning the topsoil inside out as dust and rock shot into the air. Relying on his superb horsemanship, Leoni darted through the smoke, narrowly dodging explosion after explosion. Before long, however, the warhorse beneath him let out a feeble whinny and collapsed to its knees. Its once-sleek coat was caked in dust and scarred with wounds; peppered with jagged shrapnel, its blood had nearly run dry. The mount that had accompanied Leoni for decades had died just like that. Yet Leoni had no time for grief. Clutching his saber, he leaped from the saddle and charged alone toward the tank formation. The next instant, with a thunderous crash, several artillery shells slammed into the spot where he had stood. The horse's corpse blew apart, charred flesh scattering in all directions. "Kill him!" "This human is strong! He took down a tank—stay alert, everyone!" The drivers communicated through transmitters. The steam tanks fanned out, closing in from multiple directions to form a wide semicircle. The machine gun turrets atop the tanks locked onto Leoni, their muzzles erupting in bursts of fierce flame. Clang, clang, clang— In a breath, a storm of lead poured over Leoni, scourging his body and battering his hardened armor with dent after dent. Yet Leoni pressed forward through the hail of fire and bullets, fearless and charging with near-mad abandon. "Concentrate fire!" "He's just one man! Don't hold back on the shells!" The tanks' firepower grew fiercer still, while wyverns swept low overhead. Artillery fire tore away nearly three feet of earth all around Leoni. The unending barrage gradually shattered his armor, and Leoni's powerful frame became coated in a charred crust embedded thick with shrapnel and bullets. Still, he did not stop. Swaying unsteadily, he pushed forward, somehow slipping past countless lethal strikes. Finally, he dragged himself to within forty meters of the steam tanks. With a trembling arm, he raised his saber, but no strength remained for another charge. He could only let the bullets tear into his ruined body. Clack— With the crisp clicking of interlocking gears, a turret slowly turned, its dark muzzle pointing straight at Leoni. Leoni looked up, a trace of despair showing in his eyes. At last, the count was forced to face the cruel reality. —The Holy Fadlan Empire he had served was already dead. And in the armies of the Cinder Empire, Leoni had seen the very pride, confidence, and overbearing might that had once belonged solely to Fadlan. "The old king is dead..." His lips twitched, wanting to say more, but terrifying flame had already consumed his vision. Boom! Another earth-shattering blast rang out. In an instant, the ground shuddered, and dust billowed to the heavens. The last Aethel winged cavalryman of Fadlan died just like that. And with the passage of time, this unit would fade entirely into the dust of history. *** On July 11, 1789 of the New Calendar, with almost no warning, the Cinder Empire declared war on the domain of North Aethel and launched a ferocious offensive. According to their declaration, North Aethel had committed the grave crime of "insulting the Cinder Emperor." Spearheaded by four armored divisions, three light armored divisions, and two air divisions, the Cinder Empire tore through the rudimentary defensive line formed by the duchy's eighty thousand troops across the western expanse of the North Aethel Plains like a hot knife through butter. Before they could even prepare—before word of the Cinder Empire's declaration of war had even reached them—they were overrun by the armored torrent that suddenly swept across the plains. The Empire's armored columns, air forces, and spellcaster corps formed a rapid deep-penetration spearhead, swiftly fracturing and encircling the antiquated, unwieldy armies of the old Fadlan Empire. Meanwhile, over a million players swarmed out like locusts, hunting down any hostile forces in their sights with near-fanatical zeal, their tracks covering every corner of the plains. Staggered by this string of disastrous reports, the remnants of Duke Walter's forces could only huddle trembling inside the major cities, waiting for outside relief. Now, countless people throughout the cities looked up to the sun, silently praying to Amaunator. Their sole remaining hope rested upon the man once known as the "Wings of Fadlan"—Walter Graham.