Chapter 197: The War Between the South and North 12

The fierce melee raged between General Tilly’s forces and Chris IV’s army. Initially favoring Tilly’s stratagem, the tide gradually shifted – the outcome becoming increasingly uncertain as the grueling confrontation unfolded.

Despite their dire straits, the indomitable Northern warriors fought with reckless disregard for their lives. Their commander, Chris IV himself, displayed astonishing valor – repeatedly rallying his scattered cavalry to counterattack Tilly’s ranks.

“Such insolent wretches!”

“Underestimate not the Northern warriors, Tilly! The sorceress Elsa shall claim your head this day!”

“I am Olaf, mightiest champion of the North! Think not to fell me so easily!”

As the clashes escalated, Tilly found himself the focus of concentrated challenges from the North’s renowned champions.

Though he overwhelmed each in turn, their relentless onslaughts gradually depleted his mystical reserves.

With every vicious exchange, casualties mounted exponentially on both sides. As staggering losses accrued, deepening trepidation gripped Tilly:

‘Preposterous…when outnumbered, the standard doctrine dictates demoralizing and scattering the foe. Yet these savages remain defiantly undaunted despite their deteriorating prospects…’

Despite being effectively encircled, Chris IV’s troops displayed no signs of faltering morale or attempted retreat – battling with undiminished ferocity.

Tilly understood the Northern warriors’ reputation for reveling in combat.

Yet he never fathomed them persisting with such fanatical zeal even as death’s shadow loomed.

Though retaining positional advantages, Tilly’s forces suffered unsustainable attrition whittling away at their numbers.

In several sectors, the Imperial ranks even buckled momentarily under the Northerners’ remorseless onslaught – the situation spiraling precipitously.

‘This bodes ill…should this slaughter continue, any victory shall prove pyrrhic at best. An utterly ruinous outcome amidst such inopportune circumstances – potentially graver than outright defeat.’

Despite this conflict’s significance, the Imperial forces under his command represented invaluable assets ill-afforded such catastrophic expenditure.

Even defeating Chris IV here, myriad other threats still menaced the Empire – Lorraine’s westward ambitions, Franconia’s ominous stirrings, not to mention the gravest perils of heretical Bohemia and its renegade League.

Yet here, against but one hostile contingent, Tilly found his troops hemorrhaging at an unsustainable rate – his furrowed brow betraying his deepening unease as the butcher’s bill mounted inexorably.

“General! Another charge incoming!”

“Dammit! Brace and repel them! Cut down that rebel dog, Chris IV!”

As Chris IV led another headlong cavalry thrust, Tilly struggled to counter despite his infantry’s numerical advantages – the Northern horse’s superiority taxing him grievously.

Beaten back with ever-mounting friendly casualties, Tilly found himself mired in a bloody stalemate he could ill afford.

Then:

“Uwwwaaaarrrghh!”

“All forces attack! Annihilate these Northern barbarians!”

“Gen…General, over there! Behold!”

“Oh…it cannot be…!”

Suddenly, shouts erupted from his troops’ flanks as a new contingent manifested.

For an instant, elation flickered across Tilly’s features as he recognized Wallenstein’s banners and reinforcements joining the fray.

Their timely arrival abruptly reversed the seesaw battle’s momentum in the Imperialists’ favor.

“General Tilly! We have come to your aid!”

“Wallenstein! I scarce dared hope for your intervention!”

Tilly had never viewed the upstart Wallenstein favorably – an unproven parvenu elevated to generalship solely through buying his commission with ill-gotten wealth.

To a lifelong professional soldier like Tilly, such blatant nepotism bred inherent disdain for the man.

Yet in this moment, Tilly felt nothing but profound gratitude toward his erstwhile underling.

“What of Mansfeld’s forces?”

“Fear not – those mercenary vermin pose no further threat. Only these barbarian dregs remain to be cleansed.”

Wallenstein’s declaration of Mansfeld’s defeat elicited surprise, but Tilly swiftly refocused upon the crisis at hand.

“Understood. Then lend me your strength – let us expunge these savage remnants from this field definitively.”

“At once, General!”

“Dammit, who are those reinforcements?! What has that imbecile Mansfeld been doing to allow the enemy’s arrival?!”

As the Imperial reinforcements appeared, Chris IV raged – their intervention constituted a potentially crippling setback despite his forces’ tenacious resistance.

“My lord! We cannot endure further! Remaining invites annihilation!”

“Their numbers outmatch us too severely! Continued battle proves impossible!”

“Kkhh…!”

While spearheading the fray through sheer Northern valor, even Chris IV recognized persisting depended upon retaining some prospects of victory.

A mere warrior could focus solely upon the foe before him.

However, Chris IV remained a sovereign overseeing his realm – mindful that his subjects would inherit any catastrophic losses here.

Too many responsibilities constrained him beyond personal glory or military expediency.

Thus, swallowing his bitter indignation, he found himself compelled toward an agonizing decision.

“…We withdraw. And ready our final stratagem to ensure our escape…”

“Un…understood, my lord…”

As his second-in-command relayed those grim instructions, Chris IV’s features contorted with anguished resignation – lowering his head despondently.

‘Originally intended as the coup de grâce…yet here I must deploy it merely to extricate us from oblivion. My grand ambitions…the dream of a Kingdom of Mark…all dissipating into ashen ruin…’

Wallenstein’s reinforcements shattered Chris IV’s faltering momentum, enabling the Imperialists to press their newfound initiative mercilessly.

“Crush the enemy forces!”

“Leave not one of these barbarian invaders breathing!”

With victory imminent, the Imperial commanders’ bellows echoed across the embattled killing grounds.

Chris IV’s beleaguered host appeared doomed to annihilation as the emboldened Imperialists closed their lethal vise.

As that rout unfolded, Wallenstein and Tilly’s minds turned toward the larger campaign’s prospective continuance:

‘Once vanquishing Chris IV here, we shall march northward without delay.’

‘This affords an opportune chance to decisively chasten those brazen Mark barbarians who have so vexed the Empire. Outright annexation may prove excessive, but they must be reminded of Imperial might regardless.’

Envisioning such ruthless “disciplinary” measures against their defiant foes, both generals prepared to deliver the coup de grâce.

Until:

-KWAKWAKWANGGG!!!-

“AAARRRGGGHHH!!!”

“…?!”

“What…what is this…?”

A sudden, deafening detonation erupted amidst horrific screams as their troops disintegrated…showering the battlefield with cascading showers of white shreds raining from every quarter.

Both commanders froze, their victorious jubilation congealing into stunned horror as grim realization dawned:

Their adversaries had yet to unleash their final, devastating stratagem…