Chapter 275: Chapter 274: When the Line Held
The yard fell into stunned silence. Some men straightened, surprised by his tone, while others exchanged uneasy glances.
Kairo cleared his throat, forcing his voice into calm, commanding edge. "If we go back now the village will be destroyed. We don’t have time to run for help. We stop them now."
"But..." one of the soldiers began, hesitation making his words small.
"If you won’t fight, then leave," Kairo barked. "Go back and tell them the rest of us are defending these people. I’ll see the job through myself if I must."
He spoke like a man daring fate, but inside his gut curled tight. He could feel the stare of others, the weight of proving himself. Still, pride and panic tangled together in his chest, and he pushed forward on that razor edge.
A few of the bolder men squared their shoulders and nodded. Others, unwilling or scared, melted away toward the road to report what they could.
From the shadows, two figures moved in silence, keeping pace with Kairo’s band.
"They’ll be wiped out," Skitz muttered, nose twitching faintly as if sniffing the air. His grin faded. "There’s a strong one among the Vikings. Faint aura buried deep. He’s hiding it on purpose."
Lumberling’s eyes narrowed as he followed Kairo’s hundred forming ranks against the tide ahead. "A Berserker Warden. His strength is at least Knight One Stage." He gave a slow nod. "If he takes the field, these men won’t last long."
Skitz glanced at him, brow arched. "So... do we help them?"
"Not yet," Lumberling said. His eyes tracked Kairo at the front, chest out. "Let’s watch. I have a feeling they might actually pull this off."
Skitz blinked, then let out a short laugh. "You’re joking, right? Besides the Berserker Warden they’re outnumbered four to one."
Lumberling didn’t answer.
Across the plain, the Viking column rumbled like a living beast, shields strapped tight, axes glinting under the sun.
"Sir!" A warrior rushed to the front, kneeling before a broad, scarred man whose chest looked as if it were carved from stone. "A force is approaching."
The leader frowned, turning his head. "The nobles spotted us? Then we fall back and strike elsewhere. No point wasting time here..."
The scout cut in quickly. "No, sir. I don’t it’s not a noble force. They barely a hundred men at most."
The bulky man’s lips peeled back into a wolfish grin. "Only a hundred?" He slammed his axe against his shield. "So, they’ve come to mock us. Are these fools seeking death?"
The men around him roared in agreement, axes and swords raised.
"Prepare the line," the Viking leader barked. "If they want to throw their lives away, we’ll gladly take them!"
The order rippled down the Viking ranks. Shields slammed together in perfect rhythm, axes lifted high, and four hundred throats roared as one. The earth itself seemed to tremble beneath their march.
Kairo’s men stiffened. Recruits flinched. Even some of the veterans swallowed hard, breath catching at the sight of the wall of steel and flesh bearing down on them. For a heartbeat, doubt threatened to splinter their line.
Then Kairo surged forward, sword raised high, his voice cracking through the chaos.
"Hold the line! Don’t let them push through!"
The words rang, biting into their fear. His men rallied, drawing in close, shields pressed edge to edge until they formed a bristling wall.
The Vikings crashed into them like a tide. Wood splintered, iron rang, and men shouted and screamed.
For every shield that buckled, Kairo was there, darting through the line, his blade flashing. Where an axeman raised his weapon high, Kairo’s strike came faster, cutting the man down before he could land the blow. Where the wall sagged, he threw himself into the breach, rallying the wavering.
Each swing of his sword bought another breath. Each defiant roar pushed his men back onto their feet. They fought not because they believed they could win, but because Kairo refused to let them fall.
And to everyone’s shock, the impossible happened. The line held.
Kairo’s fire became their fire, his defiance their strength. And for the first time since the advance began, hope flickered in their eyes.
Soldiers begun to smile, until a ripple of silence spread. Their heads turned. At the edge of the melee, and a group stepped forward.
They moved as one, their armor dark but etched with faint, glowing lines that pulsed like veins of fire.
A soldier’s voice cracked through the stillness. "Those markings..." His words faltered, terror catching in his throat.
Another whispered, "No... no, it can’t be. Gods help us... they’re Einherjar warriors."
The name passed through the ranks like a curse. Shields wavered, spears dipped. Even seasoned veterans shrank back, their courage fading away with every heartbeat.
The Blessed ones did not rush. They walked, deliberate and unhurried, like executioners approaching the condemned.
"Damn it," Kairo hissed under his breath.
The moment they entered the fray, men around him began falling. One soldier screamed as his shield splintered under a single strike. Another was lifted and thrown like a ragdoll. Kairo rushed to save them, cutting down one foe only to turn and see two more of his men cut apart.
He fought like a storm, but even a Knight couldn’t be everywhere at once.
From the shadows, Lumberling’s eyes tracked the glowing warriors. His tone was calm, but edged with decision.
"Let’s take out those warriors," he said, already moving.
Skitz blinked, tilting his head. "Wait, didn’t you just say we’d let them handle it? You even said they might win. Now you’re jumping in?"
Lumberling didn’t slow, his steps melting into the chaos. "They’re not fighting the same battle anymore. With those blessed ones, it’s not a fair match. Besides..." His gaze locked on Kairo, who was roaring orders, bloodied but unyielding. "I need to see how far that kid can go when the path clears."
Skitz scratched his cheek, muttering, "You’re a strange one, my Lord," before slipping into the dark after him.
What followed was silent slaughter.