The cannons did not stop roaring.
The ground shook beneath the soldiers' feet, and the sky rained iron and fire upon them. Cannonballs tore through the ranks like a tornado tearing through straw huts. A soldier would run beside his comrade, and suddenly there was no comrade anymore. Only a red stain where he had stood.
Volkan shouted his orders, but his voice was lost amid the thunder of explosions and the screams of the wounded.
"Advance! Advance! Do not retreat!"
But the soldiers no longer heard. They only heard the sound of death.
The first rank vanished completely. The second rank tried to advance, and it too vanished. The third rank stopped. The soldiers began running backward. Horses threw their riders and trampled anyone in their path.
Volkan looked around. He saw the bodies of his n scattered. He saw blood flowing in streams. He saw the sky thick with black smoke. He knew the battle was over before it had begun.
But he could not retreat. The king would kill him.
"Hold your ground! Hold your ground!"
But there was no one left to hold.
Suddenly, the cannons stopped.
Terrifying silence.
The soldiers did not understand why they had stopped. They thought the revolutionaries had run out of ammunition. So began to raise their heads. So began to take a step forward.
Then they saw him.
Kuma.
He stood in the middle of the battlefield like an immovable mountain. His height approached seven ters, his body a mass of rock and muscle. He walked slowly, but his footsteps shook the ground.
The soldiers looked at him. So opened their mouths. So dropped their weapons. So began running in the opposite direction.
"What is that?!" one of them shouted.
"He's a demon!" shouted another.
Volkan ordered his n to fire. They fired heavy volleys. Bullets flew toward Kuma like rain.
But he did not stop.
The bullets hit his body and ricocheted off like pebbles. So pierced his clothes, but they did not penetrate his skin. His body was like rock, like iron.
"Fire! Fire!" Volkan shouted, his voice hoarse.
They fired again. And again. But the result was the sa.
Kuma continued advancing.
When he reached the first rank of soldiers, he raised his hands.
And he pushed.
It was not a punch. It was a wave of supernatural force. Soldiers flew through the air like torn dolls. They crashed to the ground, their bones shattered, and they stopped moving.
Then he advanced further. And pushed again.
He was like a human hurricane. Every ti he advanced, soldiers fell. Every ti he raised his hand, bodies flew. He needed no weapon. His body was the weapon.
Kuma alone was enough to turn the battle into a massacre.
And after Kuma, thousands of ard revolutionaries surged forward and engaged the soldiers.
---
While Kuma was tearing through the front ranks, Marco was striking from behind.
He had snuck with his fast group around the left flank and waited until the royal army was bogged down in combat. Then he pounced.
He had no cannons. No firearms. Only his fists. His body. His rage.
He pounced on the soldiers like a thunderbolt. His fist shattered their faces before they could see his face. His kicks sent their bodies flying through the air. He moved with trendous speed, striking here and there, felling soldier after soldier.
"Where did he co from?!" one of the officers shouted.
There was no answer.
Marco was everywhere.
He searched for Volkan. He did not find him at the front. Volkan had retreated to the rear, trying to reorganize his army. But Marco saw him.
He ran toward him. Soldiers tried to stop him. They all fell.
Marco reached Volkan.
The latter looked at him with terrified eyes. He knew this was his end.
"Surrender! I will give you—"
He did not finish.
Marco's fist smashed into his face like a thunderbolt. His cheekbones shattered. His teeth flew. He fell to the ground like a log. He did not move.
Marco looked at his body for a second. Then he turned away to finish the rest of the soldiers.
---
When the soldiers saw that their commander was dead, that Kuma could not be stopped, and that Marco was slaughtering them from behind, their morale collapsed completely.
So threw down their weapons. Others knelt on the ground, raising their hands. So ran toward the nearby forests, trying to escape.
The revolutionaries were shouting. Chanting. Crying with joy.
"We have won!"
"Victory is ours!"
"Long live the revolution! Long live a free Sorbet!"
Pablo, in his distant headquarters, listened to the reports via the communication device. His face was calm, but his heart beat fast.
"How many casualties?" he asked.
"About three hundred dead. Two hundred wounded," one of the n answered.
"And the royal losses?"
"We killed about seven hundred. Captured a thousand. The rest fled. Volkan was killed by Marco."
Pablo paused for a mont.
"Well done. Begin gathering the prisoners. Separate the officers from the common soldiers."
"It will be done."
Pablo hung up.
He looked at Jinny, who was standing beside him, listening to everything. Her eyes were gleaming.
"The battle is over," he said.
"It is over," she replied.
Another silence.
Then Pablo said:
"This is the beginning of the end for King Bekori."
---
On the battlefield, the scene was terrifying.
Bodies were scattered everywhere. Blood covered the dirt. The sll was foul: gunpowder, blood, and fear.
The captured soldiers sat in circles, guarded by the revolutionaries. Their faces were pale, their eyes empty. They knew their lives had changed forever.
Kuma walked among the revolutionaries, treating them with his ability. He was thinking. About the soldiers he had killed. About the poor he had saved. But a smile of victory did not leave him.
Marco sat on a rock, wiping the blood from his fists. He was tired, but he was satisfied. He had accomplished his mission.
The battle was over.
But the war was not over yet.
The north was still in the king's grip.
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