The usual boring plains was this day alive with activity, officers barking orders as their soldiers scrambled into formation. Crisp commands echoed in the cold morning air, blending with the neighing of restless horses and the clatter of armor. Under the watchful eyes of their leaders, imperial archers took position at the front, their quivers bristling with arrows, while disciplined ranks of infantry lined up behind them. At the rear, the cavalry waited in silent readiness, their armored steeds stamping the ground in anticipation.
Mavius rode along the lines, taking in the sight of his army. Though nearly outnumbered two to one, they stood firm and disciplined, their polished armor gleaming in the early light. His force numbered 2,000 infantry, 600 archers, and 250 cataphractarii.
Across the field, the enemy positioned himself. Of the original 6,500 tribesn, 5,300 remained—still a daunting horde, their ranks a wild mass of uncoordinated warriors. They spread across the land in a loose, sprawling formation, their lack of discipline glaringly apparent. Without any discernible order or command, they were simply an overwhelming tide of bodies, each man ard with whatever he could find.
Mavius observed them closely. His scouts had confird that the raiders possessed neither archers nor cavalry, which left them at a critical disadvantage. Mobility and ranged attacks would be key, and the imperial forces held both. His archers would thin the ranks before the infantry engaged, while his cavalry would strike where the enemy was weakest.
Mavius sat atop his horse, his eyes fixed on the chaotic front of the enemy. As the sun climbed higher, he noticed an unusual movent rippling through the tribesn's ranks. He squinted, leaning slightly forward in his saddle to ensure he was seeing clearly.
"What in the na of the gods…?" he muttered under his breath.
A group of warriors had stepped out from the loosely scattered enemy front line. Stark naked, their bodies glead with sweat and war paint as they knelt onto the ground in a row. Behind them, other n began to wave long sticks wildly in the air, chanting and swaying as if caught in so strange frenzy.
The scene left Mavius montarily perplexed. Around him, the imperial soldiers shifted uncomfortably, muttering among themselves.
"What's that about?" one infantryman said, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and unease.
"Probably so savage tradition," another offered, his tone half dismissive, half uncertain''You think they gonna fuck each other?''
A ripple of similar comnts spread through the imperial lines as more soldiers caught sight of the bizarre spectacle.
"Close your mouths, n!" ca the sharp bark of an officer, cutting through the murmur.
"Eyes forward! Focus!" another commanded, his voice stern and unyielding.
The orders brought the troops back in line, though a faint murmur of unease remained. Mavius frowned, still studying the peculiar ritual. Were they praying? Summoning courage?
A stir of movent rippled across the tribesman army, the disorganized mass beginning to surge forward.
"They're moving first," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
The tribesn advanced, their numbers pressing forward like a rising tide, slowly making their way to them, but then, to Mavius's surprise, they stopped.
The entire line of warriors ca to a halt, no more than half a kiloter from the imperial army. Dust rose lightly from the trampled earth as they stood there, a chaotic sea of weapons and painted faces waiting in eerie silence. All except for a small group—no more than 150 n—who broke away from the main force.
Mavius's brows furrowed in confusion. The group of nude warriors began to charge forward, their bodies painted with crude symbols and streaked with mud and ash. They moved with alarming speed, their war cries echoing across the plains.
"Just them?" one of his officers muttered in disbelief.
Mavius didn't answer, his gaze locked on the bizarre sight. The rest of the tribesman army remained motionless behind the charging figures, watching as their comrades sprinted toward the imperial lines.
Why aren't they advancing with them? Mavius thought, his mind racing to decipher the enemy's intent. It was unlike anything he'd seen before. A full frontal charge by their entire force would have made sense, even if reckless—but sending this small, naked band alone?
Mavius's thoughts turned to the strange rituals he'd seen before the battle. Were these n so kind of offering? Sacrifices to their gods, sent to prove their courage and gain divine favor? What a bunch of savages...
The plains echoed with the wild cries of the charging nude warriors, their voices rising in an almost animalistic cacophony. They sprinted toward the imperial lines like madn, their movents erratic and devoid of any discipline. So tossed aside their shields as they ran, others flung their swords into the dirt, leaving themselves completely unard. Bare, painted bodies streaked with mud and ash hurtled forward, glistening with sweat under the midday sun.
Mavius felt a chill run up his spine, a creeping unease he couldn't entirely suppress. These weren't n; they were sothing primal, sothing unnerving. He adjusted his grip on the reins, his knuckles whitening as he fought to maintain his composure.
There was no formation, no coordination—just a mass of flesh and fury barreling toward his army with no thought for defense. Not a single shield raised, not a single step hesitated.
The officers along the imperial line shouted over the confusion, barking commands to ready the archers.
"Archers! Fire!"
The order was t with a flurry of motion as the imperial bown loosed their first volley. The sky darkened montarily as hundreds of arrows arced upward before plunging toward the onrushing horde.
The missiles struck true.
Arrows buried themselves into shoulders, chests, and legs with sickening precision. Flesh split, blood spattered, and still, the warriors didn't falter.
Not a single cry of pain rose from the charging n.
Even as arrows protruded grotesquely from muscles and at, they kept running, their faces twisted in crazed determination. One man with an arrow lodged deep in his thigh didn't even glance down, his gait barely faltering. Another had two shafts piercing his chest, yet his arms pumped with unrelenting fervor, his eyes fixed on the imperial lines.
The archers fired again, and then again, arrows falling like hail upon the crazed mob.
Still, no screams ca. No hesitation, no faltering. The naked warriors surged forward as if immune to the agony, their voices continuing their guttural, maddening cries.
Mavius's grip on the reins tightened further, his stomach twisting as the scene unfolded. He wasn't a man easily shaken, but this… this was different. These weren't warriors fighting for their lives; they were sothing far more terrifying—n who didn't care whether they lived or died, like the very concept of death as the end of life completely foreign to them.
No n could not be afraid or death, for even those that faced death bravely presupossed that their courage was stronger than their fear, yet those running toward his line were not human anymore.
This was not a state that could be impleneted on masses like training or discipline, as their very concept of pain and fear was now foreign , Mavius realized sothing had been done to them.
And it was disgusting.
The arrows continued to rain down, wave after wave slicing through the air with deadly precision. Each volley struck the charging n with sickening force. Yet, the scene that unfolded before the imperial soldiers was nothing short of horrifying.
So of the nude warriors had half a dozen arrows embedded in their flesh, jutting out grotesquely like the quills of a porcupine. Others carried as many as a dozen, shafts protruding from shoulders, thighs, chests, and even necks, which caused them to fall down after a dozen of step. Blood ran freely, painting their bodies in streaks of crimson, but for the most part not one of them slowed their pace.
They ran on, so of them staggering but never falling, their eyes locked on the imperial lines with a feral intensity that chilled even the hardest of hearts.
"Gods…" muttered one grizzled veteran, his voice trembling. "They're… they're not human."
Another archer beside him fumbled with his next arrow, his hands shaking as he struggled to nock it to the string.
"They're monsters," soone whispered, the words barely audible over the officers' frantic commands. "Not n. Monsters."
Despite the unrelenting hail of arrows, the crazed warriors seed impervious to fear, pain, or death itself. Their bodies jerked and twisted with each impact, yet they refused to fall. One man, with arrows piercing both thighs and his abdon, continued to sprint, his movents fueled by a madness that defied comprehension.
The veterans, n who had seen the worst horrors of battle, found themselves shaken to their core. This wasn't war. It was sothing else entirely.
"Keep firing!" the officers roared, their own voices betraying a crack of unease. "Take them down!"
But even the most disciplined soldiers found themselves hesitating, their resolve shaken as they watched the grotesque spectacle. It was as if they were shooting at sothing unnatural, sothing beyond the realm of n.
For all their years of service, for all the carnage they had seen, this was different. These weren't warriors—they were nightmares made flesh, driven by a force no sane mind could comprehend.
The archers, their quivers nearly emptied, retreated swiftly behind the line of footn. Their faces were pale, their hands still trembling as they glanced back at the advancing horde of maddened, arrow-pierced figures , thanking the gods that they would not be the one facing their charge . The last volley had been fired, but it seed to have made little difference.
On Mavius's order, the infantry raised their shields and readied their spears, forming a solid wall of discipline and defense. They braced themselves as the naked n charged, their wild, unrelenting cries carrying across the field.
It was only then, few dozens of ters before the first crazed warriors collided with the imperial line, that Mavius noticed movent from the enemy's main force. The mass of tribesn, who had thus far remained still, now began to advance. Their movent was slow and deliberate, contrasting sharply with the chaotic, frenzied assault of the naked n.
Why now? Mavius wondered
The sound of steel eting flesh and bone snapped his attention back to the front line. The naked n crashed into the imperial soldiers like waves against a rocky shore.
That was when Mavius understood the reason for which they charged alone.
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