Now it was the Ottomans' turn to experience what that was like. Most of the Hungarian soldiers took this experience heavily, thinking that they weren't honest men, that they were not showing a fair and honorable fight, face to face. But Vincent was somewhat intrigued by the fact that, when given the chance, all of them freely consented to this dirty, back-handed way of killing quickly and then receding. All, at this point, could only see the bodies of their fallen comrades and felt compelled at any cost to avenge them.
Vincent rode in and unsheathed his sword, cutting down an Ottoman in one fluid motion. Some were hobbling with their pants half down as they ran around trying to dodge swings of swords. Vincent sliced another Ottoman's arm off and kicked Hadúr to gallop away. He was too close to the outskirts and had to find his men. Heading eastward, he plunged into the mass of now Ottoman soldiers screaming in agony. The blood already shed was enough to make a man's stomach turn, but Vincent couldn't feel any tug over the rush of adrenaline pumping through his body. Hadúr leaped over a dead campfire and halted next to a tent being burned by Hungarian soldiers. Vincent smiled as they torched the place. He glanced around and yanked on the reins, setting Hadúr off once more, slashing at Ottoman officers stumbling out of their blankets at their men's calls of distress. Each had barely enough time to recognize Vincent, but the ultimate look of astonishment and betrayal was set in their faces as Vincent slaughtered all of them.
No mercy was spared for the men who watched him, as a boy, be mentally degraded and physically tortured for years.
"DEATH, TO ALL WHO BOW TO THE SULTAN!" Vincent shouted as each man barely choked out words before his chest was impaled with the very fast, functional cut-and-thrust sword.
It had a faceted pommel and simple guard, both of steel. The grip was hardwood with a raised center ridge and the upper half wrapped in leather, marking for a very positive grip. With each stroke, he felt more and more released from his prison. As long as these men were alive, a part of him was still dead.
"Vincent," a voice called, "I didn't–"
The Wallachian, without even looking, swung his sword in the direction and pierced something soft. Flesh. Glancing to the voice, he already saw the body fall to the ground. By some stretch of the imagination, he'd hoped it was his brother, Radu. But Vincent only saw an officer who had trained with him years ago in Edirne. A Devout Ottoman. Had to die.
Another stroke and another soldier fell. Hadúr's neck was sprayed with blood as he charged forward to the heart of the encampment. Vincent left men half alive for the Hungarians to finish off. He could not trouble himself with complete casualty rates, not when his familial enemy was lurking about in the shadows.
"Milord!" A rough voice called.
Ladislaus turned abruptly, after thrusting his sword into an Ottoman officer about to stab his horse. "Your report?"
"The West phalanx formation is holding steady, but the East phalanx formation is being crippled. It is starting to bend and sway! Apparently, someone decided to place his men on watches. Our tactic of surprise held for only so long! We must pull out!" the Hungarian officer answered as he stopped his horse.
Ladislaus felt his heart jump, "No! That would be admitting defeat, and we are so close! We must stand as men, and fight!" he barely managed to say before his horse jumped out from underneath him. He balanced agilely and righted his mount. "Concentrate the cavalry into the east around the hill and get the archers out of here!"
"Of course!" the officer shouted as he hacked another Ottoman soldier foolish enough to run up with only a knife.
"I will follow once I'm sure the West formation side is steady!" Ladislaus called as the other rider disappeared into the fog of the morning. The only confirmation of his statement was a curt nod.
Ladislaus turned back around and suffered a blow to the chest, knocking him completely off of his ride. His body hit the dirt ground with a dull thud and separate clanks from his armor. The world blackened and blurred to nothing. Comprehending what had happened was above his mental capacity, as Ladislaus felt his body crumple and relax, molding into the ground. Everything, for a moment, seemed out of his control; it seemed unattainable, and farfetched. But a sharp breath drawn and he could feel his chest moving again, and his eyes began to focus gently on the dirt before him.
Blinking to ensure he could attempt to see, he slowly wriggled his fingers and toes. Silently cursing, the young man picked himself up just in time to this time dodge another swinging blow to the chest with a huge, blunt axe. Its wielder was a large Ottoman infantryman, and by the looks of the man's bloodied appearance, he had already taken down a few of Ladislaus's men. The Lord glanced down at his chest plate to see a humbling dent in the abdomen portion, but it took even less time to reach for his own sword and grasp the familiar and soothing touch of the hilt.
"You come at us like the cowards you are! At night!" the Ottoman bellowed, his rotund belly shaking in anger.
"You dare invade Hungary, and you will suffer the consequences we deem fit for your kind, filthy Ottoman! Your kind does not deserve to bear an honorable fight!" Ladislaus shouted back. Leveling his sword to the throat of the man, he smiled and slashed.
Dodged was the first strike, and then the second as well. Ladislaus paused and allowed his enemy a turn. The thought of wearing down and having his enemy slowly take over power was not appealing to the young Lord. He waited, deflecting the next strike and the next. But with each missed blow, Ladislaus could hear the whoosh of the axe getting closer and closer to his helmet. Yet each time, he was fortunate enough to sense the blade smash into the ground, connecting only to the dirt he stood on moments ago.
Hit after hit, and the metallic clank of metal on metal rang within the nobleman's ears as they both tried to reach the other. But each time one gained an advantage, the other would retreat a few steps, and it would buy enough time to correct a near win. The Ottoman was even better at his footwork than Ladislaus could have imagined. After the seventh time at attempting to strike the enemy, Ladislaus came up with nothing, not one piece of flesh on his sword; only the sharp hiss of metal ran through his ears once more.
Hurling the weapon again, the Ottoman roared as he rushed forward. Ladislaus felt his backside hit against the trunk of a large tree. He instantly ducked and felt the vibration of the axe hit the tree trunk. The Ottoman soldier, quickly realizing what had happened, tried to give it a tug. But the axe was embedded in the tree, and with a concerned glance, the Ottoman looked over at his enemy who was now devilishly grinning.
"You seem to be in need of a weapon..." Ladislaus brought his sword up to his face, making it all the more insulting.
The Ottoman returned the grin suddenly as he let go of the axe, and Ladislaus gaped as, from what appeared to be within the folds of his fat, he was able to pull out a huge wielding sword.
"Then perhaps you are more blind than I thought," the Ottoman soldier scoffed and leveled his huge sword to the Lord's throat.
Frustration overcame Ladislaus, when something sparkled out of the corner of his eye; another sword previously dropped by someone else!
"RAAAA!" The Ottoman charged Ladislaus once more, and this time, the blade caught his metal shoulder cap.
Ladislaus twisted away just before the soldier was able to rotate his wrist and slash the inside of his shoulder. Groaning as he could almost feel his skin being sliced up, Ladislaus returned the favor by whacking his sword to the left in an attempt to scare his opponent. The trick worked and distracted the massive soldier for a moment. Taking a risk, the nobleman lunged for the second sword on the ground, diving for it.
The Ottoman saw this move and raced up to the vulnerable Lord. Ladislaus heard gigantic footsteps approaching and within seconds, a blunt blade stabbed downward. Ladislaus instinctively rolled to one side, praying he wasn't rolling into the sword's path. Luckily, the weapon struck down and hit dirt. The Ottoman raised the sword again and thrust it downward.
A scream exited the Ottoman's lips as he looked down a
nd realized that Ladislaus had impaled him with both his sword and the one he dove for on the ground. Gasping for his last breaths of air, he let out a choked smile and swear word as his body fell forward. The nobleman quickly rolled one last time and dodged the massive body hurling toward him. A loud 'thunk' vibrated the ground, signifying the end of their fight and his foe's life.
After a moment of silence, the young Lord inhaled a strangled breath of his own and groaned at a sudden stab of pain. Glancing down at his shoulder, a trail of blood already began to trickle down the silver armor; from where inside, he did not know. Very slowly, Ladislaus got up to his knees, then stood up and reached for his weapon by pushing the Ottoman's body over.
"Surprising," he gruffly muttered, "That was actually a technique that your army taught Vincent, your latest defect. I suppose I should thank the Wallachian for using a second sword against me."
Another officer rode toward Ladislaus carrying the nobleman's horse alongside.
"The Eastern phalanx formation has crippled! You must hurry if you are to save them, my Lord!" the officer halted both horses as close to Ladislaus as possible.
Ladislaus wiped the dirt and blood from his mouth and nodded, "Let us both go now. This half is secure," he planted his left foot in the stirrup and swung his body over the top of the saddle, a move that was far more cumbersome than he expected.
"My Lord," the cavalryman's eyes widened, "You are injured."
Ladislaus waved a dismissive hand, "And that will be tended to when we return to my father. Right now, my men need a leader, and we must get to them as soon as possible if we are to win this battle," he kicked his horse's sides and went bounding off. Without another option, the officer followed.
Smoke rose in puffs and cloud-like forms as it touched the dawning sky above. Vincent dismounted his horse as he caught sight of a familiar uniform walking through the mist of the morning. Time seemed to slow as Radu appeared from the shadows and smiled at his older brother. Vincent was not amused.
"I heard the whispers, rumors, tales of your treachery," Radu's young voice cracked.
Vincent felt himself draw in a sharp breath, "I had to ally myself with Christianity, with those who fight for Christendom. Were you not blind by the sultan's ambitions, you would see the same."
Radu's body went rigid, "Do not call me incompetent, brother! I was not the one who turned against Islam! I was not the one who fled like a coward, like a dog running away with its tail tucked between its legs!"
"Is this nothing but honor to you?" Vincent raised his voice and his arms to the carnage.
Radu rolled his eyes and scoffed, "You dishonored and marred our name, our family. Your very existence further poisons the Dracul lineage. I will not let you live to taunt the Empire anymore."
The Wallachian growled and reached for his sword, "We grew up under a roof that filled our ears with beautiful scripture and books of a man so selfless, he sacrificed himself to save even the existence of his enemies. You pray to a false prophet, one that has led to much unneeded murder and bloodshed. The avarice your religion has led you to will be your undoing, my brother, make no mistake of it," Vincent shook his head.
His younger brother only gritted his teeth and reached for his own weapon, "And your need for constant bloodshed will be yours."
"And you dare call me the traitor, little one," Vincent ignored him, "It was not I who turned my back to Christianity, our true and rightful religion. It was not I who deserted my family's faith, our father's, mother's, brother's faith. It was not I who stayed with our captors and betrayed, marred, and sullied our family name. No, it was you!" Vincent pointed an accusing finger at Radu.
The men both suddenly realized that they had been inching toward the other and were now within a foot length. If one had reached out, his hand would have touched the other's shoulder. But it had morphed into a match of words. It was who could beat the other in rhetoric and verbally bash the other.
Radu narrowed his eyes until they were mere slits, "If you hadn't sinned so spectacularly, then my religion and Sultan Mehmet II would not have sent punishment like me."
Vincent bowed his head mournfully, "You truly have forgotten everything our father tried to make us. Not only have you turned your back on your rightful religion, you refuse to help your only living brother bring justice to the person who ruined out lives in the first place. You no longer know who you are or what you stood for."
"Enough!" Radu spat and unsheathed his sword, "You know not what you speak! We were both destined to become Beys under the Sultan; but you abandoned me! Now, I finally have my chance at true justice."
Vincent twirled away from the outward thrust and punched Radu's extended elbow in an upward motion. Hearing it crack was like music to his ears, along with his brother's scream.
"How dare you fight dirty!" Radu shouted, "You shall honor me with a fair fight! I demand it!"
Vincent chuckled, "I, alone, with neither weapon nor shield, naught but my bare hands, would still be no fair fight to you, little one."
"SILENCE!" Radu slashed at Vincent once more and followed with a hilt strike to the face.
Vincent heard his nose crack and a jolt of white hot pain lanced up the nerves of his face as he instinctively reached for the wounded spot. But he quickly caught himself and dropped his hand, not wanting to expose his ribcage to Radu, nor admit that the blow had hurt him in any way. Instead, he smiled and turned his back to his younger brother, goading Radu to stab him in the back. As if to ensure that it was not a trick, Vincent started to speak venomous words.
"I still cannot believe you stayed with the Mehmet. After he had our father murdered, our brother buried alive, our mother tortured, raped, and killed," Vincent began walking away, "There are rumors that you are his plaything. Is this true, or are you simply infatuated; in love?" Vincent's eyes sparkled as he mocked a thick enthusiastic tone and turned to watch Radu's face color into a bright red.
"Do you know in which Circle of Hell you will be placed?" Radu asked, trying to control the rage in his voice.
"Ha! I'm quite fond of all nine!" Vincent retorted and whirled his sword around, gathering momentum and struck the side of Radu's helmet square in the cheek.
Radu staggered back, cradling his head and groaning in pain as the sting morphed into dull agony.
"Why do you torture yourself like this, Radu?" Vincent taunted, "You already know that I am the better swordsman. However, if you have forgotten, I am more than willing to remind you now."
"Do not flatter yourself. I have become far better trained than you," Radu let go of his head and dropped his shield. Vincent scoffed, embracing victory early when he noticed a second sword slightly grooved with a hilt, guard, and scabbard. Its basic form was clearly illustrated by the sword of Sultan Mehmet II, with its slightly curved blade that thickened at the back. Vincent recognized the style immediately.
"A kılıç? I haven't seen one of those in ages," Vincent smiled, impressed.
"What's better is that I know how to use it!" Radu lunged forward and clashed weapons with Vincent.
Both brothers grunted as they bashed into one another, using all of their weight to try and push the other down. They moved into a rhythm where Radu would strike and then defend himself by deflecting one of Vincent's thrusts. Then Vincent would back-step to avoid Radu slicing at him with both swords as he tried to gut his older brother like a fish. Even when Vincent did strike Radu once in the arm, his heavy chain mail made it near impossible to penetrate to his flesh.
Vincent, bemoaning his far weaker armor, let out a frustrated sigh as he remembered how the entire Hungarian army had less technological advancement than the Ottoman Empire he grew up in. For a fleeting moment, he recalled the fascinating and superior weapons he saw and used in his adolescence. He felt pity for the soldiers now fighting under his and Ladislaus's command, and how they had to settle for less equipped armor that befitted the word junk.
"My, you are truly more fragile," Radu thought the sa
me thing, "My armor suits a battlefield. Yours looks more like the remains of what used to be armor."
"You may insult my armor to your heart's content," Vincent coated his voice in sarcastic sincerity, "But verbal jarring will only get you so far in combat."
Radu laughed, "All I need do is distract you for a moment, an instant, and then you will be–"
Vincent lunged forward again and this time hit Radu in the abdomen. The sheer force with which Vincent used to thrust the weapon into Radu made him careen backwards and into the mud of the ground.
"You mean distract you like that?" Vincent let out a satisfactory chuckle.
As if Radu were a rabbit falling prey to a fox's agility and strength, Vincent pounced on him by running forward and pushing his sword further into the wound until he saw blood begin to stream out.
Radu gasped for air as he felt the crushing blow and the following stab of pain as the sword finally hit its mark. Looking up into Vincent's eyes, Radu could see unbridled rage overcome them as he tore open the chain mail, exposing skin to the air. Radu tried to kick his brother off of him, but Vincent pinned both of Radu's hands to his back as Vincent flipped him over onto his stomach.
"You do not deserve to be formally executed, you do not deserve to face me as you die, but taste the dirt of the kingdom you invaded instead, brother. Farewell, Radu," Vincent whispered and unsheathed his portable dagger from his boot and yanked Radu's hair back, forcing his neck to bend upward.
Radu let out a soft, choked whimper, "Brother," he whispered, "Please…don't. You're the only family I have left…"
Vincent hesitated, sensing guilt and anguish creep up his body. Trying to shake off the emotion, he forced himself to remember the many nights he tried to save both of them by futilely escaping, and how the guards tortured him perpetually, even after he begged them to stop, praying that they would stop; crying for mercy; for anything. But Radu did nothing and fell silent at Vincent's pleas as he watched the torture. Radu fell silent every step of the way, at every turn where there was an opportunity to escape.
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