MTLNOVEL Chapter 125: Even The Winners Lose The War
Bellamy sniffed the lines of berry powder, the fine crimson dust dancing into his nostrils and sending a deep tremor through his body.
He could feel it almost instantly. The berry powder, transformed into energy, expanding outward like ripples in a lake, infusing his blood, nerves, and muscles with the fuel needed for Druidic magic.
The Albion soldiers fight with the power of the blood of the enemies. The barbarians fight with the power of the berries of their precious trees.
A low buzz settled in the back of his head, not unlike the hum of anticipation before a storm. He'd heard of plants that could induce this feeling but he was sure there was nothing quite like the power of berry powder coursing through the body.
He clenched his fists and rolled his shoulders. The strength radiating through every inch of his body was overwhelming. Each inch of him had been saturated with energy over the last few months, preparing for this moment.
His hand drifted to his war axe, a weapon that had been carved out of the femur of a long-dead wyvern. The creature, which had been blessed and reinforced with Druidic magic while alive, had bones stronger than steel. Now, that strength was his to wield.
Unfortunately, superior bones of this quality weren't a plentiful resource. And it wasn't as if they couldn't be destroyed. But fortunately, one was enough for him.
Bellamy stepped from his tent into the morning light, the sun just beginning its ascent over the horizon.
He joined his father, Chief Ilyan, at the staging grounds. Around them, warriors wearing their armors of leathers and bones, with their tattoos glowing faintly with the energy from their berry powder, stood in formation. Overhead, wyverns beat their wings in circles, awaiting their riders.
Across the large clearing, far enough that one couldn't make out the expressions on their face, stood their enemies, the warriors of the Tribe of Stone. They'd come just as heavily armored, and prepared for battle.
Silence filled the grounds as Chief Ilyan stepped forward, voice rising above the muttering winds.
"Warriors of the Tribe of Three!" He shouted, his voice booming through the ranks. "Today, we fight not because we crave blood, but because we are left with no other choice! The Tribe of Stone accuses us of cavorting with the enemy, of breaking our sacred oaths! Lies! Lies born of envy, fear, and weakness!"
A chorus of growls, roars, and pounding fists answered him.
"They say we are tainted! That we are traitors! But look around you! Look at the blood in your veins, the magic in your bones, the truth that flows from the Green Tree itself!"
He raised his fist into the sky. "We are the children of the Green! And today, we remind them what that means!"
War cries echoed through the air as warriors beat their weapons against shields and chests. Wyverns screeched overhead. Bears roared from their cages, ready to be unleashed.
"Ride the skies! Charge the earth! Let them feel our fury, and let none forget our name! FOR WE ARE THE TRIBE OF THREE!"
"TRIBE OF THREE!" The army roared, bloodlust filling the air.
There was no need for more words as Chief Ilyan raised his fingers to his lips and whistled. The flying beasts descended, ready for battle.
A screech split the air as Ilyan's ride, a massive black-scaled dragon, the only one of its kind in their army, landed before him. He mounted it and Bellamy followed his father's lead, leaping onto his wyvern, gripping the reins with one hand, his axe with the other.
The ground forces climbed atop their armored bears, ready to shed blood. Then, with a roar from the chief, they moved.
The wyverns launched into the air as the bears surged forward. The wind screamed past Bellamy's ears.
As they closed the distance, the enemy began to move. Their own aerial forces took to the sky, and beasts confined to the land charged toward them.
A few seconds later, both armies collided in the air with the sound of thunderclaps.
The sky was chaos. Screeches, the sound of bone on bone. The screams and cries as wyverns fell with their riders.
Bellamy locked axes with a wyvern rider from the Tribe of Stone, their weapons grinding against each other like stone. He sent energy into the beast beneath him, giving it the necessary strength to push against its own opponent. Using the momentum, he pushed forward with a roar, and buried his axe in the rider's side before kicking him off his mount.
Below, the battlefield was a writhing sea of fur, bone, and steel. Vines erupted from the ground at the command of Druids, spearing and entangling enemies. Bears slammed into their foes, crushing both shields and bones.
Bellamy lost himself in the haze of battle, the buzz from the berry powder carrying him along. All he remembered were the roars and the spray of blood after a particularly vicious strike.
He roared a war cry and leapt from his wyvern, landing with a crash and rolling to his feet. Moving with the motion, he swung his axe, cutting through two men at once, blood spraying like mist.
Then the air was split by a loud roar.
His eyes snapped up just in time to see his father's dragon and the Tribe of Stone's chief's mount slam into each other, spiraling toward the earth in a tangled mess.
They hit with a shattering boom that knocked nearby fighters off their feet.
Bellamy sprinted toward the impact zone, cutting down anyone in his path.
The two chiefs stood. Ilyan with his twin axes. The Stone Chief with a massive club covered with spikes. They circled each other, snarling words of intimidation. Then, they charged.
Ilyan's axes carved through the air, the Stone Chief parrying with his club and countering with a swing that cracked the ground. Ilyan ducked and slashed across the man's thigh, drawing blood.
The Stone Chief howled and responded with a knee to Ilyan's gut, staggering him. He raised his club high and brought it down with a savage grin.
Ilyan blocked with one axe and with a grunt, buried the other deep into the man's ribs.
The Stone Chief's body glowed a bright green as he used up the rest of his energy for his last strike. With a roar, he brought his club down.
Bellamy watched in horror as the club crashed into his father's face.
Both warriors fell.
A scream rent the air and a small part of Bellamy recognized the voice as his. He dropped his axe and ran forward with everything he had, his enhanced body taking him far forward with each leap.
He reached his father and knelt beside him. The axe was still embedded in the Stone Chief's chest, but so was the club in Ilyan's face.
"Healer!" Bellamy bellowed. "HEALER!"
A Druid rushed to him, sliding beside Ilyan. He yanked the club free, blood spurting from the wound.
The Druid's hands glowed as he began his work.
Minutes passed. Then more. The battle around them moved on. The Tribe of Stone was retreating. The Tribe of Three was victorious.
But Bellamy only cared about the man in his arms.
Finally, the Druid looked up. "He'll live. But the spikes got to his brain."
Bellamy's heart sank.
"He'll wake up?"
"Yes. But... he may not be the same man when he does."
Bellamy looked down at his father, lying bloodied and broken while their tribe celebrated around them.
They'd achieved victory, but there was no telling what the cost will be.