Eighty marched on, their hearts weighing heavy. Having witnessed the tumult, the disintegration of their hope, they journeyed across the fields alone, following its well-paved roads, sleeplessly fearing the enemy that may or may not be at their rears. They could be giving chase or not, but they took no chances. Even if hurt had been poured in their bodies and minds, concealing the strength that came from the spirit and the soul, their legs could not rest. It would mean certain death. But to those who understood their position, death was already certain. To have been able to flee had just delayed the inevitable. Their fates had already been sealed. To the south were their pursuers. To the north was the land’s end of a peninsula. To the west was the blatant sea. Further east, past a kingdom, was the enemy too. No matter where they looked was an encirclement of death. As they retreated further into the northern territories governed by the kingdom of the Three Crowns, Dannen, the corporal had come home, serving as his comrades’ guide. Because of his ties, his ability to speak his mother tongue even if he had forgotten some words and their pronunciations, his homeland, his century were safely led across the land by helping locals around. Without him translating and navigating, they would have had little chance of survival. For a nation as isolated as Dannen was, many common folk spoke not the international tongue that their southern neighbors were masters of. Despite being separated by a river and some leagues of forests, their peoples were so different in character that even the Lecher had found it hard to relate. Whilst their counterparts would have chosen to flee without a second thought, the people of Dannen refused to be evicted from their own homes. They carried an unwavering spirit as they worked their lands which they sought to protect with their own lives. Even if they fought against the Confederate horde, homestead by homestead, family by family, death seemed to be their only answer to invasion. Not even Julien could urge them to abandon their homes and defend their lives, yet, their reason was not something as little as stubbornness or bravery. It was nationalism. Patriotism. The love for their land that they were born to and it was not hard to see why.
There were few forests and sparse trees. Gentle hills dashed over the plains stretching for leagues in every direction, neatly divided between families who never waged war against their neighbors out of spite nor selfishness. Their farmlands were fertile, fed decent rainfall every season, and farmers like Gin could tell from the sight of the earth alone from the few plots of soil uncovered from the snow. Although the region had seen heavier snowfall than usual, it did not deter the thriving of livestock and winter crops. The wind was not so harsh neither. It may have been cold on the skin, but the air did not pierce through to their bones. Trudging down the road leading east, the century found that many market towns were still quite populated by those who ignored the raging war. Within days, the red armies would come and their homes would be pillaged, but it bothered them not. One such town celebrated and its populace was lively. There was music and dance, feasts of food and drinks collected from its neighboring villages. The sight could not help but feed the passersby with smile. Then, on a turn in their path, the country was open again. The road had begun to incline uphill and the breeze of the sea had strengthened. The scent of salt was thick which reminded Arminius of a certain home but he was distracted by the heavens above instead.
Staring at the blue skies whose sun had hidden behind a small fleet of clouds, his eyes were dreamy. “Even the sky’s prettier here too…” Arminius mumbled, giving his compliments to the nature of the country.
“What…?” Surprised by the randomness, Julien looked over his shoulder with a slight, confused smile.
But it was just he who found admiration for the landscape. His comrades continued to mind their environs, basking in what little rest they had, away from the ash and bleakness of the battlefield. Even the snow seemed more colorful than a lush meadow riddled with bodies and bullets, yet, however peaceful these pristine lands were, they could not help but wonder one question on their minds. How was it that the people seemed so carefree but their kingdom appeared so empty of soldiers. Passing by each village, they noticed that it was the militia which remained and neither were they commanded under an officer nor soldier of any official rank who had received formal instructions. None of them seemed to have been trained and there were no signs of professional garrisons neither. It was perhaps odd to the foreigners but some had sensed that it may have been their culture.
Treading lightly, unburdened by his rucksack lost in the height of battle, the Rus was similarly engrossed by his surroundings. “So this is your homeland…?” Impressed by the upkeep of their roads, and the passiveness of the people, Lev felt as though the air had cleansed his soul. “They live as if there’s not a war happening on their doorsteps.” He mentioned their easiness.
Julien slowed his pace, often mindlessly quickening from the excitement of having returned home despite his face not showing it. “Yeah, but I lived further north.” The corporal answered.
“An’ where’s dis Medewen we’re head’d to?” Gin butted in with embers in his heart. “I’m hurtin’ all over…” His comrades allowed him to whine for his wounds had not fully healed since their first battle.
Looking around him, to the sky and its horizon where the sun had risen from, he wondered that himself. “It should be…” The Danner quietly muttered to himself when on approach to the summit of the hill, the memory of having traversed this very road came rushing back.
Upon recognizing the lay of the land, Julien hurried like a pup as his comrades laid back and marched at their own pace. When his figure disappeared over the brow, his footsteps slowly ceased. Wondering what had stopped him, the century’s curiousness fed them the strength to climb the last steps to the top of the hill with haste. As they emerged over the curve, they spotted Julien who had halted, but when they neared him, the sight which stilled him fixed them in place also.
The land, air, and sea, were split into uneven parts. The color of the heavens formed the majority of the scene but even the land below and the waters further down were clear in view from atop the hill. Without a veil of trees or anything obstructing their view, it was as if the scenery belonged to the eighty. The Strait of Medewen was vast, at least, they could tell it was no river. Its deep waters and its tides curved around a corridor that sat between the mainland and the land across it. Though from where they stood, they could not have known that it was an island. The isle was the third largest in the kingdom and a fort laid in the distance that seemed to be their destination. From afar, its walls were old and it appeared low. Most of its body was covered behind the mound in the road and they could not make out the colors of the flags that signified its allegiance. No noise came from the fort, if even there were any, its sounds would have been drowned out by the howling wind and the echoes of the sea. But its construct was not even half as impressive as what stood before it.
There was a bridge of an inhuman size, designed in a fashion that was minimalistic but pleasing to the eye. It most befitted not the monarchs of the old for they would have reeled back in horror, but it was made for the tastes of the modern man who may have found it more enticing to have it designed in such a way. The pillars reached out of the sea like the limbs of a sea giant, holding onto a viaduct that stretched over the strait. The bridge must have undergone constant repair for not even a single crack in the road appeared. Dressed in a peculiar material that many were unfamiliar with, the path was smoother than anything the century had ever seen. It was a stark, blackish gray in color, and the closer they looked, the road appeared unlike the concrete roads that most cities used. It was cobblestone if each stone was grinded down into even smaller pieces and were bound with tar. As they advanced onto the uncommon terrain, one found himself intrigued by the material. Others were astonished by its length and height, and others, too frightened to dare cross it even if their comrades pushed them on. Suddenly lifted hundreds of feet high into the air, many were astounded by its magnitude more than its grandeur.
First among the eighty to step onto the asphalt, a sergeant looked over its walls and drew his eyes along the bridge’s entire seeable length. “How the…” Colt was stumped, never had he seen anything like it. “Who the hell built this?”
A lancer marveled at the structure, but most intriguing to him was what lay beneath his feet. “I’ve read about this somewhere before…” Kneeling, he pressed his hand against the cold blackish ground and recalled. “But to think something like this really exists…” Arnau mumbled, wanting to take a sample of the material to study in his spare time, as Siegfried leaned over his head, wondering what was so captivating about the blackish stone.
“It must be a league long…” Lev held a hand over his eyes and squinted, gazing out into the distance.
Seeing that his comrades had been so easily stolen of breath by the monument, a corporal could not help but feel a sense of pride for his nation. A smile peeked out of him. But he knew they should not stay there admiring a single bridge for an entire day and prompted him to journey forth. Julien waved his arm for his century’s attention, gesturing for them to follow on, reminding them that however unlikely it was, given their lack of importance, the enemy may still be in pursuit. Other things called. Not yet have they had a good night’s rest nor a filled stomach. These thoughts crawled out from the back of their mind as each suppressed their awe and began to traverse the league-long crossing. The fearless felt an excitement hop over them, leading them quickly onto the suspended road. Some of their comrades were less amazed, dreading needing to walk over the sparkling waters that was at least two hundred feet below. Shuddering, they had to be humored by their friends’ words guaranteeing that all would be well before the whole unit could be on the march again.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVH3H8fFUEm
