“The god-king is dead! The god king is dead!” Alexander screamed in elation as he thought he had finally done it.
After experiencing such a myriad of emotions with such a small amount of amount, it was finally over.
Finally, Amenheraft was dead.
Or so he believed as he took the lead in the charge through the gate.
But fortunately, Alexander wasn’t the only one to believe in this erroneous conclusion.
Because the Adhanians also believed their king was dead.
And although some of the nobles and even Amenheraft himself wanted to come out and explain the situation there was no time.
Alexander was literally just tens of meters behind them and charging at full speed with his spear pointed toward them.
“Your Majesty, run!” A noble screamed at the thought of another daredevil charging towards them with no regard for his life and then spurred his horse to smash through the densely packed garrisoned soldiers.
Seeing the nobles attack them to save their own hide, the ‘king’ laying dead in front of them, and a group of cavalrymen charging at them, the soldiers saw no reason to keep fighting.
They threw their shields and spear to the ground and started running, exposing their back to the spears of the horsemen and opening massive gaps in the formation.
Alexander himself led the charge, his spear scoring the first kill when it pierced a young man’s heart threw the heart and because the momentum was so great, threw the man several meters off the ground as he flew like cannon, smashing against the people behind him.
“Kill them all! For King Ptolomy!” Alexander had a cunning reason to declare this.
But the men needed no such encouragement, as they were all very eager to paint their steel tips red.
And thus a one-sided massacre began, as the horsemen, ripped more and more lives by the minute.
They seemed almost spoiled for choice, as the horde of tightly packed men, with their backs, turned to them, presented themselves like gifts wrapped exclusively for the horsemen to collect and they were not rejected as the cavalry showed no mercy and took no prisoner.
And the horsemen weren’t the only danger the fleeing Adhanians faced.
The fleeing two thousand men, also smashed against each other, screaming, pushing, and hitting against each other as they tried to escape the deadly situation, creating a brutal stampede.
Later, when the body counts would be taken, it would even be revealed that only a tiny fraction had any gaping spear wounds on them, most deaths being due to crushing and asphyxiation.
After the first kill, Alexander didn’t continue leading the charge, as it was a very dangerous thing to do, especially within an urban environment with narrow streets that restricted horse mobility.
Instead, he stayed behind and issued orders to capture the gate.
“Commander, you are truly blessed by Gaia. Please accept my humble prostration,” The Sycarian commander Grahtos approached him and overcome with emotion and even got down from his horses and did a full prostration toward Alexander.
Alexander was surprised by this action and thought the commander’s actions were excessively humble.
But he misunderstood the level of emotion running through the other men, especially the Cantagenans.
Because to these men, Adhan had an almost mythical status- the superpower of the East which was nigh unconquerable.
Their king was said to live in a palace that had been sculpted by the gods, protected by walls thick enough to host chariot races on them.
His soldiers were said to be immortal and when slain, they would rise again at night, ready to serve their king again.
And this feeling was reinforced by the two, miraculous defeats they had suffered just five days ago, where even when all mortal conditions seemed to be in their favor, the gates of Adhan laid open to them thanks to the revel king Ptolomy, and they were led by their war-general, by the machinations of fate and the hand of god, they had lost.
And not only that, they had lost miserably and their brothers were sacrificed to Ramuh as eternal slaves.
But now!
Under the leadership of an eighteen-year-old boy, in just five days, they had done it.
They had done the impossible.
They had killed the king, taken Adhan, and freed their loved ones from the unending servitude of Ramuh.
If this was not a sign of divinity, then what was?
And this sentiment was shared by many as some twenty men, enlightened by Grahtos’s actions followed suit. 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝐞𝐥.
But the one who killed Amenheraft was not Alexander but Laykash, and Alexander was not the type of person to take credit for others’ work,..generally.
“Captains, please! The one who killed Amenheraft here,” Alexander pointed to the man who lay smack right in front of the gate, groaning in pain and barely conscious, as his femur had been broken when his horse fell on him.
“Yes, commander, he did kill the king. But it was you who positioned him. As the commander, it is your glory as Gaia used his hand to further her blessed’s cause.” Grahtos so elegantly pointed out.
Alexander was very surprised by this man’s eloquence, peasants did not speak like that, but then he remembered who Grahtos was- a cavalryman.
More importantly, he was a cavalry captain, meaning he was likely a noble and from the looks of it a religious noble.
But although he nicely gift-wrapped the claim for Alexander, Alexander insisted, “The military records will show Laykash killed Amenheraft,”
He had his own sense of integrity, and could not steal credit that was not his.
It might sound hypocritical for him to not do this, given he committed worse crimes, but men were not made of a single defining character, but a myriad of emotions.
For example, a sadist might love and cherish his family.
Many serial killers have excellent friends and family.
And vice versa, a kind person, who very much loves helping people, which enjoy animal cruelty.
And for Alexander, he detested taking credit for others, a feeling he developed due to a certain incident in his previous life.
But Grahtos was insistent, “Commander, look at him. His femur is broken, meaning he will die soon, or be a cripple. How can give kill a god? Take the credit!” He enticed.
But Alexander only answered, “How says he’s gonna die? Men, get Laykash up and bandage his legs. I will fix his legs tonight.” He boisterously claimed.
“Commander, you giving me this honor is enough to last a lifetime.” From the ground, Laykash weakly spoke with panted breaths.
“But, you don’t have to comfort me. Even a child….a child knows that femur injuries are fatal. We Sycarians learn this the moment we …we start riding.” He groaned and gasped with pained moans.
“That’s right commander. The number of Sycarians who have died or been crippled by femur injuries is endless,” Grahtos chimed.
“Yes, captain Grahtos is right. So commander, please use your name instead of mine,” Laykash pleaded with teary eyes.
“Okay.” Alexander seemed to agree, but added, “I will do it when you die.”
Then, without giving him a chance to retort, he barked, “Men, why are you not bandaging and moving him to safety.”
As the men were moving him, the glint of the golden armor hit Alexander in the eye and he grew curious about what the man who claimed to be god looked like.
So, he ordered, “Take the helmet off. Let’s see if a god is different than a human.”
And Grahtos personally took off the armor, super excited himself to undrape a god.
But the moment the head was revealed, the sight of it made all the men around freeze their blood in horror.
“This is not him,” Alexander exclaimed involuntarily at the golden-haired man.
Alexander had never seen Amenheraft, but even he could bet all the money in the world to promise that he wasn’t blonde.
He had heard the Agapios in his speech before the battle describe Amenheraft as the black-haired devil so he was sure of it.
Also, thinking back now, it seemed strange to him how the Adhanians had just left the body of their god laying behind to be desecrated.
And, subconsciously Alexander’s floated to remember the deep, profound eyes that gazed at him that time.
‘That was the king! He switched armor!’ Alexander hit on an epiphany.
“This is bad! The king is alive and could still organize his forces behind the inner wall,” He shouted.
And the other men all went pale at the confirmation of this dreadful nightmare.
“Commander, what now?” His men all looked at him, expectation dripping out of their eyes.
“…..” Alexander was thinking so hard, he feared his brain might cook off in the immense pressure he was putting on it.
But nothing came to him, when suddenly the glare of the shiny armor hit his eyes.
“That’s it,” Alexander roared in jubilation and shook his fisted hands in front of him.
Then giving no opportunity to anyone else to say anything, he got off his horse, while screaming, “Quick, take off his armor. Quick.”
Then men were a bit slow to act as they were confused by the order, but seeing Alexander start stripping his own armor, the smarter ones immediately got the plan.
“Quick, help me. Quickly,” Grahtos screamed to his men s he started to slip off the complex leather bands that held the bronze armor.
And soon, Kefka was left with only his tunic and pants, while Alexander was dressed head to toe in gold, golden helmet, cuirass, thigh and leg greaves, and boots.
In his hand, lay the golden royal seal, and from afar the disguise was perfect as the small hole in the front and back, which had been cleaned off any blood was really not visible.
And Alexander planned to use this to enter the inner ring, with acted as a citadel, and this time slaughter the king for real.