Chapter 170: The Front Lines
The front lines. The place where the intensity of battle was fueled and the line between life and death was to be drawn. Not in some war room, but here; past Clontarf, Dubgall’s Bridge and River Tolka, facing the gates of Dublin City. This was where legends would be made.
Cillian was the representative of Class 1-A of the Templar Academy. He was their strongest warrior. He was the best, but he never felt like it. Not after his humiliating defeat to the unaffiliated swordswoman, Yoon Sun-young. Cillian was born and raised as a footballer. He played at a high-college level and eventually made it to the English Football League. He had never managed to snatch a position in the luxurious Premier League. An athlete of the highest calibre yet not the best. A young man that made decent money and lived a decent life.
It wasn’t just him. Everyone the Templars recruited were athletes of some kind. Very rarely did they recruit ordinary people, unless their aptitude for magic was high. That was the way it was. Competition, competition, competition. It was everywhere and it was tough, regardless of whether it was on Earth or the White Abyss. To stand at the top and to be acknowledged as the best should have been an honour. For him, that was never the case. He was too reserved and calm to gain the respect of the ambitious. He was the best but he was looked up at. He was observed. Then, following his defeat, there was nothing but mocking acceptance of his abilities. Nothing more, nothing less. He was a representative but he did not represent the strength of the class.
Ahead, his class was fighting alongside many of the Holy Knights. Horses were running straight at the gates of Dublin City. Surrounded by stone walls reaching over forty metres, the large wooden gate was the sole way of entry—aside from the supposed backend river according to Kazi Hossain.
Archers stood on the stone walls who attempted to shoot his class off. One of his classmates, an arrogant American footballer, leapt off his horse and charged at the gate with an axe coursing with lightning. The strike landed and the first chip off the gate had broken off.
The real battle was about to begin.
"You were right, Cillian," the Holy Knight beside him commented. He was the Holy Knight chosen to act as a messenger between representatives. A bit convoluted in Cillian’s opinion, though the Holy Knight representative insisted. "They plan to bring the battle inside the city."
Cillian didn’t reply. He, as well as a hundred others, remained back. On their horses, they observed the battle of a hundred archers and ground soldiers. That was what set alarm bells off—the fact that there were so few archers. They were luring them into a false sense of security. Cillian wasn’t going to fall for that, so he planned ahead. He sent his classmates whose abilities he knew intimately as well as a decent chunk of the Holy Knights to break into the city. As soon as they found themselves overwhelmed and surrendered (which they would, considering that there were going to be thousands in the city), the mages would create chaos.
Following that, the rest of them would storm into the city. Behind them would be the enemy Vikings coming from the sea, who would be ambushed by the mages and then swiftly intercepted and destroyed by the Dal Cais, Munsters, and Connachta.