Thirty third wave, Epilogue.

[Oton]

The Nomad Horde came, saw... and did not win.
Yes, it drowned the lands of Imperia in their own blood. Yes, it hit it hard, killing millions of people. Yes, it drained and depopulated its trade routes, which were the so needed blood for all the free rulers.
Yes, the Steppe Wolf grasped this land with in his fist. He strangled it, burnt it, violated it and stepped on it.
But this land prevailed. Despite the pain. Despite the many Emperors fell, along with all their subjects.
Xaoc did not understand. Every other would surrender. Every other would bend his head and ask for mercy.
Xaoc did not understand.
Every other would try do save his people, his loved ones.
But not the ones here. Though beaten, burnt, taken into slavery, severely blood-drained, left without food and water for months... they kept sending armies to fight him... and die with hatred in their eyes. Not fear. Hatred. Those same... imperians... killed almost half of the Steppe Sons who came here. And if he would've succeeded in blocking their roads and supply lines... they would dare to attack his main camp. They would dare strike him in his very heart.
"What kind of people are these? Where is this courage coming from? Who are those men and women's mothers?"
For the first time in his life... Xaoc did not have an answer.
And... fot the first time in his life... he was not victorious.
The thought was new to him, dreadful. Unbelievable. Unknown.
And it was so shocking it shook his all entity deeply.
In fact, the Horde succeeded in only one thing - it was able to establish a solid platzdarm along the whole Imperian eastern boarder, which was a good start for future attacks on West.
"And, in the name of the Mother of us all, I swear that there will be not just future attacks. Not at all! There will be only war! Burning, devastating, horrible war! War until... all of you... or all of us... lie down in the ground!"
Nothing else mattered anymore for the Steppe Wolf.
And he came here today, on this hill, where it all began. It was here when he sent Oton for the first time to march and bring him this land. And it was here when he met him back, on the next day, defeated and humiliated. Here, on this piece of land, he would plant the nomad spear, for all the Emperors to see it. And for all of them to understand that... the Horde would not leave this place until they are all conquered.
The sun was scorching the earth again, the air was but a heavy haze, not even the birds could be heard.
The Steppe Sons had come here in millions.
The spears were filling up the whole valley, as far as the eyes could reach. Rhomboid after rhomboid, a heavy steppe cavalry amongst them, footmen were lined along Mongols and Tree Children.
A sea of Death, endless sea.
They stood completely silent, all of them looking at their leaders.
Xaoc slowly poked his horse ahead, with his Marshal - right behind him, closely to each other. Robust, Oton and Jane - The First among Equals.
Princeps.
Bloody, merciless, terrifying generals, the knew no remorse, no regrets, no rest. Leaders who were prepared to sacrifice everything and everyone to give him what he wants. And he would get it. No matter the cost.
The Steppe Wolf dismounted his horse and made a few steps.
He stopped and impaled the dry ground with the spear, swinging powerfully.
'This is the land of the Steppe', he screamed and the whole Horde followed, shaking the vicinity, reaching every corner of the earth, echoing.
The roar had not calmed down completely when the Chieftain heard a muted buzz.
A yard and a half long arrow pierced the top end of the spear, two inches from his head.
The shot was impossible. Unreal.
Exclamations could be heard from his generals' group.
Xaoc folded his eyes and looked at the trees from where he supposed the arrow had come. There was nobody. The silence was complete, nothing was moving.
He broke down the arrow, with a piece of paper attached to it. He unfolded it and began to read... and the anger filled him, reaching the borders of insanity:

The lands of Imperia start from this arrow to the West, Chieftain. They had never been conquered before, nor will they be now. Greater men had tried before you... but they left their teeth here. We will make you leave yours here as well, Son of the Steppe. We are here two millenia already. And we shall remain here. Long after... you lie into the ground. You are not welcomed here. Unless you want this land to be your grave. You cannot conquer us. You will have to vanquish us all. But you could not do that. Go back to the Steppe... or die.

                                                                                                                    The Free Emperors

Xaoc tore the paper into small pieces and yelled towards the forest:
'The war is just beginning!'
Yes.
The war for the lands of Imperia... was just starting.

Strength and Honor!