Heta-Collection: The Immortals Through Time

The Indestructible Soldier

The screams of men, the cries of horses, the clash of steel, and the smell of blood. This was his battlefield. This was his home. The war against the Austrians has been getting fiercer as the days go by. They were being pushed back to their capital and so their king sent their last resort. The king sent him.

"DON'T FALTER!" he hollered from atop his steed, "FORWARD!"

His troops roared and rushed forward. Some ran through enemies with their spears, some pierced through the flesh with arrows, and some slashed through skin and wood with their swords. Him? He plowed away enemies with his broadsword.

He rode across the field as men and horses fly dead in his wake. The enemy troops shook in their boots as they heard his blood drenched sword scraping at the ground. His white hair splattered with red served as a beacon for the enemy to avoid, and his crimson eyes served as a sign that they were about to meet their maker.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, the Commander of the Black Order, was a man to be reckoned with. Past enemies had pleaded, begged, and kissed his boot for mercy but he paid them no heed. He slaughtered them as he looked them in the eye all by the order of his king. His blood red eyes being the last thing his enemies saw before they perish. Thus they gave him the name, The Red-eyed Demon.

"No! Please no!"

Gilbert tore another soldier apart with his blade. He looked around, face red with splatters of blood. His troops were doing well. They had pushed the enemy lines much farther than planned and that was a job well done for them. He was no longer needed in the front.

Just as he had turned his horse, a loud thundering sound erupted and the land beside him exploded. He fell to the ground and had his foot stuck under his dead horse. There were several similar thundering sounds and explosions around him. He felt the tremors on the ground and cursed.

"Canons."

He tried to push the horse off of him but the dead animal just wasn't budging. Another canon blasted an iron ball and Gilbert saw it fly directly at him. His eyes widened and he braced for impact as he cursed the enemy commander.

"Fuck you, prissy boy."

-----

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, it was dark and there was something heavy on his back. With a shout, he lifted the heavy object off of him and realized it was a pile of dead bodies. The bodies of his troops. He grimaced.

He had been under a pile of his own soldiers this whole time while the war was still raging on. The thought pained him. He failed to protect his own people.

He could hear the screams, and the clashes of steel from further west and he knew that he needed to get there. He needed a horse to do that.

"Herr Beilschmidt!" his aide, Heinrich, came rushing towards him. He held the reins of Gilbert's spare horse as it galloped beside his own.

With a trot, Heinrich's steed came to a halt and the young soldier jumped down from it. Heinrich handed Gilbert a large broadsword. It was covered in blood but the black eagle emblem engraved to it was still clear as day. It was his sword.

"Ser gut, Hein." He said as he grabbed his beloved weapon.

"The king will want you back at camp, sir." Heinrich said as he handed the reins of the horse to his commander.

Gilbert mounted his new horse and stared off towards the sounds of battle. Heinrich had just turned his horse towards their camp when he heard Gilbert issue an order.

"Tell Fritz I'll be home late," Gilbert gripped the reins of his horse and the hilt of his sword, a sinister grin graced his lips, and his eyes glowed deep red, "I want to see the look in their eyes once they see a ghost."

With that, he rode full speed to battle. Heinrich sat there yelling at him to stop but he knew it was futile. The young soldier sighed. How will he tell this to the king?

-----

Gilbert jumped down from his steed and hitched the tired horse to a post. He sauntered in, his sword scraping the earth as he walked, and the noise started. The troops started talking, some dropped their dinner in shock, others screamed in fright at the sight of a supposedly dead man, and then there was the king.

The old man went straight towards him, eyes blazing. Gilbert flinched as he was grabbed by the ear, and flailed as he was dragged towards the far tents. He was thrown to the wooden boxes of supplies, making him scramble for his bearings. He eventually sat down on one of the lower boxes, cradling his abused ear, and pouted at his old friend.

"What's the big deal, Fritz?!" he said, "That hurt!"

"Insubordination." Fritz replied, "You rushed into enemy lines despite my call to fall back."

Gilbert stared at him. It wasn't the first time he had disobeyed an order. Especially that order. But every time he did disobey, it became an advantage to them. He even took home more soldiers than they had expected. He can save lives out there just by disobeying an order. There shouldn't be a problem.

"Enemy troops had retreated back to their inner city because of what I did." Gilbert said, "That saved us two campaigns. We now have more time to plan our next course of action."

"You could've died!"

Gilbert blinked at him. Ah. So that was the problem. It's always that with Fritz. Always worried about his well-being. No other king had treated him like that. Only Fritz.

"Fritz," Gilbert started, "I-"

Fritz interrupted him, "I know what you're going to say." The old king sighed and grabbed on to the tent pole for support, "But that doesn't mean that I don't worry."

"I come back every time."

"Drenched in blood mixed with your own, and clothes torn and tattered as if they were your wounds."

Fritz sighed again and switched his weight back and forth between his two feet. A habit that Gilbert knew. A habit that Fritz did when he was scared.

"I won't die, Fritz," Gilbert said softly, "Nothing can kill me."

Fritz looked at him, eyes filled with worry and sadness, and Gilbert just smiled at him, giving his friend some reassurance. It was the truth. The consoling and sad truth of his life. He won't be leaving his dear friend's side anytime soon.

"We don't know that, Gil." Fritz said, "Maybe something can."

And with that, Fritz left him. Gilbert sat quietly as he listened to the voices of the merry soldiers. He saved more of them today. He did good. He did really good, and he will do it again. He is the Commander of the Black Order, The Red-eyed Demon, and the Indestructible Knight.

He will never fall.

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Who do you want to read next? I have some ideas on France and Spain but if you have some stuff for the others, I would love to work on them.

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