The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe-Chapter 2 - The Death of Young Darius P2

Clearchus squinted at the enemy's center, where the formation thickened like an impenetrable wall. His gaze shifted to the enemy's left flank, which extended far beyond their own line. Though he respected Young Darius and his vision, he was not a man to follow orders blindly.

"Your Highness, we should crush their left flank first and then swing around to envelop their center. That approach is far more secure," Clearchus said bluntly, his tone firm.

Darius' eyes flared with determination. "I know Artaxerxes. I know the Persian army. And I know your Greek phalanx! Trust me, my friend—your men will break through the center with ease. Once Artaxerxes falls, the rest will scatter like leaves in the wind!"

Clearchus remained unmoved, his jaw set. "Your Highness, I cannot expose the flank of my phalanx to their main force. My answer is no."

Darius' frustration was evident, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. But there was no time to argue, and as a mercenary leader, Clearchus was not bound to obey direct orders.

"Fine! Have it your way!" Darius growled, jerking his horse around and spurring it forward.

The two armies closed in, the air thick with anticipation. When the distance narrowed to 500 meters, the Greek soldiers began to chant a hymn to Ares, their deep voices rising in unison. The sound resonated over the plains, steady and foreboding, a prayer for victory and a warning to their foes.

By the time the hymn ended, the gap had shrunk to 200 meters.

"Ares!!!" The Greeks roared as they broke into a run, their advance gaining speed with every step. The earth shook under the pounding of thousands of boots, a relentless drumbeat heralding the storm of steel that was about to descend.

The Persian soldiers facing them faltered, their formation wavering as the Greek tide surged closer. A few scythed chariots charged recklessly into the Greek ranks, creating brief chaos and leaving mangled bodies in their wake before being destroyed. But beyond these fleeting attacks, the Persian front collapsed under the weight of fear and confusion.

When the two sides finally clashed, it was over almost as soon as it began. The Persian left flank broke and fled, the rout spreading like wildfire. The Greeks, momentarily stunned by their swift victory, quickly gave chase, their battle cries echoing across the field.

"Stay in formation! Don't break ranks!" Hylos shouted, his voice lost in the exhilaration of the pursuit.

Discipline gave way to chaos as the Greek soldiers abandoned formation, consumed by the thrill of the hunt. The once-orderly phalanx dissolved into scattered groups, each man eager to strike down as many fleeing enemies as possible.

At the center, Young Darius watched the scene unfold, his initial shock giving way to elation.

"Long live King Darius!" His attendants cheered, their voices rising above the din of battle.

Artapates turned to him, his expression eager. "Your Highness, shall we pursue them?"

Darius shook his head, his gaze fixed on the enemy's left center. He knew that victory lay not in pursuit but in securing the field.

"Relay my orders! Ariaeus' left flank is to hold position and prepare for defense," he commanded, his tone resolute. "The Greeks have routed their flank; we will not risk our weaker left against their right. Let them come to us."

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As his messenger sped off, Darius watched the enemy center carefully. His confidence wavered as the formation began to shift. The leftmost units turned back, pivoting toward the rear left.

"They're going to flank the Greeks!" Artapates exclaimed, alarmed.

Darius' mind raced. The Greeks, scattered and exposed, were vulnerable to a counterattack. He could not let this turn the tide of battle.

"Do they think I lack the will to respond?" Darius muttered. He raised his spear, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Order the right flank to advance at full speed! Cavalry, with me!"

His attendants moved to fasten his helmet, but Darius was already charging forward, his horse leaping into motion. The 800-strong cavalry formed a wedge and surged toward the Persian center, their speed and formation like a dagger aimed at the heart of the enemy.

The Persian center's commander, Artagerses, was caught off guard. In the midst of maneuvering his infantry, he hastily ordered his cavalry to intercept, but the press of bodies slowed their response. Only a thousand riders managed to break free, but they were too few and too late.

Darius' charge shattered their line in an instant. The clash of steel and the screams of dying men filled the air as his cavalry cut a bloody path through the disorganized ranks. Darius himself fought with ferocity, his sword flashing as he struck down foes with precision and strength. Mounted attendants and loyal guards followed his lead, their momentum breaking through the enemy with devastating effect.

The Persian infantry, demoralized by the collapse of their left flank, began to flee. Darius pressed the attack, his eyes scanning the battlefield. Through the swirling dust, he spotted the royal chariot carrying Artaxerxes, its position exposed by the disarray.

"To the left!" Darius shouted, pointing his spear. His cavalry veered toward the Persian king's rear guard, cutting through the remnants of the center with ruthless efficiency.

Artagerses, leading the royal guard, moved to intercept. But Darius met him head-on, deflecting his spear and delivering a killing blow with a single, precise slash. The guard commander's lifeless body toppled from his horse as Darius charged onward.

The chariot was within reach now. Artaxerxes' face, pale with fear, was visible through the chaos. Rage surged through Darius, memories of betrayal and humiliation fueling his resolve.

"Artaxerxes!" he roared, hurling his spear with all his might. The weapon flew true, piercing his brother's chest. Artaxerxes screamed and collapsed, his body slumping against the chariot.

Victory was within his grasp. Darius laughed wildly, the sound echoing over the battlefield. But his triumph was short-lived. From the chaos, a javelin flew, its tip gleaming in the sun. It struck him with unerring accuracy, piercing his eye.

The laughter ceased. Young Darius toppled from his horse, his lifeless body crashing to the ground. Around him, the battle raged on, but for the man who had dreamed of the Persian crown, it was over.