The Commander of the King’s army, Veylan, raised his gauntleted hand. His voice carried like a drumbeat. “Form ranks! Cohorts one to three with me. Cavalry, protect the flanks. Siege teams, ready the ballistae!” He pointed to the wagons behind them. “Cohort four, split in two, half defend the survivors, the others protect our rear. Not a single goblin touches them.”
The orders spread like wildfire. Shields locked, pikes lowered, archers prepared, cavalry moved into the fields on either side. The disciplined weight of over two thousand soldiers surged forward, banners snapping in the wind. Behind them, a few hundred formed a defensive circle around the wagons and the Brindlecross survivors.
William received a notification.
[Optional Quest: Save the People of Dunholme]
Optional? Will shook his head at the thought of not helping.
William watched with Fredric at his side, the teenager’s leather armour still scarred and muddied from Brindlecross. The six adventurers stood with them. Marie’s sword gleaming, Sibrek grumbling as he hefted his axe, Amra preparing her bow with calm hands, Pip spinning a dark-bladed dagger with a smirk, Carl and Brian both steady with mace and staff in hand.
“We’re with the soldiers.” Marie drew her sword.
William nodded, tightening his grip on his sword. “Then so am I.”
Together, they left the safety of the wagons, joining the soldiers as the army advanced towards the broken walls. The goblin warband came into full view, swarming like ants across the breach. Thousands of them, five thousand at least, their shrieks filling the twilight as the King’s soldiers locked shields and lowered their pikes.
The air was thick with smoke, fear, and the promise of blood. Under the command of Veylan, the King’s army surged towards the goblin horde, the ground trembling beneath their charge as the horde turned to face them. The clash was but a heartbeat away.
The army Commander pulled the reins on his horse and raised his sword. “For the King and for Mercia! Kill them all!” he ordered.
Many of the soldiers repeated parts of the call. “For Mercia!” “Kill them all!”
A howl rippled through the goblin horde as they surged to meet the King’s army. The ground trembled with the impact when the two forces collided; shields braced against a tide of shrieking bodies. The clang of steel and the screams of the dying filled the air.
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William struck first, his blade a fiery crescent that carved through three goblins in a single arc. Sparks and blood sprayed the mud. Beside him, Marie’s sword cut the neck of a goblin. Sibrek roared like a forge-fire, splitting goblins in half with each swing of his axe.
Pip slipped into the chaos, darting between goblins’ rusty blades, a blur of daggers that found throats and tendons before returning to safety. Amra’s arrows hissed overhead, each one slamming into eyes, throats, or joints, dropping goblins before they even reached the shield line. Carl and Brian stood firm with a group of soldiers, deflecting blows and striking with surprising strength for their thin limbs.
The weight of numbers pressed hard. Goblins climbed over their fallen, screaming and clawing. The shield wall strained, but it held.
***
On the village wall, a young blacksmith’s apprentice swung a spear with bloody hands. His knuckles were raw, his breath ragged. He had fought all night, his friends already dead. When the King’s army banners appeared, hope surged in his chest. But goblins were already inside, pouring through a breach in the stone wall.
Hundreds had already fallen; his master had died holding that gap. Now it was just him and a dozen villagers, screaming as they tried to hold on a few more precious moments. He stabbed a goblin in the throat, only to be bowled over by another. A soldier from Mercia hauled him up, shouting at him to fall back.
He looked down into the fields and saw a man in golden armour cutting through goblins like fire through dry straw, his blade leaving golden arcs in the night. “Wh-who is he?” For the first time in hours, the apprentice believed they might live to see the dawn.
***
The first troll slammed into the shield line with a roar, scattering men in all directions. Its claws gouged through armour, its bulk smashing soldiers into the mud. A second tore up a ballista from the earth and hurled it deep into the ranks, the great machine splintering into deadly shards.
The shield wall buckled under the trolls’ charge. Dozens of men were scattered, the line sagging in the centre as goblins poured into the gap. Panic threatened to spread.
Veylan’s voice cut through the carnage, steady as a church bell. “Second cohort, pivot! Third, hold the breach! Drive them back!”
Horn calls answered him. A wave of pikemen swung in from the flank, their formation slamming into the goblin tide with brutal precision. Cavalry wheeled wide, protecting their exposed flanks, their lances lowered, spearing the trolls from the side. The broken line steadied, shields locking once more.
From his horse, Veylan raised his sword, pointing straight at the wounded troll still flailing in rage. “Ballistae’s! Mark your target!”
The machines creaked and fired. Several bolts smashed through the beast’s chest, pinning it like a grotesque puppet before it toppled backward into the mud. Soldiers roared as the monster fell, their fear burning away in the Commander’s presence.
Another troll received half a dozen mage spells to the face and upper body: [Lightning Blast], [Frost Breath], [Arcane Blast], and three [Fireballs]. When the smoke cleared, the troll’s head and shoulders were gone!
With men yelling and dying all around him, William caught himself staring at Veylan. Within the chaos of battle, the Commander looked like he belonged there, a man carved for war, moving armies as easily as William once moved guild party members on a dungeon raid.
[XP: +1] [XP: +1] [XP: +1]
Chapter 042 [SYSTEM ERROR: RECALIBRATING]
