For a single, horrifying heartbeat, time stopped, and victory curled into massacre.

  The air, once filled with ragged cheers of a winning push, was now ripped apart by a new sound – the deadly, whistling hiss of arrows falling from the sky like steel rain, a sound promising pain. It was instantly answered by the sharp, wet thuds of arrowheads finding homes in shield, earth, and flesh.

  Screams of pain reverberated through the battlefield, but not from the enemy this time, but from their own side - from men who had just been celebrating.

  Their cheers turned into agony as the arrows fell. Some fell without a sound, the light leaving their eyes before they could understand what happened. Others stayed standing, staring at the shafts embedded in their bodies, their minds still not caught up with what happened.

  Raen’s head snapped around, his momentary relief vanishing, eyes sweeping the battlefield. His eyes quickly located Jason, his spear clattering to the ground as he clutched the shaft of the arrow now jutting from his shoulder, his eyes wide in terror, face pale in fright.

  The fresh recruits, who had just found bravado, lost it. Their eyes, previously holding the fire of battle in them, were now filled with pure, undiluted fear. Some were not even looking at the enemy, but at the sky, waiting for the next volley to finish them off.

  The trap had been sprung perfectly. They were not just outnumbered; they were exposed.

  Raen clenched his teeth, jumped back, and grabbed Jason, pulling him away. Arrows fell down on where the latter previously sat.

  “On my position, quickly!” Raen shouted, searching for his squad. “Adam! Mark! Dral!”

  Adam was there in seconds, hammer in hand, placing himself between Raen and two enemy soldiers who arrived. Mark and Dral, however, didn’t respond.

  Raen’s eyes swept the battlefield and found them, both deeper in enemy lines than they should have been. Both were completely out of reach.

  Dral had pushed too far during the initial charge and had found himself surrounded by enemy soldiers. His axe had turned red from the blood it spilled, his body painted in the same color. Still, he didn’t seem to be in real trouble, just unable to respond to Raen’s call.

  Mark, however, was dancing.

  There was no other word for it. His curved blade moved gracefully, in low, sweeping arcs, and then so fast that it was nothing but a blur. His body twisted and turned, blades passing without being able to harm him, akin to a banner floating in the wind.

  Raen noted one thing in that moment. The two were using inner strength. But barely, it was obvious they were still holding back.

  Noticing that no further help would arrive, Raen clutched his sword before looking down at Jason, who was still frozen in fear, his breath coming in short, shallow pulls.

  Raen slapped him across the face.

  “Get it together!” Raen shouted, staring down at Jason, who flinched.

  “Listen to me!” Raen’s voice changed, the warmth gone. The careful diplomacy he wore around his squad stripped in a single breath. What remained was cold, without patience.

  It was the voice of a man who had watched men die more times than he could count.

  “If you don’t move, you die. Right here, right now. Do you understand me?!”

  Jason swallowed and nodded.

  “Good, stay behind me.”

  Adam stood in front of them, his hammer swinging wildly, fighting off two soldiers who planned on attacking them.

  “Dammit, take the left one!” Raen said, quickly moving, attacking the soldier on the right, his eyes shifting around, scanning the battlefield.

  “Don’t scatter, continue pushing forward!” A familiar voice echoed through the battlefield.

  “Fifth platoon, stop pushing forward, defensive formation to the right!”

  “The rest, slaughter them! Kill the bastards, and we shall live this day!”

  A horse surged into view, charging down to the enemy. Anderson was on it, his sword drawn, coat snapping behind him. His face was calm, filled with absolute conviction of a man who decided that his men needed to see him fight.

  ‘Is he trying to get killed?’ Raen thought as he pivoted, parrying a sword strike to his ribs, feeling the jolt of impact all the way to his shoulders.

  His side burned from a wound he didn’t notice until now. The adrenaline finally gave way to the pain to slip through. Every breath felt like sucking air over hot coal.

  ‘We killed dozens before this.’ He thought, parrying again. ‘The flankers carved through their side. We’re not outnumbered; this should be manageable.’

  But numbers didn’t mean much when their men weren’t tired, and yours were, when archers were still launching arrows relentlessly, aiming to slaughter as many as they could.

  They were in a really bad spot, and Raen knew it.

  That was why Anderson joined – to boost morale, but that was a double-edged sword. If he was wounded or killed, their morale would perish, and so would they.

  “Careful!” Jason’s cry jolted Raen awake. He threw himself backwards, evading a slash coming from the side, from a third soldier who joined the battle.

  “Right arm, lift it.”

  Raen brought his right arm up, and a spear shot out from behind him, stabbing between the seams of the leather armor, right into the gut of the third soldier. Jason – wounded shoulder be damned – held his spear with his good arm, his teeth clenched, fighting through the pain.

  The body’s weight yanked the spear out of Jason’s trembling arm as it fell.

  “Thanks,” Raen said, staring at the remaining enemy. “Stay back now.”

  The soldier was good, experienced enough to read Raen’s exhaustion and patient enough to wait for it to show itself.

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  ‘I have to finish this quickly.’

  He sprang forward, his two hands clutching his sword before slashing down, only to be stopped by the opponent, the blow caught cleanly.

  He pulled his arms back and thrust, but it was deflected to the side.

  Raen, whoever, allowed the deflection to carry his blade right, then stepped back and spun.

  A sharp glint passed through the eyes of the enemy soldier. He saw an opportunity.

  He took a step forward, slashing down at Raen’s exposed back,

  His sword hit nothing but air.

  The distance between them didn’t shorten in the slightest.

  Raen had spun backward, creating distance, fooling his enemy into complacency.

  Mid-turn, Raen’s sword dropped low, his blade scraping the mud, sending it flying straight into the enemy’s face.

  Not expecting such a move, the enemy was blinded, the thick mud splattering all over his face, causing him to quickly use his right hand to wipe the mud away.

  A fatal mistake.

  A sword stabbed through his heart with no hesitation, his body freezing before falling down to the ground.

  Raen, victorious, breathed heavily. He looked around, checking the battlefield.

  The fifth platoon had stopped the enemy reinforcements, but they were outnumbered by the infantry, numbering around fifty men, and barely holding on.

  Still, the main enemy force was being hit from the front and left, the troops gaining a second wind thanks to Anderson.

  ‘Anderson, he has to be guarded.’ Raen thought, looking at the captain, who had dismounted and was fighting alongside the troops.

  Raen stared around, observing the battlefield before his eyes stopped, fixed in one position ,before widening slightly.

  An archer.

  He was not one belonging to the fifty who were firing volleys. This one had broken away from them, circling wide, moving closer to the battlefield with practiced steps, nobody noticing him in the chaos.

  His face was turned toward Anderson, bow flung across his back.

  A hunter, one who already had his prey in sight.

  ‘Anderson can’t see him.’ Raen stated, his jaw clenching hard.

  “Adam!” Raen shouted, already on the move.

  “Protect Jason, fall back with him!”

  Raen ran, passing through soldiers already locked in battle, sliding underneath swords swinging at him, and even jumping over fallen soldiers, comrades and enemies alike.

  ‘I need to make it!’

  Anderson’s figure got closer and closer, but the enemy archer was also close.

  Suddenly, two men appeared in front of him, one he recognized, a member of his platoon, with a sword sticking out of his chest.

  An enemy soldier noticed Raen, yanked his sword free, and kicked the dying man at Raen, who grit his teeth, slamming against the man with his shoulder, knocking him aside before sprinting at the enemy.

  The man raised his sword fast before slashing down, but Raen didn’t stop. He kicked off the ground strongly, lowered his body, and rammed the man, hitting him before the slash arrived.

  The hilt still caught him, hitting him on the side of his head, his world turning white for a moment.

  He didn’t stop.

  He swiftly grabbed the back of the opponent’s knee and pulled with his left hand. The soldier went down hard.

  Raen didn’t waste any time; his left hand already grabbed his dagger. In one cold, automatic motion, he plunged it straight into the fallen man’s eye. His legs kicked off the ground the instant he had stabbed the man.

  The enemy archer had stopped, his bow firmly grasped in his hand now. He took a deep breath, stabilizing himself before exhaling. He repeated the motion again, only this time, he notched an arrow when he inhaled.

  Raen ran with all his might, eliminating anything but Anderson from his sight.

  He rammed into another enemy soldier who was locked in battle, pushing him aside, but earning a cut on his thigh.

  He deflected a sword with his gauntlet and slammed his forehead into the enemy’s nose, knocking him over, but received a punch to his ribs at the same time.

  Each step forward brought more injuries, but the archer had already pulled the strings of his bow back and was taking aim.

  5 meters away from Anderson.

  The archer was slowly exhaling, still taking aim.

  4 meters.

  The archer was holding his breath, his bow steady, eyes fully focused.

  3 meters.

  2 meters.

  The archer’s fingers relaxed, letting the arrow fly.

  Raen lunged forward, tackling Anderson from the side.

  The arrow passed, merely grazing Raen’s thigh before stabbing into the ground.

  “Archer!” A soldier yelled.

  Heads turned, and spears flew. One caught the archer in the chest, the blow lifting him off his feet. He stared down the spear with something that might have been surprise, and fell.

  The archer gambled with his life, getting close in order to eliminate Anderson, but ultimately failed.

  “Are you alright, Captain?” Raen asked with heavy breath, his eyes red from exhaustion.

  Anderson surged to his feet before pulling Raen with him. He nodded at him – a gesture that carried more gratitude than any words could.

  ***

  Another horn sounded.

  Not theirs, again.

  A horse behind enemy lines reared up, its front hooves pawing the air.

  For a moment, everything seemed to slow.

  The enemy captain – still shouting orders moments ago – stared down at the red line blooming across his throat. He touched it with one hand and stared at the blood.

  He then slid sideways out of his saddle and dropped limp into the mud.

  A figure sat where he’d been an instant later, crouching down, one hand tangled in the horse’s mane to steady himself, and to calm the animal down.

  Thatch.

  “Show-off,” Raen muttered weakly, but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

  The enemy formation rippled, confusion spread in a wave, some turning to look at their fallen commander, others stepping back on instinct, others unsure of who was in charge anymore.

  And then, like an explosion, something moved on the right flank of the 4th Company.

  Marcus.

  He didn’t charge. He launched.

  His whole body coiled and then unleashed like a spring. He slammed into the side of the flanking enemy line like a boulder. His first swing took a man off his feet, shield and all, sending him crashing into two others.

  The second cut simply went through – wood, steel, flesh, it didn’t matter. The heavy blade bit, stuck for a moment, then tore free as Marcus wrenched it back, his boots digging in the mud.

  The enemy nearest to him hesitated.

  Wrong move.

  Marcus roared, a sound more akin to a beast than man, and plowed forward, shoulder into one, kneeing another, his sword a brutal arc that never stopped moving.

  His greatsword was massive enough that most men would need two hands just to lift, and yet it moved in his grip like it weighed nothing. Every strike was powerful and brutal, but also efficient, using just the right amount of force to kill.

  He was fast, but that was not the terrifying part. Every step he took put him exactly where he needed to be, every swing arrived precisely where the enemy couldn’t block it. It was as though he could see the fight before it happened.

  He was thinking multiple moves ahead.

  A spearman thrust at his chest.

  Marcus turned sideways, the spear passing by harmlessly. His sword came down, splitting open the man’s head.

  Another attacked him with his sword, but he never reached him; their reach was too far apart. Marcus took off his head before he was able to swing.

  Another arrived, but then froze, staring at Marcus, who merely glanced at him before passing him by, allowing him to live.

  Another ran away. Marcus let him.

  “He’s breaking their will,” Anderson said as Raen stared at Marcus.

  From where Raen stood, it was like watching a gap being ripped open by hand.

  The archers scrambled, their arrows now aimed at Marcus. Most missed, some were deflected, but some reached their marks, stabbing into Marcus. He didn’t flinch.

  He reached one who was trying to draw on him at close range. He got his string half-pulled before Marcus’ sword cut through his bow and chest in one swing.

  “Push!” Anderson’s voice thundered from behind. “Take the opening, push!”

  The 4th surged forward.

  Raen gripped his sword in both hands and followed, legs screaming, lungs burning, eyes fixed on Marcus still.

  For the first time since he came back, he saw Marcus fight.

  And he knew that he had grossly underestimated the man.

  Within a minute, the entire enemy flank was routing. They weren’t retreating, they were running. They threw down their weapons, abandoned their shields, every shred of discipline gone, thanks to what they just witnessed.

  Primal instinct overrode everything.

  Soon after, the rest of their army routed as well.

  Marcus stopped.

  He stood still in the middle of the carnage, greatsword resting in the mud. His breathing was labored, and multiple arrows jutted from his body.

  A path of blood was visible from the 4th right flank to him, a path he had carved. Nobody went near him, the soldiers moving around as they stared at him.

  They were in awe, which was visible by how they looked at him. But there was something underneath, something more honest.

  Fear.

  Even Adam, who usually feared nothing, kept his distance, his eyes darting to Marcus from time to time as they all regrouped, not engaging the retreating enemy.

  Raen caught Marcus’ eye across the field. His expression hadn’t changed, same quiet calm, same empty stare.

  ‘Just who are you, Marcus?’ Raen thought. ‘What the hell are you doing in a squad like ours?’

  How did you guys like the first 'larger' scale battle of the novel?