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I stepped out from cover, aimed my arquebus, and pulled the trigger, hitting squarely into the Bretonnian mass that was pushing hard to break into the camp. While they were still being held back by the halberdiers, the air was filled with gunfire and war cries.
I quickly ducked back, took a breath, and began reloading my weapon. I watched the battle unfolding in front of me closely. There was a small pile of bodies at the center of the fight, where the Bretonnians were pushing furiously, but the halberdiers were holding the line with fierce determination.
I reloaded fast, trying to steady my breathing so I wouldn't drop the powder vials from my hands. Peeking out again, I fired at another group of Bretonnians closing in on the camp.
As I reloaded again, I saw the Bretonnian forces beginning to push the halberdiers back after a brutal sacrifice. The fight was turning against our lines. Fortunately, the swordsmen regiment joined in, reinforcing the front and forming a stronger blockade to hold the Bretonnian advance.
We were winning the ranged exchange—Bretonnian peasant archers didn't have many arrows. It didn't take long before they ran out of ammunition, giving us more freedom to fire without the constant threat of incoming arrows.
I reloaded and fired again, and again. The rhythm of battle was relentless: shoot, reload, shoot, reload. But then I noticed the Bretonnian forces had broken through the halberdier and swordsmen lines, pouring into the camp from multiple directions. Chaos erupted within the walls as battle lines collapsed and hand-to-hand combat spread everywhere. Our defenses were crumbling fast.
It didn't take long for a man-at-arms to start climbing the stairs toward me. I saw him coming quickly, eyes locked on me with his sword raised. I wasn't going to let him kill me before I got a shot off. I aimed my arquebus and fired. Through the white smoke, I saw the shot tear a bloody hole in his torso—it even struck the man behind him. The impact dropped them both instantly, their bodies tumbling down the stairs.
Seeing this, one of the pistolers rushed forward, standing in front of me, sword in hand, firing his pistols. He moved with impressive skill, tossing empty pistols behind him and drawing others from his belt, cutting down the advancing Bretonnians with deadly efficiency.
I kept reloading, helping as much as I could, holding my ground and firing whenever I had a shot. The rest of the regiment—crossbowmen, pistolers, and arquebusiers—were doing the same, fiercely defending the stairs and camp walls. The fighting had reached its peak. The defenses had been reduced to sheer fury and desperation.
At last, the greatswords entered the fray. The fighting grew even more intense as they began cutting down the Bretonnian men-at-arms and the mob of peasants behind them. They slaughtered them quickly, while we kept a large group of desperate Bretonnians at bay—thanks to the skill of some pistolers with blades and the fact that we controlled the high ground on the stairs. The battle was becoming a tide of blood and desperation.
The slaughter didn't stop, and the dead piled up fast on both sides due to the brutal intensity of the fight. Despite the pressure, we were pushing the Bretonnians out of the camp, step by step.
"No powder… you got any?" I asked an arquebusier behind me while removing one of my earplugs.
"Almost out too, kid. Check the body over there—think he had some left before the archers got him," he said, pointing to a nearby corpse.
I nodded and moved fast, stepping back from the defensive line on the stairs. I searched quickly among the dead. The Imperial soldiers were too busy fighting to pay attention, and I knew this moment was critical. I rummaged through the pouches of a fallen arquebusier and luckily found a few flasks of black powder and some usable ammunition.
With supplies in hand, I rushed back into the fight, reloading my arquebus as fast as I could. No time to waste—I put my earplug back in, ready to shoot again.
"Here, in case you need it," I said, handing one of the flasks to the arquebusier who had helped me, then got back into position, ready to keep shooting. The battle was still merciless.
The fighting didn't let up. Despite casualties on both sides, we were beginning to take back control of the camp. When we finally pushed the Bretonnians off the stairs—only a couple of them were still close enough to reach me—it looked like we might have turned the tide.
Just when we thought we had won, I noticed something on the horizon. A sizable group of Bretonnian cavalry was fast approaching, and leading them was the Grail Knight, his radiant armor shining like a beacon.
"Bretonnian knights! Bretonnian knights!" I shouted, trying to warn those near the gates, my voice echoing through the chaos.
Bit by bit, the thunder of hooves rumbled through the camp. The knights came in with lances leveled, and as they got closer, their charge became an unstoppable whirlwind. They plowed through everything in their path—friend or foe—it didn't matter. The sheer force of their charge was terrifying.
My attention shifted to the new enemies spreading through the camp, cutting down anyone wearing the colors of the Margrave or the Empire.
At last, the Imperial cavalry, which until now had stayed out of the fight, joined the fray. Suddenly, dozens of Imperial knights charged into the Bretonnian knights, clashing violently with lances and swords.The impact was brutal. Two groups of knights—rivals by nature—met with the fury of their mounts and the full weight of their armor, crashing together in a storm of steel and the screech of torn metal. The camp battle turned even more chaotic.The fight between knights became a display of both skill and savagery—lances shattered, swords clashed mid-air, and clouds of dust rose with each blow. The ground was littered with bodies and cries of pain, everything centered around the knights' charge, which would determine who would take final control of the camp.
"Stay still, you damned son of a…!" I snarled, squeezing the trigger of my arquebus. The shot thundered, and I saw the Bretonnian knight drop dead, a massive hole blown through his back.The recoil threw me off slightly, but I rushed to reload again—it had become second nature by now. I'd lost count of how many times I had gone through this cycle during the battle: shoot, reload, shoot, reload. The dense gunsmoke and the deafening noise of war wrapped around me, but my eyes never stopped searching for a new target.
As I reloaded, I scanned the battlefield. The Grail Knight—that towering figure standing out from the rest—fought with terrifying skill. He was taking on half a dozen Imperial knights at once, his sword flashing through the air as if it were an extension of his will. With every blow, he brought one of our knights down. He had already slain two. He was a machine of war, and it showed.
But as much as I wanted to focus on shooting the Grail Knight, the more immediate threat was the Bretonnians still climbing the stairs, trying to wipe out the last of our resistance. Every shot we fired from the walls gave them a window to advance, but we had to do everything possible to hold them off.
I fired again, the arquebus' blast echoing around me, but while I reloaded, I saw one of the last Bretonnians rushing up the stairs. In the blink of an eye, he killed the arquebusier standing in front of me. The man didn't even have time to defend himself. My heart raced as I saw him fall, and I realized the situation was getting worse by the second. We had no more time.
Without powder loaded in my arquebus, my only option was to strike. I grabbed the hot barrel with both hands and slammed the stock into the Bretonnian's face as hard as I could. The impact shook through my arms, and the man cried out in pain, his face twisted from the blow.
Taking advantage of his confusion, I shoved him with all my strength. I watched him fall from the wall, his neck snapping into an unnatural angle that sent a chill down my spine. There was no time to think about it.
I quickly took the last bullets from the corpse of the fallen arquebusier. With shaking hands, I poured fresh powder into my weapon. The air was thick, blood covered the ground, and the noise of battle never seemed to stop.
The fight had become a slaughter, a brutality that left more corpses than survivors. The Bretonnians began to retreat, only a handful of knights still fighting to the bitter end. We, on the other hand, had suffered heavy losses—only a few survivors remained below, and the situation still felt desperate.
I looked again for the Grail Knight. I found him, surrounded by the bodies of Imperial knights. His horse, dead beside him, looked like a faithful companion that had reached the same end. The knight was barely breathing, his armor crushed by repeated blows, wounds bleeding from several gashes across his body.
As I approached, my eyes locked onto something that became my duty. The body of my knight lay among the fallen surrounding the Grail Knight. A knot formed in my stomach as I stepped closer.
The Grail Knight's eyes met mine. His voice, though weak, carried exhaustion.
"Loyal squire… You come for your master's body, don't you?" the Grail Knight said, trying to rise. But I saw the spear lodged in one of his thighs, and his armor was misshapen from all the hits and gunshots. He was bleeding from multiple open wounds.
When he finally noticed the arquebus in my hands, he gripped his sword tighter, his face twisting with rage.
"A quiet plain of roses, trampled by an Imperial boot soaked in blood… a child with a coward's weapon destroying a Grail shrine… a sky full of twin-tailed comet banners above a ruined Bretonnian castle… YOU!" he shouted, trying to stand with all his strength, voice filled with hatred.
I said nothing. I simply pulled the trigger.The shot was clean, hitting him square in the chest. I saw him fall backward, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud. His hand still clutched his sword, and for a moment I saw him move—trying to turn and crawl toward me.
Without hesitation, I reloaded and fired again, this time aiming for his head. The shot echoed, and I saw his body go completely still. There was no more fight, no more effort to rise. The Grail Knight lay motionless, his sword still firmly gripped in his hand as blood spread slowly into the earth beneath him.
The battle ended soon after.We had won, but at a high price. Most of our men had fallen, and the battlefield was covered in corpses. I couldn't shake the feeling that this victory tasted like defeat—every step forward cost us dearly.
I wasted no time and headed for a nearby supply cart. With great effort, I hitched it to the remaining horses. I loaded my knight's body first, making sure it was secured and protected for the journey back. Then, with exhausted strength, I lifted the Grail Knight's corpse as well. That bastard—dead or not—was worth a fortune in ransom. The Bretonnians would surely pay handsomely to recover his body.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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