Amid the battlefield, the clang of swords and the roar of warriors filled the air—a surreal cacophony of warfare. My heart raced. My eyes took in the brutalities encompassing the area for the first time. My mind was a runaway train of terror and confusion.

Surrounded by warriors in medieval armor. I clutched a makeshift weapon, a heavy branch fashioned into a rudimentary club. Unnerving as I never recall picking it up. My clothing was a stark contrast to their attire. I felt out of place in every manner of the phrase.

Where in the hell am I?

A shove from behind set me into motion with little choice in the matter. As I stumbled over the uneven terrain, struggling to keep up with my supposed comrades. I couldn't help but marvel at the stark differences between them and me. I had attempted to shift towards the side of the formation to break away from this madness. The density of the men stopped that thought dead in its tracks. Along with the harsh shouts keeping everyone in some semblance of a formation.

The clash of metal grew closer. I was no fighter. My nerves catapulted me into a panic. The press of bodies left me no choice but to advance. My shouts and pleading did not affect the men around me. Their grim expressions show no response except slight disdain.

Fuck this!

All too quickly space opened up in front of me and with surging adrenaline, I joined the fray. I refused to launch blows toward men I had never seen before. My sluggish movements lacked training for any sort of combat. I stumbled alongside the men. Soon a sense of determination born of survival instinct set in realizing there was no escape. Left, right, and retreat cut off.

I gripped the rough-hewn club in my trembling right hand. A decrepit square shield made of banded wood boards occupied my left, feeling far too small to work correctly. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat of impending doom. My opponent appeared faster than I would have liked.

He cut the image of a battle-hardened warrior, standing before me, his cold eyes locked onto mine. I almost raised my hands to placate the man. Hoping there was a chance for peace. His wicked, almost inhuman grin told me there was no chance for such a future. There was no turning back now, I had to fight.

The weight of the club felt foreign, and unwieldy, as if it were mocking my lack of skill. The warrior eyed me. His sword gleamed in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the clouds. Every step he took seemed to echo in my ears, a reminder of my vulnerability.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a quote resounded. 'A good offense being the best defense.' Spurring me on, I lunged forward, swinging the club with all the force I could muster. My opponent parried without effort. The clash of steel against wood sent shockwaves through my arms. His sneer was palpable, and I knew he outmatched me.

Desperation and fear mingled within, but I couldn't back down. I swung again, this time with more focus, trying to anticipate his moves. He sidestepped with grace. In a fluid motion, his sword grazed my arm, leaving a searing, stinging pain in its wake. The only reason my neck had not severed was a slip of my foot squelching across the ground. I tried not to think about the substances that mushed below me.

Blood welled up from the wound, but I couldn't afford to dwell on the pain. I had to keep fighting. With newfound determination, I evaluated him, my eyes locked on his every move. This time I swung low aiming for his less-defended legs. He blocked it, though I could see a flicker of surprise in his eyes. I pushed my flimsy excuse of a shield toward his midsection creating space. The short exchange already exhausting my mind and body.

The battle raged on, my club striking against his sword with a dull clang. Time seemed to slow as we danced this dangerous dance. My every move is guided by instinct and desperation. I was no skilled warrior, but I was fighting for my life. The supposed comrades at my side were still engaged with their enemies. Though taking every opportunity to strike out at anyone vulnerable.

The man to my right felt far more skilled than the rest. Allowing me to survive far too many close calls as I scraped by with the warrior in front of me. Relying on his help and the use of my shield to shy away more than once. I felt my opponent's frustration mounting.

In the end, it was not a skill that saved me, but a stroke of luck. As I swung my club again, he overcommitted to a block, leaving his side exposed. I seized the opportunity and landed a solid blow to his ribs dropping my shield in the process. Luckily he lacked sturdy torso armor or my fist would be a crumpled mess. He staggered back, gasping for breath, and for a moment, victory hung in the balance. I noticed the flick of the man to my right wrist. The metal object that followed into my opponent's face increased his dazed state.

Summoning all my strength, I struck one final blow to his head pushing through his raised sword. With a resounding thud, he crumpled to the ground. I had won. I was also battered, bloodied, and humbled beyond belief.

As I stood there, chest heaving, I couldn't help but wonder if I had only been fortunate. Having the man to my right saving my ass with well-timed interventions. Or if I was unbelievably lucky. I summarized it as both. Sticking closer to the savior to my right with conscious effort.

The battle was brutal and unforgiving. My strange sensibilities clashed with the reality of this type of warfare. It was harsh, and unforgiving, where life or death triumphed in an instant. The sickening crunch of the man's skull I'd bashed in replayed countless times in my ears. I attempted deep calming breaths only to take in the rank aroma of blood and entrails.

Hold it together, it's not over yet.

I kept up as well as I could. Slogging with the ranks, regaining my shield as fast as humanly possible. Thank God our line received orders to retreat and rest while a fresh set of men took our place. Based on the lack of enthusiasm I observed across the field. I guessed our side was not anticipating a victory. My lack of information was rocketing back to the forefront of my mind.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I did spot a flash of banners racing across the flank of our formation. A moment later leading to a thunderous clash that seemed to relieve much of the pressure on the front line. It felt like only seconds before I spotted the banners retreat towards our lines again. That was enough it seemed to sway the tides as the men around me released heartfelt roars of triumph.

As the dust settled and the enemy retreated, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of relief. I had survived the battle, an experience that felt like a dream. As I looked around at the wounded and fallen grasping for help. I knew I would carry this horrific experience with me for the rest of my life, a tale that no one would ever believe. I frowned in consternation. Who would I tell it to? I didn't even realize my eyes were closing before my body went limp and consciousness left me.

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The weight of the cold steel in my hand brought me no comfort. The leather wrapping shifted under pressure, hinting toward a less-than-high-quality production. My breaths labored already with the thumping of my heart. Not quite drowning out the quiet weeping and angry grunts of men devoid of hope.

There were not enough of us. Not even close to the numbers the enemy was bringing in return. It had been less than a full day since I arrived in this cursed place. The smell of blood, entrails, and urine permeates the surroundings. Nausea gripping my stomach with an iron grasp.

Everything in me wanted to run, I had no business here. No stake in this war.

The thunder of hooves soon filled the air. Looking above the man's head in front, fear coursing through my veins I prepared for the worst. Thankfully it was an ally. Appearing to be a captain or commander he began an impassioned speech atop his armored mount. Catching a glimpse of his imposing figure sitting tall in front of the line of despondent men.

“Hold fast, champions of Glenbrook! We here are the last bastion of hope! The final wall for those filthy swine to pass. To pillage the vibrant land we have toiled over for generations! Will you hold with me? Will you have the courage to send these foul scum back to the clutches of hell itself? Or will you let your homes be lit aflame and families sold like animals?”

His voice held a power and charisma that I had never felt before, pulling on the very strings of the soul. It couldn't be natural as I held no home nor family in this strange land that I could recall. Having awoken hours before lying in a puddle of blood, face down in a field full of bodies left to rot. That was the second memory my mind had collected. Besides the charge and battle before it, where I took another man's life. The very thought of it sent shivers down my spine all over again.

I shifted with the sickly stickiness of dried blood scratching at my skin. The glaring hole in the padded tunic I switched into after waking up was a harrowing reminder. Whoever had been wearing it before pierced through the chest from front to back. It still was in far better shape than my previous attire.

Yanked back to the present a somber cheer rang out from the men. The cavalryman's finished speech roused their spirits. The voices held all their fear and anguish. Releasing a terrifying roar that spoke of men coming to terms with their deaths. Goosebumps rose all over my body and I almost found myself cheering alongside them. Only the number of questions and mysteries plowing through my head stopped me. I watched as the general galloped along the front line. His lance held high chanting along with his people before disappearing moments later.

“Have you ever held a sword before lad?” The sudden voice beside my ear made me jump more than I was proud to admit. Looking over to see a man far past his prime, likely in his late fifties based on the deep lines across his face. Though his broad shoulders and strong jaw hinted towards surprising strength. He looked familiar, I then realized it was the man who had been fending off my right side not hours ago.

“It’s been a long time. Thank you, by the way, you saved my ass out there.” I opted for a simple response not knowing how friendly the man would be if I said no. The sword had been the sturdiest weapon I could find after waking up in that damn field. Its hilt was only noticeable underneath a pile of corpses. I tried not to think about the sensation of pulling it free and wiping it down. Some things are better left forgotten.

He stared at me with slight amusement crossing his expression.

“It's not an easy weapon to handle. I mean no insult but stick to stabbing forward as much as possible. Would rather not receive a gash from behind my young friend. You understand?” He emphasized his point with a small controlled thrust with his sword. He held a kite shield in his other arm, unlike the square ones most men around us held, including myself.

Taking a closer look I noticed the sturdy chainmail underneath his tunic. It even had some sort of heraldry covered with blood and grime. That along with his metal pauldrons and gauntlets, both looked well made. Leading to the realization that this man was many calibers above the rest. Their padded gambesons and leather caps look fragile in comparison.

“I’ll take that into consideration.” My tone held a small amount of sarcasm, a natural coping mechanism I didn't realize I employed until now. A vague memory rushed forward of a blurred figure telling me it would get me into trouble someday. I almost dropped to my knees before pulling myself back together.

A good-natured smile bloomed on the older man's face. Showing he was also a hopeless enjoyer of the fickle sense of humor. Though concern replaced it not soon after.

“It is much appreciated. If I may be so bold, stay close when this begins and you may keep that head of yours where it belongs.” He looked back towards the front lines after that foreboding anecdote. Leaving me with a frog in my throat that I was desperate to swallow.

“Here they come.” His statement almost made me jump again, but I held myself still with a force of will.

Let's try not to embarrass ourselves too much here.

I had no idea how he could tell. Silence still dominated the vast hillside we currently inhabited. Nothing identifying an attack of any kind.

I looked at him with questioning eyes, but he was focusing on the morning fog in front of us like a falcon spying on a hare. He must have lost his helmet in the previous fray exposing his head, in the same way as mine. Having an exposed skull was not a smart move for either of us. Admonishing myself for the obvious oversight.

I should have looted a fucking helmet.

“How are our chances?” I whispered in what I hoped was a nonchalant tone.

“Slim.” He breathed back.

“Shit.” I so eloquently responded.

“Indeed. If you can cover my flank, I may be able to produce a gap when the time is right. Do not fall behind.” His short instruction kindled a small amount of hope in a bleak situation. My only true hope was surviving long enough to begin figuring out what in the hell was going on.

“I'll do my best.” That was the best promise I could make given the circumstances. The temptation to question him about the situation we were in built in my chest. Yet I couldn't find the words. Everything my brain formulated sounded like complete garbling insanity.

Not smart to let the one guy providing any help think you're crazy. For now at least.

I heard a faint whistle in the air that grew in volume. Then a dull thunk as an arrow pierced the man to my right shoulder. Sending him crashing into the line behind us with a cry of pain.

“Shields up!” The shout came from multiple locations as men raised their arms. Fearing the consequences that an arrow would provide. My legs were shaking while watching men pull the victim of the first arrow further into the back lines. To receive what I hoped was medical attention. Then the next volley of arrows came with even greater intensity. Falling into wooden shields although the sporadic cry of pain showed not all were so lucky.