“Most people categorize mercenary units by their size. Those under a hundred men were just the small fries, the ones who just started the business, or maybe just had a disastrous result. Few employers look for mercenary companies of this size unless they just happen to need them to do small missions.

A common practice for companies of this size is to sub-contract to or join with a larger one, or in a few cases, to group up together as one and thus qualify themselves as a larger group. The late Vanguard Legion was one such group, composed of eight different companies of small sizes that acted as a whole.

They no longer existed, however, as most of the Legion’s fighting force perished in the Theodinaz Invasion a couple years ago. I heard only one of their companies survived relatively intact and in fighting shape, but they had since joined the Free Lances instead with the Legion’s disbandment.” - Ulfgar Nordenschuld, town gossip and drunk from Knallgant, circa 4 FP.

Outskirts of Eloyu Village

South-Eastern Posuin, by the border between the Duchy of Dvergarder and the Barony of Ohu

South-Western Alcidea

3rd day of 2nd week of the 9th month, year 7 FP.

“What do you think, boss? Time for us to head in there and save them poor peasants from the scary bad knights?” asked Salicia half in jest as she peered to the distance from atop the branch of a large tree in the forest, one hand over her eye to shade it from the glare of the sun.

Reinhardt was always impressed by how sharp-eyed the woman was, despite only having one functional eye since birth. She could see things in the distance most people would normally need a spyglass to even notice, and clearly enough to accurately put an arrow into them at a thousand paces even.

They were perched on a large tree a short distance from a poor village in south-eastern Posuin, Knallzog’s western neighbor, a mostly human kingdom though they had begun to tolerate merchants and mercenaries of other races in the past couple of centuries.

The kingdom itself only existed in name at the moment, and was practically splintered into around a dozen competing factions, all fighting for the throne and supremacy, or just to be left in peace by their neighbors. At the moment the Free Lances were under the employ of Sandoval Utghwes, Duke of Dvergarder, and they had been watching the village since it was their latest target.

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Inside the village square was a scene easily visible from his perch atop the tree, that of the villagers - generally thin, rather emaciated people who had lived hard lives and eked out a living out of what little they have - begging a group of thirty or so knights who were gathering sacks of wheat and other foodstuffs from the village to leave some behind for them.

It was not an uncommon sight. The Barony of Ohu was one of the smaller factions on the map at the moment, and was hard-pressed by their neighbors. To eke out another day of survival and independence, they had resorted to basically robbing their own villagers of foodstuffs and youngsters to be sent to the front lines.

Around forty or so of the village’s youth were made to stand at the side, “officially” conscripted to the Baron’s army, and watched with uncertain eyes at the scene of their parents begging the knights not to take their food stockpile away, since winter was on the horizon.

Other villagers - including the conscripted youngsters - looked on angrily, but they had no real weapons in their village, at best a few axes for chopping wood and the likes. As poorly geared as the Baron’s excuses for knights were - with shabby, often damaged chainmails over stained gambesons - the villagers were still no match for them without proper weapons.

“Yeah, I think this should be a good time for that,” said Reinhardt from atop his perch on the tree. He nimbly jumped down to the forest floor - a five-meter drop that a human would have some difficulties making - and landed deftly on all fours, his knees and elbows flexed to absorb the impact. “Shoot ‘em up once you hear the signal, though leave some to bloody the greenhorns.”

Not a minute later, a shrill whistle sounded, and with a cacophonous war cry, a group of a hundred mercenaries - most of them young men and women who had joined more recently - charged out from the woods. The knights and the villagers were shocked by their sudden appearance, and almost as one, they turned to look at the knight’s captain in search of reprieve.

All they saw was how an oversized arrow went straight through the middle-aged man’s left eye just as he raised his arm and was about to shout a command to his knights. The villagers screamed and ran to the safety of their houses at the sight, even before the man’s body toppled over from the back of his horse.

As for the knights under his command, they soon found themselves mobbed by the hundred mercenaries. A few that were better at fighting tried to at least take some of their opponents down with them, but found even that stymied by blades that parried theirs away all of a sudden.

Mixed in amongst the greenhorns were a dozen of the best fighters of the Free Lances, who were there to keep an eye on the newcomers, and to better observe their performance. They also kept the newbies safe should their lives come into jeopardy in the fight, and were the ones responsible for the knights’ frustrations.

Not fifteen minutes later, the fight was settled, as most of the thirty knights were wrestled to the ground and stabbed to death in close quarters, often ganged on by three or more people. A couple died on their feet, victim of some newcomers who either managed to get a lucky hit in or was just skilled with their weapon.

A few had attempted to escape, only to find themselves suddenly lifted up, horse and all, by a waiting group of large therians who then casually squeezed the life out of the runaways. Throughout all this none of the two hundred or so villagers dared to leave their hovels and huts, and many eyes watched with trepidation as Reinhardt walked into the center of the village square.

“Get all these people gathered here,” he commanded.