Miguel was breathing heavily, his only protection a leather chestplate, chainmail, and a helmet that had been given to him. The sword was heavy, his memories of fencing still hard to grasp. But he decided to keep his dagger ready in case he needed it.
As soon as they stepped outside, Ricardo and some officers shouted orders, and in moments, all the soldiers were already in the battle formation planned by Ricardo. Miguel looked through the formation and saw all those mercenaries piling up into their own battle formation, almost like a real organized army. He could hear the mercenaries' officers grunting orders while dozens of them were already preparing for combat.
In a few moments, both armies were organized and just waiting for the orders to attack.
Suddenly, a loud shout echoed from the other side of the battlefield. "Miguel!" The voice cut through the air, laden with challenge. All of Miguel's soldiers turned anxiously, their eyes seeking the figure who dared to call him by name.
Miguel walked to the front of his army, his steps firm despite the anxiety he felt. He stared at the man who had shouted, recognizing him immediately as the leader of the mercenaries. The man, with a malicious smile on his face, began to speak.
"So you really came? In the end, you're not as cowardly as I thought..." said the leader, his words dripping with sarcasm. Miguel tried to stay calm, taking a deep breath to prevent the provocations from affecting him.
As he focused, Ricardo appeared by his side, as always, a strong and reliable presence. The enemy leader turned his attention to Ricardo, a glint of recognition in his eyes.
"I see you're really a babysitter for this noble bastard," continued the leader, his tone full of disdain. "A sad end for such a renowned warrior. We could have served side by side in the guild, but you disappeared... And when I finally hear from you, look where you ended up."
The mercenary leader let out a cold laugh, clearly enjoying the situation. Ricardo remained silent beside Miguel, his jaw tense, but his gaze unwavering. The enemy's provocation, though intense, failed to shake the determination that shone in their eyes.
Miguel felt the tension rising among his men, all waiting for the next move. He knew he needed to remain calm and lead, not just for himself but for everyone who counted on him at that critical moment.
The mercenary leader observed Miguel and Ricardo's reaction before speaking again, his voice laden with false generosity. "I have a proposal for you, 'Baron' Miguel. If you're really not a coward, you'll surrender, and everyone will be spared."
As he spoke, some mercenaries dragged Thomas to the front. The butler was visibly hurt, his body marked by bruises and cuts. They threw him to his knees on the ground, in full view of everyone. Thomas tried to stay upright, but the pain was evident on his face.
"If you surrender, I'll spare this old man's life," continued the leader, a cruel smile playing on his lips. Miguel felt a wave of anxiety sweep through his body, the tension growing by the second.
The mercenary leader took a step forward. "But first, I should introduce myself. I'm Peterson." He laughed, a cold, humorless laugh. "If you refuse, I'll personally execute you last, so you can watch all this resistance of yours be exterminated."
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The threat hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Miguel looked at Thomas, who, despite being injured, tried to convey a silent message of strength and courage. Miguel knew that the decision he made now could seal the fate of everyone around him.
He took a deep breath, trying to control his anxiety and find a response that could save the city and its inhabitants. Beside him, Ricardo stood firm, ready to support any decision Miguel made.
The battlefield was silent, everyone waiting for Miguel's next move. Peterson's words echoed in Miguel's mind as he prepared to face the challenge ahead, knowing that the fate of many depended on his courage and leadership.
***
Peterson watched the growing tension on the battlefield with a cold smile on his lips. He enjoyed seeing the fear and uncertainty in his opponents' eyes. One of his men approached, looking apprehensive.
"Boss, do you think that coward will really surrender?"
Peterson let out a brief, disdainful laugh. "No, he won't. We'll have to do this the old-fashioned way, killing each one of them." He laughed again, the sound echoing sinisterly in the cold morning air.
Turning his attention to Ricardo, Peterson got lost in memories for a moment. Ricardo had always been an experienced and extremely intelligent knight. His skill in military strategies was impeccable, earning the respect of many of his adversaries, albeit reluctantly. Even now, Peterson could see the mark of the old strategist in the formation before him.
With just a few soldiers, Ricardo had set up an impressive line of defense. Peterson couldn't help but admire his adversary's skill. The formation was solid, with bronze-plated shields at the front and spears ready to protect the flanks and center. In the middle, the less experienced soldiers were well positioned, protected by the veterans around them. It was a formation designed to maximize efficiency with the limited resources they had at their disposal.
"Impressive," Peterson thought, "He's still a true adversary."
But Peterson knew the bitter truth of war: even the most experienced and capable soldier could not win a battle without enough men. The numbers were in his favor, and that was an advantage Ricardo couldn't overcome with strategy alone.
Shifting his gaze from Ricardo, Peterson turned his attention to Miguel. The young baron was tense, clearly torn between the decision to surrender to save his men or fight to protect his honor and his home. Peterson could see the internal struggle on Miguel's face, and it gave him perverse pleasure.
Peterson took a step forward, his voice laden with malice. "So, Miguel, what is your decision?" The question hung in the air, a clear and relentless challenge.
Miguel remained silent for a moment, breathing deeply as his eyes scanned the battlefield. He knew that whatever answer he gave would shape the fate of many. Beside him, Ricardo stood firm, a pillar of silent strength.
Peterson seized Miguel's hesitation to continue, his voice now dripping with sarcasm. "Will you surrender like a coward and spare the life of this old man and your soldiers, or would you prefer to watch each of them be cut down before your eyes?"
Peterson's soldiers began to move slightly, preparing for the battle they knew was coming. The tension was almost palpable, the silence broken only by the sound of heavy breathing and the rustling of armor.
Ricardo, keeping his eyes fixed on Peterson, knew the battle would be difficult, but he was prepared to fight to the end. He understood that willpower and determination could sometimes turn the tide, even against overwhelming odds.
Peterson watched every reaction from Miguel, waiting to see a sign of weakness, an indication that the young baron would buckle under the pressure. However, he also mentally prepared for the inevitable battle. He enjoyed a good challenge, and Ricardo had always been a worthy opponent.
The air seemed to vibrate with accumulated tension, and everyone awaited Miguel's response. Peterson knew that regardless of the baron's decision, the fight ahead would be brutal and decisive. He was ready to lead his men and crush the resistance, no matter the cost.
Peterson's last words echoed across the field, mingling with the cold wind that blew. "Choose, Miguel. Your time is running out."
The tension on the battlefield was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Everyone awaited Miguel's response, knowing it would determine the course of events about to unfold.
The brief silence was broken by Thomas's shout. "Don't do it, my lord. You are the baron of these lands and under no circumstances should you submit to barbarians like these men. I know we’ve known each other for less than a month. But I have seen in you what I have never seen in any noble... originality, kindness, and the courage to help the needy. So please, my lord. Listen to this old man speaking to you, don't surrender to them..."
Before Thomas could finish speaking, a spear pierced his chest, making him vomit blood and fall to the ground.
"For an old man, he talked too much, don't you think?" said Peterson disdainfully as he returned the spear to the mercenary beside him. He turned his attention back to Miguel. "Your time is up... young baron." He laughed while bowing in provocation. Peterson looked at his men and said, "Start, but bring me that bastard alive, I want to kill him myself."
"But what about Ricardo, boss?" asked the mercenary.
"I'll handle him myself," Peterson replied as he drew his longsword.
"Attack, let's finish these bastards!" shouted a mercenary.
All shouted war cries and provocations as they charged towards the shield wall set up by Ricardo. A rain of arrows flew over them as the archers on the walls began to fire. But with shields raised, they didn't care about that. Even with some of their own fallen, they kept running. In moments, they clashed against the shield wall.