Miguel and Ricardo, before the horde of mercenaries reached the shield wall, retreated back into the formation. The scene unfolding before Miguel's eyes was pure carnage.
The shield wall was holding well, with the barony's soldiers firm in their positions. Each shield, forged and reinforced with bronze, served as a barrier against the mercenaries' relentless attacks. The curved formation protected the flanks, creating a semicircle that enveloped Miguel's forces. Every soldier knew their role, and their discipline kept the line strong and resilient.
The mercenaries charged with fury, but were met with cold steel. Ricardo's plan included a crucial addition: spears. As soon as the enemy infantry approached, soldiers within the formation advanced their spears, stabbing at the adversaries while being protected by the soldiers maintaining the shield wall. The sound of spears piercing flesh and the cries of the wounded filled the air, a sinister chorus of war. The mercenaries were forced to retreat, only to regroup and attack again with renewed ferocity.
The carnage was immense. The bodies of the dead and wounded piled up, the ground turned into a blood-soaked field. The sacrifice was visible in every inch of ground won and lost. The barony's soldiers fell, their lives taken by the brutality of the combat. However, the enemy's losses were significantly greater. Ricardo's plan was working, even at a terrible cost.
Miguel was at the center of the formation, protecting the less experienced soldiers. His presence was a symbol of hope and leadership. He watched the battle with a keen eye, trying to remain calm amidst the chaos. Each mercenary charge was met with a coordinated response. The shields rose, the spears thrust, and the line held firm.
Ricardo, beside Miguel, commanded the soldiers with a strong, clear voice. "Hold the formation! Protect the flanks! Do not retreat!" His orders were followed to the letter, and the soldiers' discipline was as powerful a weapon as their spears. He watched every enemy movement, anticipating their strategies and adjusting the defense as needed.
The constant impact of swords against shields and the clang of metal echoed across the battlefield. The mercenaries attacked in waves, trying to break the defensive line, but were continuously repelled. The barony's soldiers' spears moved with deadly precision, piercing armor and felling adversaries.
The barony's resistance was working, but Miguel knew they couldn't sustain this defense indefinitely. Every passing minute was a victory, but also a countdown to total exhaustion. The soldiers were tired, their movements slowing. The tension in the air was palpable, each breath heavy with effort and pain.
Among the soldiers, there was a mix of fear and determination. They fought not just for survival, but for the future of the barony, their families, and their homes. Each blow struck was a reminder of what was at stake. They knew they couldn't retreat, that the only option was to fight to the end.
The flanks, protected by the curved formation, bore the brunt of the lateral attacks. Strategically positioned soldiers at the ends used their spears to repel any flanking attempts, while archers fired to prevent the enemy from attacking in large formations. Coordination between different segments of the formation was crucial, and any failure could be disastrous.
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Miguel looked around, watching his men fight with everything they had. He felt a deep respect for each of them, for the courage and determination they showed. He knew his role was crucial, not just as a leader, but as a symbol of hope. His presence gave the soldiers strength, and he couldn't let that hope fade.
The sound of battle was deafening, but amidst the screams and clangs, Miguel could feel the rhythm of the fight. Every movement counted, and he knew that every second gained was a small victory. The shield wall held firm, but the battle was far from over.
As the fight continued, Miguel felt a surge of adrenaline. He knew the defense was working, but they needed something more to turn the tide. The battle was intense and brutal, and the determination of his soldiers would be the key to resisting the mercenaries' relentless assault.
Ricardo stood next to Miguel, watching the battle with sharp, calculating eyes as he shouted orders. He realized that while they were holding the line, their numbers were dwindling quickly. "My lord, this spear strategy won't hold for much longer," Ricardo said urgently. "We're losing men, even if it's few, we're already few, at this rate they'll break us."
Miguel nodded, feeling the weight of the situation. He knew Ricardo was right, but there was no time to think of a new strategy. "We need to hold out a bit longer," Miguel replied, trying to stay calm.
Suddenly, a burst of fire hit the eastern flank of the formation. Flames engulfed the soldiers, burning flesh and metal. Cries of pain and despair echoed across the battlefield, as the mercenaries cheered, exploiting the breach created by the attack.
Miguel and Ricardo exchanged horrified looks. Ricardo, with a desperate shout, announced what they both feared. "The enemy has mages!"
The tension rose immediately. The soldiers around them grew even more uneasy, their faces reflecting fear and uncertainty. Miguel knew the situation was becoming increasingly desperate. The presence of mages on the battlefield changed everything. He needed to think quickly to find a way to counter this new threat before it was too late.
Arthur slowly regained consciousness, his head throbbing with pain. An explosion had hit the formation, and he found himself lying on the ground, his ears ringing. Beside him, fallen comrades who hadn't been as lucky lay motionless. He felt a pang of sadness and anger, but there was no time to mourn. With tremendous effort, he gathered the strength to stand, his body protesting with every movement.
As he rose, a mercenary noticed his movement and charged at him with an axe. Arthur barely had time to react, raising his sword to defend against the blow. The clash of blades echoed across the battlefield, and Arthur felt the impact vibrate through his arm.
The fight began with a series of quick and fierce blows. The mercenary attacked with brutality, delivering heavy and powerful strikes. Arthur struggled to block and dodge, fatigue already weighing on his muscles. Every move was a battle against exhaustion, his reflexes growing slower.
The mercenary roared, bringing his axe in a deadly arc. Arthur barely managed to dodge, feeling the wind of the blade pass too close. He countered with a lateral strike, but the mercenary easily blocked it and pressed on with more force.
Arthur knew he couldn't keep this up for long. His arms were heavy, and each breath was a struggle. The mercenary, sensing Arthur's weakness, intensified his attacks, trying to break his defense.
With a final effort, Arthur decided to change tactics. He waited until the mercenary delivered another heavy blow and, at the last second, dodged to the side, making the axe swing harmlessly. Seizing the opening, he attacked with all his strength, his sword finding flesh.
The mercenary screamed in pain, stepping back a few paces. Arthur knew this was his chance. He advanced, ignoring the pain and exhaustion, and delivered a decisive blow. The blade sank deep into the mercenary's side, who fell to his knees, the axe slipping from his hands.
Arthur, exhausted, fell to his knees as well, his whole body trembling. He had won, but the victory came at a high cost. Breathing heavily and irregularly, he looked around, seeing the confusion and chaos dominating the battlefield.
He noticed another mercenary running towards him, his sword dripping with the blood of fallen comrades. Arthur braced himself for his fate, but at the last moment, an arrow struck the enemy's thigh, bringing him to his knees. Arthur looked back and saw one of the archers saluting him from atop the wooden wall before turning to fire at other enemies.
Before he could fully catch his breath, some of the barony's soldiers appeared, their expressions determined. “Let's go, Arthur,” one of them shouted, extending a hand. “We need to get back to the formation!”
They helped him to his feet, dragging him back to the defensive line that was desperately trying to reorganize. Arthur felt a sense of relief knowing there was still a chance to resist, even if the situation was dire. He knew every moment was crucial, and he needed to keep fighting alongside his comrades, no matter how tired he was.