Peterson observed the battlefield with a mix of fascination and frustration. The formation Ricardo had organized was impressive, and he had to admit that the old warrior still had a talent for strategy. The shield line was holding firm, repeatedly repelling the infantry's attacks. The barony's archers, though few, were providing constant support from the wooden wall, their arrows flying in precise arcs to strike the approaching mercenaries.
"I have to give him credit," Peterson thought, admiring the defenders' resilience. But he knew he couldn't let this continue. He needed to find a way to break this defense and end the resistance once and for all.
He turned to one of his trusted mercenaries, a burly man with scars from past battles. "Are the mages ready?"
The mercenary nodded. "Yes, sir. There are seven mages in total. Three fire, two healing, and two water mages. They are just waiting for your orders."
Peterson flashed a cold smile. "Excellent. Order the fire mages to target the formation protecting the flanks. The healers will stay in the rear, ready to assist our wounded men. The water mages will support the fire mages, ensuring they can keep attacking."
The mercenary nodded and ran to relay the orders. Peterson continued to watch the battlefield, seeing how his men maintained pressure on Ricardo's defensive line. He knew that if the flanks gave way, the entire formation would crumble, and victory would be his.
After a few moments, he saw the fire mages positioning themselves, their eyes glowing with arcane energy. The water mages stood nearby, ready to provide support. Peterson could feel the tension in the air as he awaited the start of the attack.
Suddenly, a powerful burst of fire was launched towards the eastern flank of the enemy formation. The flames engulfed the soldiers, burning shields and flesh. Cries of pain and despair echoed across the battlefield, while the mercenaries shouted in euphoria, exploiting the breach created by the attack.
Peterson watched with satisfaction. The fire mage, after launching the burst, quickly retreated to the protection of the water mages, who were ready to replenish his magical energy. Peterson's troops began to advance in that area, taking advantage of the disorder and the break in the formation.
The defenders desperately tried to reorganize, but the impact of the fire attack was devastating. The soldiers were disoriented, and the mercenaries seized the opportunity to press harder. Arrows and spears flew, and the sound of metal clashing echoed across the field.
Peterson continued to observe, his eyes shining with a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. He knew there was still much to be done, but the first step to breaking the defense had been taken. He didn't underestimate Ricardo but felt the tide of the battle was beginning to turn in his favor.
As the mercenaries advanced, Peterson kept his gaze fixed on the field, looking for any signs of a counterattack. He was prepared to adjust his strategies as necessary, determined to ensure that victory would be his.
The burst of fire had been the beginning, and now he needed to keep the pressure on, using all his forces to crush the resistance and ensure that Miguel and his army were finally defeated. The battle was far from over, but Peterson was confident that the end was near.
---
Miguel was in the center of the battlefield, watching the chaos unfolding around him. Anxiety and tension began to take hold of him, his hands sweating as he gripped his sword. He had never imagined being in the middle of a war. In his former world, he was a simple engineer, living in a relatively peaceful country. Designing structures and solving technical problems were his daily concerns, not surviving on a battlefield.
As he looked around, he saw his soldiers fighting with all their might, the sound of metal clashing and cries of pain filling the air. Blood and bodies were scattered everywhere, the scene of destruction almost unreal to him. The violence and horror of the battle starkly contrasted with the tranquil life he had known. He felt lost in his thoughts, part of his mind trying to find logic and order in the midst of chaos.
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Miguel was immersed in his own confusion, trying to process everything that was happening. How had he ended up here? How could he, an engineer, be responsible for leading an army in such a brutal battle? He felt powerless, as if he were sinking into a sea of despair.
While he was lost in these thoughts, a distant voice began calling to him. At first, he could barely hear it, but gradually, the voice became clearer. "My lord!" The insistent voice pulled him back to reality.
He blinked, focusing his eyes and realizing that Ricardo was right in front of him, calling desperately. "My lord, we need to retreat! The enemy has broken the formation!"
Miguel looked around, seeing the battle dangerously close. Mercenaries were advancing, taking advantage of the breach opened by the fire mages. The horror of the situation was evident, and he realized that Ricardo was trying to protect him along with some guards. They were surrounded, and the only option was to retreat into the village.
Panic began to take hold of Miguel, but he knew he couldn't allow himself to fall apart. He needed to lead his men, even though he was terrified. "Let's go, retreat to the village!" he shouted, his voice trembling but determined.
Just as they started to retreat, a burst of fire hit the ground nearby, exploding into flames and shrapnel. The impact threw everyone to the ground, the force of the explosion stunning Miguel. He felt the heat of the flames, the smell of burning filling the air.
Miguel tried to get up, but his body was heavy, his ears ringing and his vision blurry. He looked around and saw his guards and Ricardo also on the ground, some moaning in pain. Fear turned to despair as he tried to understand what was happening.
The battlefield was ablaze, the sound of fighting mixed with the roar of the flames. Miguel knew they needed to get up and keep fighting, but for a moment, he felt completely powerless. Everything seemed to be falling apart around him, and he struggled to maintain his sanity amid the chaos.
The cries of the approaching mercenaries cut through the air, and Miguel knew they didn't have much time. With tremendous effort, he began to get up, trying to gather all his strength to continue the fight and protect those who depended on him.
---
Miguel slowly began to regain consciousness, his vision blurry and his body aching. He blinked several times, trying to focus on what was happening around him. The sound of the battle was deafening, but what caught his attention was the figure of Peterson approaching, a macabre smile on his face. Peterson's words were indistinct, a murmur that Miguel couldn't understand, but the meaning of the smile was clear.
Before Peterson could get too close, Miguel saw Ricardo running towards him, a determined expression on his face. Ricardo attacked Peterson with a ferocity that made Miguel feel a bit more hopeful. He felt strong hands lifting him, and for a moment, fear took hold of him, but then he recognized Arthur and John, one of the soldiers who had accompanied him on the journey to the beast men's city.
Arthur, urgency in his voice, said, "We need to retreat, my lord. We don't have much time."
Miguel tried to shake his head to clear his thoughts, but the pain was intense. He looked around, seeing the devastation and scattered bodies. Before they could move, a horde of mercenaries was approaching, ready to attack. John looked at Miguel with serious eyes and said, "Go, my lord! Run inside the walls!"
For a moment, Miguel felt the urge to obey, to save himself and return to the relative safety of the village. But then he looked at Arthur and John, who were there, willing to fight and die by his side. Something inside him strengthened. With a determined gesture, he crouched and picked up his sword from the ground.
"If we are to die today," Miguel said, his voice firm despite the fear he still felt, "we die together."
Arthur and John exchanged a brief look full of understanding and respect. They knew that Miguel's decision was not just about courage, but about loyalty and honor. Ricardo, still facing Peterson, gave Miguel a look of approval, noticing the determination on his face.
The mercenaries advanced, their weapons gleaming in the light of the fire consuming parts of the battlefield. Miguel, Arthur, and John positioned themselves, ready to face the enemy. The sound of swords clashing was deafening, and each blow felt like a fight for survival.
Miguel found himself in the middle of the battle, fighting with all his might. He was not a trained warrior, but the adrenaline and the need to protect his friends drove him. Each move was a battle against fear and fatigue. He blocked blows, dodged blades, and counterattacked with a ferocity that surprised even himself.
Arthur, at his side, fought with the experience of a trained blacksmith. His strikes were precise and powerful, and he used every ounce of his strength to keep the mercenaries at bay. John, though younger and less experienced, showed a bravery that inspired everyone around him.
The mercenaries were many, and the fight seemed endless. But Ricardo's presence, facing Peterson with incredible skill, gave everyone a spark of hope. Miguel knew they couldn't win by brute force, but maybe they could resist long enough to turn the tide of the battle.
Miguel's determination grew with each strike. He knew the situation was desperate, but the will to protect his barony and his friends kept him standing. Every move, every breath, was an act of resistance against the forces trying to crush them.
As they fought, Miguel realized they were not alone. More soldiers from the barony were joining the battle, forming an improvised defensive line. The sight of these men willing to fight to the end filled Miguel with a renewed sense of purpose.
The battle continued, and Miguel increasingly felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. But he also felt the strength of unity and the courage of his allies. If they were to die today, they would do so together, fighting to their last breath for what they believed in.
Every move seemed instinctive, as if he knew exactly what to do in each situation. Between blows, his mind wandered, questioning how he was managing to hold firm amidst the chaos.
He only knew jiu-jitsu, an unarmed martial art focused on leverage and immobilization techniques. Yet there he was, wielding a sword with a skill he didn't recognize in himself. Could these be remnants of the memory of the real Miguel, the young baron of this strange world?
Miguel wondered if, somehow, he was accessing the original Miguel's abilities and knowledge, the one who should be in command. Each successful strike and effective defense made him reflect on the possibility that he was not alone in this fight.