Ricardo was engaged in a fierce battle against Peterson. Despite being tired and injured, he didn't want to give up. He fought bravely with all the strength he had left. Each strike he delivered was an enormous effort, and the weight of fatigue bore heavily on his shoulders, but he remained steadfast.

Peterson was also tired, his breathing heavy, and his movements less precise than at the beginning. However, he still resisted, keeping his guard up and counterattacking with determination. The confrontation between the two was intense, a fight of pure willpower and endurance.

Ricardo watched Peterson's every move, looking for any sign of weakness. Then, he noticed an opening. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. With a final effort, he advanced and delivered a precise blow, striking Peterson on the side of his shoulder. The impact was enough to make Peterson fall to the ground, clutching the wound and groaning in pain.

Ricardo saw his chance. Even exhausted and in pain, he prepared to deliver the final blow. His sword was raised, ready to end Peterson once and for all. But suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his thigh. Ricardo looked down and saw an arrow lodged in his leg. The pain was intense, radiating through his body.

Before he could react, a second arrow was fired, hitting his shoulder near the previous wound, between the gaps in his armor. Ricardo screamed in pain, feeling completely vulnerable. The strength in his legs gave out, and he fell to his knees, unable to bear the weight of the pain and fatigue.

The cold, hard ground against his knees seemed to sap even more of his energy. The sight of Peterson, still on the ground, mixed with the growing darkness that enveloped his senses. Ricardo knew he was in a desperate situation, but he couldn't get up anymore. The pain was unbearable, and his body finally succumbed to exhaustion.

Ricardo looked around, trying to find the strength to rise, but everything seemed distant and out of reach. His eyes fixed on Miguel, who was still fighting bravely, but he knew his time was running out. The battle raged around him, but for Ricardo, everything seemed to be slowing down.

Every breath was a painful effort, and every movement sent waves of pain through his body. He tried to lift his sword again, but his arm was heavy, and his strength was quickly abandoning him. The ground seemed to pull him down, and he knew he couldn't continue.

As the battle roared around him, Ricardo fell forward, supporting himself with one hand on the ground. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his vision blurred by pain and fatigue. The last sight he had before his vision darkened was of Peterson slowly rising, an expression of hatred and triumph on his face.

Ricardo knew he had done everything he could. His bravery and determination had been tested to the limit. Even fallen, he felt a brief moment of peace, knowing he had fought until the end. The shadows of the battle enveloped him, and he let the darkness take over, finally surrendering to the rest his body so desperately needed.

---

Miguel saw his friend and uncle, Ricardo, fall to the ground, unconscious. The world seemed to stop for a moment, and horror filled his heart. He silently prayed that Ricardo wasn't dead, that there was some sign of life. Feeling the desperation grow, he tried to run towards his friend, but John held him firmly, preventing his advance.

“No, Miguel!” John shouted, trying to protect him. “You can't go there!”

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Miguel, without the strength to stand, began to cry. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the dirt and blood that covered his skin. He couldn't take it anymore. This life, this senseless war, the constant deaths around him, and now the sight of Ricardo, his uncle and mentor, fallen on the ground. The weight of it all was crushing.

Miguel's cries were deep and sincere. He felt powerless, lost in a world that seemed increasingly cruel and unjust. The feelings flooding his heart were intense and painful. He didn't know if it was for himself or remnants of the former owner of this body, but the pain was real and deep.

As the tears continued to fall, Miguel felt his body weaken even more. He knelt on the ground, unable to bear the weight of the suffering. The battle around him continued, but for him, everything was a distant blur. The reality of his situation hit him with full force, and he didn't know how he could go on.

The pain of seeing Ricardo fallen, combined with the weight of all the losses and sacrifices, was too much to bear. Miguel wished he could turn back time, prevent all this from happening, find a way to save those he loved. But now, all he could do was cry and hope that somehow, there was a chance for change, a glimmer of hope in the midst of despair.

Miguel hugged himself, trying to find some comfort amidst the storm of emotions. He knew he needed to find the strength to continue, but at that moment, all he could do was lament the loss and pain he felt. The tears continued to fall, a silent expression of his deep sadness and hopelessness.

---

Peterson got up from the ground, groaning in pain from the wound inflicted by Ricardo. He felt his shoulder throbbing, but his anger and determination drove him forward. He grabbed his sword, holding it firmly as he approached Ricardo. The knight was down, breathing heavily, but still alive. Even unconscious, Ricardo emanated an imposing presence, and Peterson knew he needed to finish him off.

“Finally, this ends here,” Peterson murmured to himself, preparing to drive his sword into Ricardo's chest. He still held a certain respect for the knight, acknowledging his skill and courage. However, war left no room for sentimentality.

Peterson raised his sword, aiming at Ricardo's heart. He was determined to end the life of the man who had challenged him so much. But just as he was about to deliver the fatal blow, a loud and distinct sound echoed across the battlefield.

A trumpet. The sound was clear and unmistakable, coming from the horizon, near the fields of wheat and soybeans. Peterson froze, the sword suspended in the air. He looked toward the sound, his heart beating faster. Something was happening, something unexpected.

The mercenaries around also stopped, their eyes turning towards the direction of the sound. The trumpet sounded again, strong and authoritative, filling the air with a sense of urgency and mystery.

Peterson slowly lowered his sword, his thoughts racing. What could that sound be? Who was coming? He knew he needed to find out before taking any further action.

He stepped away from Ricardo, still not taking his eyes off the horizon. The battle around seemed to slow down, all eyes focused on the origin of the sound. The sense of uncertainty and anticipation hung in the air, leaving everyone on the battlefield in suspense.

The sound of the trumpet continued to echo, each note bringing with it a promise of something imminent. Peterson knew that whatever the source of that sound was, it would change the course of the battle. He just hoped it would be in his favor.

---

The sound of the trumpets brought Miguel back to sanity. He blinked several times, wiping away the tears and trying to focus on what was happening around him. John quickly approached, helping him to his feet, with Arthur by his side, offering support.

As he stood up, Miguel couldn't help but look at where Ricardo had fallen on the battlefield. The worry for his uncle and friend consumed him. “Ricardo,” he murmured, his voice laden with anguish. He needed to know if Ricardo was still alive, but the chaos around made it impossible.

The surviving men of the barony, seeing Miguel standing again, gathered in one last defensive line around him. There was a silent determination in their eyes, a resolution to protect their leader to the end. They knew this could be their last stand, but they were willing to fight with all their might.

Miguel looked around, seeing the tired and wounded faces of his companions. He felt a renewed inner strength, driven by the need to protect those who were still alive. The trumpet still echoed, and he knew something was about to happen, something that could change the course of the battle.

The mercenaries, on the other hand, were visibly confused. Some looked to the horizon, trying to discern the source of the sound, while others looked to Peterson, waiting for orders. The hesitation was palpable among them, as if they didn't know whether to attack Miguel's defensive line or prepare for what was coming after the trumpets.

Miguel seized this momentary hesitation, giving his men a brief respite. He knew every second was crucial. With a firm voice, though still laden with emotion, he said, “Hold the line. Do not retreat. Whatever it is, we will face it together.”

The soldiers nodded, gripping their weapons tighter, ready for anything. The worry for Ricardo was still present, a constant pain at the back of Miguel's mind. The sound of the trumpets continued, bringing with it a mixture of hope and fear. Everyone knew the battle was not over yet, but the arrival of that mysterious sound could be the signal of an imminent change.