The city of Drakmoor had turned into a chaotic battlefield. The streets, once quiet and deserted during the early morning hours, now pulsed with the sound of clashing swords, war cries, and the deafening clang of armor. The battle raged through every alley and avenue of the city as the duke's soldiers advanced relentlessly, trying to subdue the defenders who fought fiercely to protect their homes and families.
The soldiers of Drakmoor, though outnumbered, fought with the determination of men defending their home. The enemy troops, led by commanders eager for a quick victory, attacked with full force but met resistance at every corner. In some areas, Drakmoor's soldiers used improvised barricades to halt the enemy's advance, turning each street into a deadly maze.
As the battle intensified, the city echoed with shouted orders, the clang of swords, and the anguished cries of the wounded. The dirt and brick streets were stained with blood, and the bodies of the fallen on both sides began to pile up. Some soldiers fought with swords and spears, while others used shields to deflect deadly blows, and archers fired arrows from the rooftops. The smoke from the flammable oil used in the catapults still lingered in the air, mingled with the metallic scent of spilled blood.
Miguel, panting and with adrenaline coursing through his veins, finally found Ruidahr amid the chaos. The great lion, with his imposing axe in hand, was covered in blood, but none of it was his own. His gaze was wild, determined not to give up an inch of ground. Miguel ran to him, dodging an enemy soldier who tried to attack him and knocking him down with a quick strike of his sword.
"Ruidahr!" Miguel shouted, trying to make himself heard above the tumult. "Where are the beast men on horseback?"
Ruidahr, without taking his eyes off the battle, responded with a low growl. "They are at the south gate, protecting the civilians who are being evacuated. I left them there to ensure the innocent have a chance to escape."
Miguel nodded, relieved to know that at least the civilians were safe. But he needed to know more. "And Elnar? Where is he?"
Ruidahr, with a puzzled look, replied, "He’s at the mansion. He said he had something in mind that could help in the battle, but I don’t know what he plans to do in such a short time."
Miguel frowned, confused. What could Elnar be planning? But before he could delve deeper into his thoughts, a spear emerged from the midst of the battle, flying toward him. In an instant, Ruidahr, with his superhuman reflexes, caught the spear in mid-air, preventing it from striking Miguel.
Miguel looked at his friend, grateful, with a renewed determination in his eyes. "Let’s finish them!" he shouted, raising his sword as more of the duke's soldiers rushed forward. Standing beside Ruidahr, Miguel prepared to face the new wave of enemies, knowing the battle was far from over.
Elnar was in Miguel’s office, alone, as the tension of the battle spread through the air like a thick mist. In the early hours before the fighting began, he had made a decision: he needed something more to confront the duke’s army. Something beyond the traditional weapons already in use. With this idea in mind, he remembered an ancient grimoire he carried with him, a mysterious object given to him by a man whose identity he never discovered.
The grimoire had been stored in his bag for years, always with him, but rarely consulted. Now, as the shadows of war closed in on Miguel’s kingdom, Elnar decided to revisit its pages, searching for a solution. Carefully, he took out the book and flipped through the worn pages until he found what he was looking for. His eyes gleamed as he found the sketches of a peculiar weapon, a contraption he had barely understood when he first saw it.
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The arrows described in the grimoire were unlike any others Elnar knew. Their tips were hollow, designed to contain gunpowder, and they featured a simple yet ingenious mechanism that detonated upon impact. This mechanism, also described in the book, used an internal needle that, when colliding with the target, pierced a small chamber of gunpowder at the arrow's tip, causing a devastating explosion.
The body of the device, according to the drawings, would be made of bamboo—materials Elnar knew where to find. The bamboo would serve as launch tubes, tilted over a simple wooden structure. When ignited, the gunpowder in the arrow tips would not only propel the projectiles skyward like rockets but also ensure they exploded on impact, scattering shrapnel everywhere.
Elnar studied the details with growing attention, understanding the ingenuity of the design. He had no idea who had created that grimoire, but now he knew that the book’s contents could save many lives. If he could build these weapons in time, they could turn the tide of the battle.
Determined to act quickly, Elnar left the office with the grimoire in hand. He knew he would need to coordinate the carpenters, blacksmiths, and any available workers to build the bamboo structures. Time was short, but he couldn’t let this chance slip away. With the explosives Miguel had already prepared and the materials available, Elnar felt he had a real opportunity to make a difference.
As he rushed to organize the construction, Elnar reflected on how mysterious and precious that grimoire truly was. He had never known who had given it to him, but now he saw its potential. Perhaps it was fate, or pure coincidence, but the ancient weapon described in the pages of that book could be the key to Drakmoor’s survival.
With renewed determination, Elnar set about building the contraption described in the grimoire. If he succeeded, he knew the “rain of arrows” could be the decisive blow to halt the duke’s army’s advance. And at that moment, he was willing to bet everything on it.
---
Miguel was in the heat of battle, his senses on high alert as he struck with his sword against the enemy soldier before him. The soldier was skilled, his movements quick and precise, but Miguel, despite his exhaustion, was focused. He dodged a thrust that would have pierced his abdomen, feeling the steel pass mere inches from his skin. With a quick spin, he used the side of his sword to deflect the next blow, then counterattacked.
The sound of metal clashing echoed around him, a sharp noise amidst the chaos. Miguel knew he couldn’t underestimate his opponent, as the soldier seemed as determined as he was. The man was physically stronger, his power evident in each strike, but Miguel trusted in his agility and swordsmanship. After blocking a brutal attack that made his blade tremble, Miguel saw his chance.
He feigned a move to the left, drawing the enemy’s sword in that direction, but quickly spun to the right, bringing his sword in a precise arc that cut deeply into the soldier’s unprotected side. The man cried out in pain and anger, stepping back a few paces, but Miguel didn’t give him time to recover. He advanced, his sword piercing the soldier’s chest with a decisive thrust.
The soldier fell to his knees, the look of despair and surprise fading slowly as blood poured down his armor. Miguel was breathing heavily, his heart racing with the adrenaline of the fight. He pulled his sword from the enemy’s body and stepped back, watching the soldier fall to the ground with a dull thud.
Before he could catch his breath, Miguel heard a shout echoing across the battlefield. His name was called with a mix of fury and challenge. He quickly turned toward the voice, his eyes widening as he recognized the figure approaching. It was Augusto, his brother, mounted on a horse, with his face contorted in rage.
Miguel felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine, knowing the real confrontation was about to begin.
---
Augusto charged at Miguel with all the fury he possessed, the horse’s hooves pounding heavily against the ground as he approached. Miguel saw the attack at the last second, his instincts taking over as he threw himself to the side, rolling on the cold, rain-soaked earth. The horse thundered past him, the blade of Augusto’s sword cutting through the air where Miguel had been just a moment before.
Still on the ground, Miguel tried to recover, but before he could catch his breath, he heard the sound of the horse turning in a tight arc, preparing for another charge. He didn’t have time to stand, so his eyes frantically scanned the ground for something, anything he could use. His fingers closed around a fallen spear. Without thinking, he lifted it and aimed it at the charging horse.
Augusto forced the horse to charge again, his sword raised to finish Miguel off, but Miguel, with a desperate move, thrust the spear into the horse's chest. The animal let out a loud whinny of pain, its eyes wide with agony as its hooves faltered. The impact caused the horse to stumble, its front legs giving way, and Augusto was violently thrown from the saddle.
Augusto's body spun in the air before crashing to the ground with force, his sword slipping from his hand and falling a few meters away. Miguel, still panting, struggled to get up. His body ached from the fall, and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, but he knew he couldn't stop.
With difficulty, Augusto also got to his feet, his movements slower and more rigid, but the look in his eyes was deadly. He wiped the blood from a cut on his forehead, and the two brothers stared at each other in silence, each feeling the pulsating tension in the air. Miguel breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly as blood coursed quickly through his veins. He knew the next move could decide everything.