Miguel and Augusto stared at each other for a brief moment, the tension between them pulsing like a rope on the verge of snapping. The battlefield around them was a chaos of steel and flesh—soldiers screaming, swords clashing, and the acrid smell of blood and sweat permeating the cold air of a day that was already turning into evening. The sound of catapults launching their explosive projectiles and the whistling arrows were nearly drowned out by the war cries and the thunderous booms of giant ballistae.
Miguel moved first, his sword swinging in an arc meant to cleave Augusto in half, but his brother was ready. With a precise movement, Augusto blocked the strike with his own sword, the impact making Miguel’s arms tremble. Augusto immediately counterattacked, forcing Miguel to retreat, desperately defending himself against a series of powerful strikes. With each blow Augusto delivered, his sword seemed to gain more strength, and Miguel found himself increasingly pressed.
“You should never have survived, bastard!” Augusto spat the words with contempt as his sword sliced through the air, forcing Miguel to retreat once more. “You were supposed to die like the trash you are, buried in that forgotten hole!”
Miguel didn’t respond, focused solely on blocking the attacks coming from all angles. He knew Augusto was trying to destabilize him, but he couldn’t afford to lose concentration. His movements were slower than he’d like, exhaustion beginning to weigh on his muscles, and Augusto’s heavy armor made it difficult to find an opening for his strikes. Miguel felt frustration build inside him but forced himself to stay calm.
The environment around them was a chaotic mix of allies and enemies fighting for every inch of ground. Men fell screaming while others struggled to hold their positions. Out of the corner of his eye, Miguel saw Ricardo battling two soldiers at once, his sword glinting in the rising sun as he blocked a strike and counterattacked with deadly precision. Ruidahr, the imposing lion, was a bit farther away, surrounded by three enemies but moving with the dexterity and ferocity of a beast in its habitat, felling one soldier after another with powerful blows from his axe.
Miguel tried to use the jiu-jitsu techniques he had learned, but Augusto’s armor and the crowded environment made it impossible to take him down or disarm him. Each time he tried to get close, Augusto simply pushed him back with powerful blows, keeping Miguel at a distance where he couldn’t use his skills. Miguel’s sword constantly clashed with Augusto’s, but it was clear his brother had the advantage. Each blow Miguel blocked made his hands tremble more, and his arms burned with the effort.
With a grunt of effort, Augusto delivered a brutal strike that caught Miguel off guard. Augusto’s blade slid down Miguel’s sword, forcing him to lose his balance and fall hard on the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of Miguel, who let out an involuntary groan as he tried to catch his breath.
Augusto smiled cruelly, his eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and madness. “Finally, Miguel... Finally, you’ll die like you should have long ago. Your head will decorate a stake in the capital, and the whole world will know the fate of those who defy the duke and the king!”
Miguel looked at his brother, his eyes fixed on the blade that gleamed menacingly above him. He knew there was no time to respond, no words that could change the swiftly approaching fate. His heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm, even as Augusto raised the sword for the final blow.
The world around seemed to fall silent for a moment, the sound of battle fading as Miguel watched his brother lift the sword above his head, ready to end it all. Miguel felt the cold ground beneath his back and the weight of destiny about to fall upon him, but his thoughts were strangely clear as he observed the blade descending toward him.
As Augusto raised the sword to deliver the deathblow to Miguel, a distant sound echoed across the battlefield, halting the movement of his blade. A trumpet sounded with a clarity that made the hairs on the back of Miguel’s neck stand up. He recognized that sound well—it was the trumpet of the heavy cavalry of the beast-men. The trumpet sounded again, this time closer, and Augusto diverted his gaze from Miguel, trying to locate the source of the sound.
Miguel saw the opportunity and, with a burst of energy, kicked Augusto’s legs with all the strength he had left. The blow took Augusto by surprise, causing him to lose his balance and fall heavily to the ground, his sword slipping from his hand and embedding itself in the earth beside him. Wasting no time, Miguel sprang to his feet with an agile movement and ran through the confusion of the battle. The sound of metal clashing against metal and the cries of wounded soldiers filled the air, but he remained focused, running toward Ruidahr.
When he reached Ruidahr, the expression on the lion’s face was one of pure confusion. “I didn’t order my men to come here,” Ruidahr said, his voice rough and laden with surprise. “My orders were for them to protect the civilians!”
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Miguel, still panting from the fight and the escape, quickly understood what this meant. If the cavalry of the beast-men was there, the situation was about to become even more chaotic. He needed to reorganize the forces he still had. “Order your men to fall back!” Miguel shouted to Ruidahr as he looked around, assessing the situation.
Without hesitation, Ruidahr nodded and began calling his men back. Miguel turned and shouted orders for his soldiers to stop fighting and run toward the horses, where the cavalry of the beast-men was positioning for an attack. Chaos reigned, but gradually the soldiers began to pull away from the combat and follow Miguel’s orders, retreating to join the cavalry.
As Miguel, Ruidahr, and the rest of their men reached the safety provided by the presence of the cavalry, the beast-men charged with a deafening roar. The massive horses, robust and clad in armor, galloped toward the enemy lines, and the cavalrymen, armed with lances and axes, struck the duchy’s soldiers with relentless fury.
Augusto, seeing the imminent danger, barely had time to throw himself into a narrow alley, where he shielded himself from the devastating onslaught. The cavalry of the beast-men hit the duchy’s soldiers with the force of a storm, crushing men under the hooves of their horses and splitting the enemy ranks in two. The desperate resistance of the soldiers was no match for the brute strength and skill of the cavalrymen, who managed to reach the gate, pushing many of the soldiers out.
The battle within the wall, which had seemed lost before, now gained new momentum. Many of the duchy’s soldiers were still inside the city, but they were now partially isolated. The cavalry had managed to prevent more soldiers from entering through the breach in the gate, giving Miguel an opportunity to turn the tide.
Seeing the chance that had arisen, Miguel made a quick decision. “Now is our chance!” he shouted to his men, his voice cutting through the sound of battle. “Advance! Don’t let them escape!”
With Ruidahr at his side, Miguel led a fierce charge against the enemy soldiers still inside the walls. They attacked with everything they had, fighting to regain control of the city and expel the invaders once and for all. Miguel’s soldiers, energized by the unexpected support of the cavalry, fought with renewed vigor, advancing like an unstoppable wave over the disorganized enemies.
Swords gleamed in the rain as Miguel and Ruidahr led their men with skill and courage. Each step brought them closer to victory, but the battle was far from over. The fate of Drakmoor still hung in the balance, but at that moment, Miguel knew he had a chance—a chance to save his kingdom, protect his people, and prove that even as a bastard, he could fight like a king.
---
Erondir watched the chaos of the battlefield with a growing expression of irritation. The fine rain that had been falling since dawn soaked his dark cloak, making it heavy and uncomfortable. The sky was covered with heavy gray clouds, making the atmosphere even more somber. The catapults, which had been launching projectiles incessantly against the walls of Drakmoor, were now silent, their operators struggling to keep the machines running under the rain that made it difficult to ignite the fuses.
Something was wrong. The soldiers who should have been continuously flowing into the city through the broken gate had stopped advancing. Erondir frowned, trying to understand the reason for the sudden halt. His eyes scanned the field, but the fine mist and the distance made it difficult to clearly see what was happening.
A panting soldier approached, his face pale and his eyes wide with panic. “Lord Erondir,” he began, his voice trembling, “the cavalry... a cavalry mounted on massive red horses appeared. They’ve cut off the connection with our troops inside the city and are blocking the reinforcements. Our men are trapped in there!”
Erondir felt a wave of frustration rise up his spine. Cavalry? Where the hell had Miguel gotten cavalry? He quickly thought about the information he had on Miguel’s allies and remembered the beast-men. “Damn lions,” he muttered to himself. His mind quickly assessed the situation. If the enemy cavalry was blocking the gate, the two thousand soldiers who had already entered the city would be isolated, vulnerable to being surrounded and annihilated. And among them was Augusto, who, despite his recklessness and arrogance, was still an important piece in the duchy’s political game.
“If this continues, our troops will be massacred in there,” Erondir pondered, running a hand over his chin as raindrops dripped down his face. “And that idiot Augusto along with them.”
Turning to his subordinates, he raised his voice to be heard above the constant drumming of the rain. “Gather the remaining mages and prepare the cavalry. We’re going to break through to the gate and restore our connection with the troops inside the city.”
As the men rushed to carry out his orders, Erondir turned his eyes back to the battlefield. The thick mud made movement difficult, soldiers slipping and falling, and the horses neighing restlessly under the weight of the water soaking their manes and tack. The duchy’s banners, once proudly raised, now hung heavy and wet, almost indistinguishable in the rain.
Erondir quickly calculated. From what he could estimate, around two thousand of his soldiers were trapped inside Drakmoor, likely fighting in desperate conditions. Outside, he still had under his command between two thousand five hundred and three thousand men, ready to fight, though already tired and soaked to the bone. The casualties already numbered around two thousand, dead or wounded, scattered across the field as grim reminders of the futility of war.
His eyes turned once more to the catapults. He noticed that the pace of projectiles had slowed significantly. The operators were struggling to keep the machines working in the rain, and the ammunition was clearly running low. A small satisfaction rose within him. “So, Miguel, your resources are depleting as well,” he thought, a slight smile curving his lips.
But there was no time for complacency. If he wanted to save his troops inside the city and avoid a humiliating defeat, he needed to act now. The mages gathered around him, their heavy cloaks even darker under the rain. The cavalry lined up, the horses restless, stomping their hooves in the mud, sending clouds of steam from their nostrils.
Erondir mounted his horse, feeling the animal tremble beneath him. He turned to his men, raising his voice once more. “Men of the duchy! Our brothers are trapped within the walls, bravely fighting against the enemy. We cannot abandon them! We will break through the enemy defenses, restore our connection, and secure the victory that is rightfully ours!”
A roar of approval rose from the ranks, even though it was muffled by the relentless rain. Erondir raised his hand, signaling the advance. The charge was about to begin, and the fate of many would depend on the outcome of this move. With renewed determination, he led his force toward the gate, ready to face any obstacle that Miguel and his allies might place in his path.