The battlefield was shrouded in absolute chaos. The ground, once hard-packed earth, was now a viscous mixture of mud and blood, making every step a treacherous challenge. Corpses from both sides were strewn across the terrain, creating a macabre scene of mutilated bodies, broken weapons, and torn flags. The fight raged on in every corner of the city, with soldiers from Drakmoor and the duchy locked in mortal combat. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the acrid odor of gunpowder, creating a suffocating and desperate atmosphere.
Miguel fought with all his might, his movements swift and precise as his sword sliced through the air and pierced the flesh of enemies who still dared to resist. He felt the weight of the battle in every muscle, fatigue building up, but he couldn't afford to let it slow him down. His eyes were constantly in motion, assessing the situation around him, trying to keep his companions close and his defense organized.
In the midst of the confusion, Amelia, with her armor stained with enemy blood, quickly moved to Miguel's side. She blocked a sword strike aimed at him, her blade responding with impressive speed. Panting, she looked at Miguel with an urgent expression, her eyes shining with adrenaline.
“Have you seen Augusto?” Amelia asked, her voice loud enough to be heard above the clangor of weapons and the cries of the wounded.
Miguel delivered a quick blow to an enemy soldier, forcing him to retreat before responding. “I don’t know where he is,” he said, his eyes scanning the battlefield for any sign of his brother. “He just disappeared…”
Amelia snorted with disdain, dodging a strike as she replied, “I hope he died in a ditch.” There was venom in her words, a bitterness that Miguel knew well but couldn’t afford to feel at that moment.
Miguel simply nodded, more focused on maintaining the rhythm of the battle than on any personal desire for revenge. He had no time for hatred, only for survival. Even as he fought, he couldn’t help but wonder if they had really managed to push the enemies back, or if this was just a pause before the next wave of violence.
The battle continued around them, a desperate struggle to maintain control of the city and protect the lives of those who couldn’t fight. The mud beneath Miguel's feet was soaked with blood, making the terrain treacherous, but he didn’t hesitate. This was his home now, and he would fight to the end to defend it, no matter the cost.
The battle around Miguel continued to rage, but for a moment, something different caught his attention. Amid the sound of clashing swords and the screams of combatants, a familiar yet strange noise for that world began to echo through the city. It was a sharp, rising sound that made Miguel turn his head quickly, his eyes searching for the source of the unusual noise.
He recognized the sound immediately. It was something he never expected to hear again: the sound of fireworks ascending into the sky. But in that war-torn context, there was no celebration, only the harbinger of destruction. His eyes fixed on the bright trails cutting through the dark sky. They were long and dense, resembling shooting stars being launched from a distant point. The sound of propulsion sliced through the air like the roar of a wild animal.
As he focused his vision, he realized the magnitude of the arrows flying through the sky. They were not ordinary; they were about 1.5 meters long, large and sturdy, designed to wreak havoc when they hit their targets. Miguel looked in the direction from where these “rocket-arrows” were being fired and saw that they were coming from the southern section of the wall, the opposite side of the main gate where most of the fighting was concentrated.
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Amelia, who was beside him, stopped fighting for a brief moment, her eyes also capturing the spectacle. With a tone of surprise that Miguel had rarely heard from her, she asked, “What is that, Miguel?”
A slow, confident smile formed on Miguel's face as he continued to watch the projectiles rising into the cloudy sky. “That, my sister,” he said, without taking his eyes off the spectacle, “is saturation artillery.”
Amelia tried to repeat the strange term Miguel used but quickly gave up, an expression of confusion and admiration crossing her face. She had never heard of anything like it before, and the idea that her brother, the bastard who had always been underestimated, was now implementing such technology in a medieval world was almost unbelievable.
The fired arrows continued to ascend in a perfect arc before beginning their deadly descent toward the outside of the main gate. With each passing second, the sound of the “rockets” grew louder, and the tension among the combatants increased. Inside the city, both Drakmoor's soldiers and the duchy's paused for a moment, looking up at the sky with expressions ranging from surprise to pure terror. The enemy, outside the walls, began to realize what was happening as the first projectiles started to descend upon them.
The arrows struck the ground with deadly precision, their hollow tips exploding on impact. The sound was deafening, the explosions lighting up the night and sending shrapnel in all directions. The enemy formations, previously rigid and disciplined, began to crumble under the force of the explosions that tore through their ranks. Men screamed, trying to find cover, but there was nowhere to run. Panic quickly set in among the duchy's soldiers, who found themselves trapped between Drakmoor's crossfire and the devastating explosions of the arrows.
Miguel watched, satisfied, as the explosions wreaked havoc among the enemy ranks. This was exactly what he needed to buy some time and reorganize his forces. He knew that this “saturation artillery” was not something common in that world and that surprise was on his side. More importantly, he knew this could be the decisive factor in turning the tide of the battle in his favor.
The arrows continued to rain down on the duchy's army, turning the hope of a quick victory into absolute despair. Miguel knew that the war was far from over, but for now, he and his people had a chance to fight and survive.
Erondir led his knights at a gallop, his heart pounding as they approached the wall gate of Drakmoor. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, determined to break through that barrier and end Miguel’s resistance once and for all. The sound of horses' hooves on the damp ground echoed in his ears, and he felt the cold night air on his face. But suddenly, something strange began to happen.
He noticed an unusual glow in the sky, small sparks of light that didn’t belong to that darkness. For a brief moment, he wondered if the enemy was using some kind of magic. But this seemed different; it didn’t have the characteristic aura of the magic he knew. Erondir looked up, and his expression hardened as he realized what was happening.
From above, long, bright objects were descending in an arc, like shooting stars, but with a much more precise trajectory. They were coming directly toward his ranks. He frowned, trying to understand what those things were. They weren’t ordinary arrows; they were much larger and faster.
The scene unfolded quickly. Before he could shout orders to his knights, the first of these projectiles hit the ground. Erondir saw the devastating explosion engulf the soldiers at the front, bodies being flung into the air like ragdolls. The shockwave hit him, and he felt the brutal impact before hearing the sound of the explosion. Knights and horses were thrown to the ground, chaos ensuing in seconds.
Erondir’s horse neighed in panic, its front legs rearing as he tried to keep a firm grip on the reins. But there was no escape. Another projectile fell nearby, and he felt the intense heat and the shattering of bones and armor around him. The horse lost its balance, and Erondir felt gravity pulling him to the side.
The world spun violently as he fell from the horse, the darkness of the night mixing with the flashes of the explosions. His body hit the ground hard, and he felt sharp pain in his side as he collided with a rock. For a moment, he tried to get up, but the shockwave hit him again, pushing him back to the ground.
Erondir's vision began to darken. The lights from the explosions became distant blurs as he struggled to stay conscious. The sound of the battle around him grew more muffled, turning into a distant hum. The last thing he saw before completely losing consciousness was the sky, lit by those deadly stars that continued to fall upon his troops.
And then, everything went dark.